The air in the Howien estate always smelled of rain and expensive sandalwood, a sharp contrast to the cold, sterile tension between its inhabitants. Aries Howien sat by the floor-to-ceiling window, tracing the jagged path of a lightning bolt with a scalpel she'd "borrowed" from her father's medical kit.
She didn't care for dolls or dresses. She cared for heartbeats—specifically, how they fluttered when she entered a room.
The door creaked open. Arab Hengly, her step-brother of three years, leaned against the frame. He was the only person who didn't flinch when she looked at him with those vacant, wide eyes. Perhaps it was because his own soul was just as fractured.
The Unspoken Bond
"You're late, Arab," Aries whispered, not turning around. "I was starting to think of ways to find you."
Arab smirked, tossing a blood-red rose onto her lap. The thorns hadn't been stripped. "I had to handle the gardener. He saw you looking at the neighbor's dog with that... expression. I told him he should retire early. For his own safety."
Aries finally looked at him. Her beauty was ethereal, almost angelic, which made the darkness behind her gaze even more jarring. Arab was his own brand of dangerous—calculated, charming, and utterly devoted to the girl the rest of the world called a monster
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