Chapter 9

"Fleur Twilight Upcoming IPO Indicative of Problems with Industry Titan's Cash Flows?" The name of the article hits too close to home.

An anvil sits on top of my chest and my stomach roils as I scroll through the news articles on my phone while waiting for my driver to pick me up and take me to the airport for my trip back home to New York City.

They're not wrong. This IPO means life or death for Fleur Twilight. The economy is in the pits and people are more careful with how they're spending their hard-earned money. Nightclubs tend to be one of the first items they cut from their budget. Fleur Twilight is still profitable, but with the way it's burning through cash to maintain our signature bespoke, luxurious experience, it won't be for long.

"Prince of USA's Impeccable Reputation Carrying Upcoming IPO Plans."

My tie feels like a noose around my neck as a sticky heat crawls up my face and muscles bunch in my shoulders.

Unimpeachable reputation. Unblemished. Face of the family. Hundreds of years of history.

It all falls on me, the reluctant pawn in the game of chess I'm playing.

I can't escape.

The silence in my condo is deafening. Letting out a deep sigh, I stride toward the full-length mirror by the door and take in my appearance.

Carefully arranged hair, the brown so dark, it's almost black, and steely-gray eyes. Classic Anderson traits. Slight under eye shadows that can't be helped with all the work I have to do remotely for the family business and for the university. Perfectly tailored suit from France, the dark navy offset by thin black pinstripes. An expertly knotted tie.

Perfection. Faultless.

All lies.

The flush from minutes ago darkens and I resist the urge to tear off my tie, throw something at the walls, and let the scream bottling up inside me finally rip out of my lungs.

Family first. Everything else second. You can't be so selfish.

The thin, jagged scar on my right eyebrow flashes in pain and I wince. My fingers tremble as I lightly touch the evidence of the carelessness of my youth.

The price of freedom.

The sun was bright that day, its golden rays highlighting the lush green trees on the Adirondack Mountains. I jumped over a fallen log, a fiery buzz in my veins. I couldn't have cared less about the beauty of the forest. It could have been barren for all I cared.

Dad chuckled as he walked a hundred feet ahead of us. It was a rare long weekend when he didn't have to work. He wanted some manly bonding time with his two eldest sons before we headed off to college. Maxwell grumbled behind me, muttering some nonsense about how he preferred to stay home and paint or hang out with his girlfriend, Sydney, instead.

Stay home when you could run free in the woods, taste freedom on your tongue, and feel like you'd conquered the world?What a load of bullshit.

"Stop complaining, bro. I just made my first kill, Maxwell. My first! And what did I tell you? This detour is so much better than the main trail. Aren't you glad you guys listened to me instead of going on the same boring route again? The game is so much better here."

"It's a pigeon. Don't get your panties in a twist. And trails are there for a reason. They're boring because they're safe."

I rolled my eyes and whirled around to face my twin and best friend, all the while walking backwards without a care in the world. "God, you act like you're eighty sometimes. At least I hunted something. What did you get, nothing? What's the gun on your belt for? Decoration?"

"I prefer to capture nature on canvas, not actually kill nature," he deadpanned.

"God, how did we even share a womb?" I muttered while trudging backwards.

I whistled some song I heard classmates talking about in eleventh grade English. I raked in a deep inhale of the sweet scent of maple and birch trees mixed with the earthiness of the damp soil. This was a high I could get used to.

A noise crinkled behind me but I barely noticed, my mind still reliving the excitement of firing the shot from the rifle and feeling the satisfaction of the bullet hitting the pigeon. It was nothing I had ever experienced before.

This exhilaration. This freedom. This other side of me I never knew I had.

I found myself wishing I packed my philosophy books with me. If I could have curled up on the wicker chair in front of the lodge with my books, life would have been perfect.

Suddenly, I heard a loud thumping behind me.

"Look out, Ryland!" Maxwell screamed, his eyes widening in terror.

I frown, and mouthed, "What?"

Maxwell charged forward, his eyes taking on a determined glint, and in that moment, it was like seeing myself in a mirror. Even though we weren't identical twins, but the piercing gray pools, the harsh cheekbones, the furrowed brows, were all features I recognized in myself.

Within seconds, he barreled into me, tackling me to the ground in a half twist and a sharp pain exploded in my eye, radiating to the rest of my face, taking the literal breath out of my lungs.

"What the fuck—"

"Oh my God!" My father's harsh yell sounded so far away.

Maxwell laid above me as another weight landed on top of us, and he released a guttural groan. I gasped when I saw a wild boar lodging its tusks into Maxwell's side as my brother fought to cover me with his own body.

"Maxwell!" I gasped, and the boar snarled before Maxwell wheezed and twisted his free hand, somehow holding a gun, and finally pulled the trigger.

The boom echoed among the trees and burrowed straight into my heart. Maxwell collapsed on top of me as the boar fell over sideways. I heard Dad's pounding footsteps as he tried to reach us as fast as he could.

I rolled out from under my brother, my eyes widening when I saw the warm, sticky crimson liquid on my hands.

Maxwell's blood.

No. No. No.

Maxwell coughed, his face as pale as a sheet of paper, and I ripped the hem of my favorite gray Metallica T-shirt and pressed it over his wound, my heart pounding, clamoring for its womb mate.

"Please, please. Maxwell. Stay with us. Please. Oh my God," I chanted repeatedly under my breath as Maxwell grabbed my hand.

"Ryland, you okay? It didn't get you, did it?" He groaned and his eyes took on a wet sheen.

Shaking my head, I pressed on his wound, watching the blood seep through the shirt. "I-I'm okay. Hang in there, Maxwell. Hold on, help is coming."

"Couldn't let my favorite brother get mauled by a wild pig," he whispered, his dark hair pressed against his sweaty forehead. "I'm fucking cursed, anyway. Better me than you."

"You asshole. Don't you dare. Fuck the curse. Maybe it's me that's cursed. We're twins, after all."

Maxwell wheezed in half-laughter, half-pain. "Seven minutes. I'm older than you by seven minutes, so the damn curse is mine. Don't you dare forget it. My life is not my own, so this is probably the most heroic thing I could've done…and you would've done the same thing for me."

He trembled on the ground and his eyes rolled to the back of his head before his body fell still.

"No!" I screamed. "Maxwell! Stay with us, please."

Dad reached us and barked out instructions into his satellite phone as I helplessly watched my twin bleeding on the ground, a pool of dark red staining the damp earth underneath him. Shaking my head, I pressed harder on the wound, my mind in chaos, my body swept up in bone-chilling fear.

A crimson river suddenly flooded my eye, and I winced from the belated flash of pain. My fingers trembled as I touched my face, feeling a deep gash on my right eyebrow.

I should've paid attention to where I was going.

I should've been more careful.

I should've stayed on the trail, followed the plan.

Freedom always comes at a price.

The thought echoes in my mind as I trace the faint scar on my eyebrow, the streak of pale skin almost invisible from far away. After all, it has been almost twenty years ago.

The scar is a reminder of the steep price to pay when you go off the beaten path. My path is with my family, toiling away in the family business, not in the wild, not in academia, not in anything else.

Ping.

I glance down, noting my driver's text stating he has arrived.

A ball forms in my throat and I take one last look at my reflection before walking out the front door without a backward glance.