Rough Exile

“But he’s a bastard!” Yuri shouted. “You can’t mean to pass the business to the son of your dead cook!”

Bron sipped at his drink, looking calculating and unflappable. Hard.

My gaze shifted between him and his father, hating that now I could absolutely see the resemblance. I felt like I might puke.

“What difference does being a bastard make? I gave every one of you the opportunity to obey me and to show your worth, but he is the only one who’s ever obeyed me without question. He’s done everything I’ve asked. He even made a man of a failure, which I never thought I would live to see. Why shouldn’t I entrust all of my hard work to someone who won’t fuck it up, gamble it away, or spend it on a fleet of speedboats?”

The conversation wasn’t as loud and obnoxious as I would have expected. If nothing else, Vas had trained his sons to be in firm control of their emotions—all except Ilya.

I got up to sneak out, but Vas caught me by the arm. His grip hurt. “If that boy thought he was in line to be heir, maybe he’s not as grown as I thought. You and I will have a discussion later about the allowance he gets and which of you should manage it.”

I grunted something noncommittal and pulled my arm away, not missing how he tried to control me until he was ready to let go.

A slow grin crossed his face.

“I see my son chose a woman with a spine, at least.”

I walked away, and Bron’s gaze met mine as I passed him. Disgusted, all I could do was glare.

How could he have done this to Ilya? How could he fuck him for twelve years, pretending he was Vas’s lackey, when he was Ilya’s half-brother?

I walked as fast as I could back to our suite of rooms, suddenly chilled at the thought of what Ilya might do in his shock. It felt like I wasn’t completely in control of my body—like I was on autopilot. My hand trembled when I turned the doorknob, afraid of what might be on the other side.

I burst into the room and slammed the door behind me, my shoes clacking obnoxiously on the floor.

“Did you know?” Ilya was on me as soon as the door was closed. He grabbed my upper arms and yanked me against him, his face wild and desperate.

“Of course I didn’t know!” I assured him, my voice sounding and feeling like someone was strangling me.

I wrapped my arms around his waist and put my head against his chest. He hugged me. His body shook with the ugly emotions that had to be running through him.

How could Bron tell us he loved us last night, under their father’s roof, knowing the truth would come out today?

He let me go and headed for the bathroom.

“What are you doing?”

He went in and locked the door behind him. The water started running, but it wasn’t loud enough to cover his strangled sobs.

I knocked.

No response.

I tried the door, even knowing he’d locked it.

He shouldn’t be alone right now.

My cheeks were wet, and my eyes hurt, and the lump in my throat felt like it was choking me. I wiped my face with the back of my hand. I was so cold my teeth started to chatter.

Less than an hour ago, I’d thought the three of us were happy.

Two of us had meant what we’d said to each other.

One of us was a brother-fucking liar.

I sat outside the bathroom door with my back pressed against it, trying to feel him on the other side.

“I love you, Ilya.”

Nothing.

“Please open the door? Let me in so we can talk about this.”

I imagined the things he might say in reply, but he didn’t say anything at all. He had invested more than a third of his life into his relationship with Bron, only to find out everything had been a lie.

How had I never seen it?

At some point, the water turned off, but he still wouldn’t respond.

I was still sitting there when Bron stormed in maybe an hour later.

“He’s in there?”

I got to my feet and threw my shoes at him one at a time. Both of them connected with his chest. He hadn’t attempted to bat them away. He reached past me and tried the doorknob.

“Do you think I haven’t tried that?”

“You should have come for me.”

“And how would I explain that to your family? Why the hell do you care anyway?”

He pulled a knife from his pocket and stuck it in the keyhole, then gave it a vicious twist. I heard something snap.

“What are you going to do?” I tried to push him away from the door. The knife in his hand scared me. Surely, he wouldn’t try to hurt him? He folded the knife and stuffed it back in his pocket.

“Stop being hysterical. We deliberately chose a woman who could keep her head in a crisis.”

He opened the door, looking like he was ready to fight his way in, but Ilya didn’t try to push it closed. The lack of response made my heart go cold.

I rushed in after him, but Ilya was only sitting on the floor, leaning against the vanity, looking dazed.

“Am I a fucking joke to you?” Ilya said so quietly it killed me.

“Of course not!”