Julian's POV
I stood in the upstairs hallway, the silence of the mansion pressing against my eardrums like a physical weight. I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the digital proofs of those engagement photos—the way Catherine's hand had looked on Dante's arm, and the way Lucy had looked at me like she finally owned the air I breathed.
I turned toward the west wing. Gabriel's wing.
I hadn't spoken to my brother since we stood in the garden for the cameras, playing the roles of the happy, successful Vaughn sons. Gabriel had been a ghost all day, moving through the motions with a hollowed-out expression that made my chest tighten with a guilt I didn't want to acknowledge.
I reached his door and didn't bother knocking. I didn't have the patience for formalities, and I certainly didn't have the temperament for a polite invitation.
