Page 92 of Hero of Havoc

“I did,” she admits, and I turn to gape at her in disbelief, watching as her cheeks redden and she dips her chin, avoiding my gaze.

“Arabella, this is amazing,” I insist, returning my attention to the paint, which is still drying.

It’s the most stunning sunset I’ve ever seen, and it’s not even the real thing. Splatters of yellows, oranges, pinks, and purples are cast across the top half of the canvas, while blues and creams frame the bottom, creating the perfect beach sunset.

“Where did you get your inspiration from?” I ask, looking for a photo to compare it to, but she shrugs.

“I just did it from memory.”

My eyes somehow manage to widen further. “You’ve seen this in real life?”

Another nod. “Archer took me.”

“That was kind of him.”

A heavy exhale falls from her lips as the corners of her mouth turn down. “I hope he isn’t mad at me,” she whispers, tears lining her lower lashes as she bands her arms around her middle again.

“Hey, it’s okay,” I insist, wrapping my arm around her shoulders as I direct her toward her bed. She takes a seat at the bottom, sadness clinging to her as I take the spot beside her. “Has Archer ever been mad at you before?” I ask, presumptively already knowing the answer, and she confirms it when she shakes her head.

“No. Never.”

“So I get the feeling this is going to be no different, don’t you?” I insist, and she bobs her head, but there’s still an air of distress lingering around her.

Staring at her, I try to consider what the right thing to say or do is, but I have no experience with this. It’s usually me having a breakdown and Hugo fixing it.

I freeze for a second before my heart warms, and thoughts of my brother wrap around me.

What would Hugo do right now?

Gulping, I place my hand on her shoulder. “Arabella, a wise guy once told me that anything you’re feeling inside only intensifies when you keep it there. Even though it might hurt to hear the truth that parts your lips, it will get better, especially if you’re surrounded by people who are here to help.”

Her eyebrows rise. “Did my brother say that?” Uncertainty clouds her words, and I grin.

“No, my brother did.”

“I was going to say, I love my brother a lot, but he’s not that wise.” A grin ghosts the corner of her mouth again.

“I plead the fifth,” I say with a snicker, and the air around us eases a little.

“I don’t know what triggered it,” she blurts, flipping the braid off her shoulder, and I slam my lips shut, making sure to keep them zipped as she processes what she’s thinking. “My mom has been doing so well. Even though my father took away her license and made it impossible to leave the house, we were making the most of it.”

Rage burns through me as she swipes the tears from her cheeks. I’m all too familiar with what it’s like being a prisoner.

“None of it really mattered because he stayed away, and that gave us peace,” she continues, shaking her head as she tries to gather herself. “I should have known something was off today when the flowers arrived.”

“Flowers?” I repeat, internally berating myself for interrupting, but she doesn’t seem to mind as she nods.

“Tulips. Her favorite. I thought they might have been from Archer at first. She was so smiley and couldn’t stop inhaling their scent as she carried them through the house, but the moment she placed the glass vase on the kitchen counter and looked at the card, the color drained from her face.”

I stroke her arm soothingly, hoping to portray that I’m here for her, but I don’t think I’m doing it quite the way Hugo does, and the stress threatens to overwhelm me.

“She offered me a fake smile, but I saw the way her knuckles whitened around the glass.” She drags a hand down her face, defeated. “We were going to paint in the garden, but she insisted I get a head start upstairs. I pleaded, but not enough,” she admits, sorrow enveloping us. “I don’t know what happened from there, but I heard the glass shatter and the screams, and I panicked. I made it to the top of the stairs, but one look at my mom and I knew,” she breathes, swiping the tears from her cheeks again. “I did the only thing I could think of. I called Archer.”

“You did the right thing,” I insist. “No matter what worries you might have, you know right now that your mom is in safe hands, and from there, everything is going to be okay because your brother will make sure of it.”

“But at what cost?” she croaks, tears spilling faster, and my heart clenches. “He shouldn’t have to suffer too,” she starts, and I shake my head.

“Arabella, none of you should suffer, and we both know Archer would never leave you to suffer alone.”