Family Tension
HARDIN'S POV
The morning sun streamed through the wide windows of my bedroom, but it didn’t reach me. Not really. I sat at the edge of the bed, shirtless, staring at my watch like it would give me the answers I didn’t have. Ariana’s voice still lingered in my head—soft, broken, brave. I hadn’t slept. Not a wink. I couldn’t. Not after what she told me. Her mother’s words. The uncertainty in her voice. The fear.
She needed me. And damn it, I needed her too.
But now it was morning, and I had a house full of people with masks so polished, it was a miracle the damn sun didn’t bounce off their faces and blind us all.
I pulled on a crisp white shirt, rolled the sleeves, and stepped into my slacks like it was any other day. But it wasn’t. Today felt sharp around the edges. Like everything was poised to cut.
Downstairs, the scent of coffee and fresh pastries wafted through the hallway, warm and inviting. Deceptive. I should’ve known better.
I reached the bottom of the stairs, straightening my collar just as I turned into the dining room—and stopped dead.
Andrew.
He sat at the end of the table, as if he belonged there, nursing a glass of orange juice like it hadn’t been poured in a house that should’ve never opened its doors to him.
His cold blue eyes met mine with an expression that didn’t even bother to pretend. No civility. No pretense. Just loathing.
“Well, if it isn’t the golden son,” he said, voice dripping with venom.
I didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. “Didn’t realize rats preferred the morning light.”
He chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “You always are good with words, Hardin. Just like your mother.”
A chill snaked down my spine.
Before I could reply, Vera entered the room, the sound of her heels clicking against the marble floor, she was dressed in a black fitted gown, her hair tied up in a messy bun. She froze when she saw him.
“Andrew,” she said coolly.
“Vera,” he replied, tone less venomous but still laced with something bitter. “Still playing bodyguard to your knight in shining Armani?”
“I’d rather guard a king than dine with a traitor.” She sat beside me without another word.
I didn’t thank her. Didn’t need to. She knew what it meant.
The silence crackled like dry kindling. Then the clinking of silverware as a maid set down plates. Eggs. Toast. Fruit. I didn’t touch mine.
Andrew tilted his head. “So, cousin... any plans to destroy another life today? Or is your schedule full after sending my mother to prison?”
The rage came fast, hot, and bitter. But I kept it caged.
“She tried to kill me,” I said evenly. “Forgive me for not being the family mascot about it.”
“She was broken. You could’ve helped her.”
“She didn’t want help. She wanted me gone. There’s a difference.”
Before the conversation could escalate, our parents entered. My father—stoic, commanding. My mother—elegant, her warmth genuine but wary.
“Morning,” my father greeted, though his gaze flicked between me and Andrew like he’d walked into a storm cloud.
“Good morning,” my mother added, more softly, kissing my cheek, then Vera’s. She paused when she reached Andrew.
He stood to greet her, polite, but stiff. “Aunt Josephine.”
She nodded. “Andrew. It’s good to see you.”
Liar. But she was a kind one.
My father sat at the head of the table, nodding once at the maid. “Let’s eat.”
We did. Quietly. Forks against porcelain, the occasional cough. But the tension? It screamed.
Andrew buttered a croissant like he was dissecting it. “I must say, this house has changed. The warmth, the peace... I wonder how long it’ll last.”
My father frowned. “That sounds like a threat.”
“It’s not. Just an observation.” He glanced at me. “Some people carry chaos with them, no matter how pretty the suit.”
Vera bristled. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”
“Don’t defend him like he’s innocent. We all have blood on our hands.”
“And yours is soaked.”
“Enough,” my father said sharply. “This is a house of peace. Not a battleground.”
But it was already too late. The words had been fired. The wounds reopened.
I stood, chair scraping back with a screech. “I’ve had enough.”
Vera stood with me. I didn’t say a word. Just reached for her hand and walked out. No one stopped us. Not even Andrew. Especially not him.
The air outside was crisp. The sun bright. But I was already unraveling.
We reached my car, a sleek black beast of a machine, and I yanked open the door. Vera slid in beside me, her hand still in mine.
I didn’t start the engine. Just stared ahead, the world a blur.
“You okay?” she asked gently.
I nodded once. A lie.
“Hardin—”
“There’s something I need to talk to you about,” I said, voice low. “Something that happened yesterday. Something important.”
She stilled beside me. “What is it?”
I looked at her, eyes dark with whatever storm I was holding in.
“I’ll tell you everything. But not here.”
And with that, I pulled out of the driveway, the mansion shrinking behind us. But the weight of the morning? That stayed with me.
Whatever peace I thought I had was cracking.
And the truth? The truth was coming whether we were ready or not.
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