Micheal returned to his room as if fleeing from an invisible enemy. He was visibly flustered, Magda's clumsy, drunken attempts at seduction leaving him shaken.
He almost gave in, but restrained himself when the memory of his vision struck him—it was his unborn children that caused Magda's death.
Magda would have been shocked if she had seen her elegant, composed husband now disheveled and unravelled, gasping for air after slamming the door shut.
He had just begun to calm down when two sharp, familiar eyes emerged from the dimly lit corner of the room. Micheal froze as the blood drained from his face. Ethan stepped forward, his smirk dripping with amusement.
"Finally, little brother," Ethan drawled, his tone laced with mockery. "Discovered the joys of being a man, have we? Or are you still pretending that ignoring your wife makes you some sort of saint?"
Micheal's face flushed a deeper crimson as he turned sharply, his gaze fixed anywhere but on Ethan. "What are you doing here?" he snapped, the sharpness in his voice betraying his embarrassment.
Ethan strolled casually toward the chaise, draped in Micheal's silk pajamas. "Fredrick sent me here, remember? Something about bonding, saving space. And you—ever the obedient little brother—agreed." He tugged at the sleeve of the luxurious fabric. "Honestly, it feels like being an adolescent again, mother doting over me. These…" he gestured lazily, "remind me of home. But I stopped indulging in such luxuries after the academy."
Micheal stiffened as memories of Fredrick drunkenly assigning Ethan to his room resurfaced. He had accepted the arrangement eagerly to separate Ethan from Vivian.
Now, however, he cursed his decision.
"I need to wash up," Micheal muttered, clutching his winter jacket tightly.
Beneath the thick fabric, his shameful arousal persisted, a reminder of Magda's touch. The thought of Ethan noticing was unbearable.
But Ethan's sharp eyes caught every detail. As an aura user, the heat radiating off Micheal made his embarrassment glaringly obvious.
Ethan's smirk widened as he stepped into Micheal's path.
"Coming back from Magda's room, are we?" Ethan teased, his tone laced with mock innocence. "Let me guess, she's finally had enough of your saintly act and decided to… take matters into her own hands?"
Micheal's grip on his jacket tightened. "Mind your own business, brother," he retorted, his voice taut. "Unlike you, I am a man of propriety."
Ethan laughed, the sound sharp and cutting. "Propriety? Is that what you call hiding behind this ridiculous façade of a platonic sibling relationship? Either you're her husband or you're not. Stop pretending to be some paragon of virtue and consummate the damn marriage."
Micheal bristled, his composure slipping. "You don't know what you're talking about," he snapped.
Ethan's smirk turned cruel as he gestured toward Micheal's jacket.
"Oh, I know exactly what I'm talking about. Tell me, little brother, are you carrying a cucumber in your pocket, or is that awkward shuffle just the Altona air getting to you?" He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And just so we're clear, I know that's not for me."
Micheal's face burned hotter, his words faltering. "You…"
Ethan reached out, adjusting Micheal's collar with mock care. "You forget, Micheal, I practically raised you. You can't lie to me."
"And this," he said, gesturing vaguely at the sweat soaking through Micheal's winter jacket, "smells like desperation. It's no wonder every woman in Altona is throwing themselves at you lately. You're practically radiating the scent of longing like a bull elephant in musth. Take a bath before you incite a stampede."
Micheal's jaw tightened as Ethan's words cut deeper. "You're out of line," he hissed. "Magda deserves better than being reduced to… to…"
"To what?" Ethan interrupted, his tone icy. "A wife? That's what she is, Micheal. Unless, of course, you'd rather the rumors about your unconsummated marriage continue. Or worse, you want her to feel like she's not enough for you?"
The words hit their mark, and Micheal's composure finally cracked. "And is that how you treat Dame Vivian?" he shot back, his voice sharp with indignation. "Do you tease her like this? Push her into submission because you can't handle your own feelings?"
Ethan's smirk faltered for a split second, the mention of Vivian striking a nerve. Micheal seized the moment, stepping closer. "If that's how you handle things, I pity you, brother. You're not half the man you pretend to be."
Ethan's face darkened, his playful demeanor evaporating.
"Leave Vivian out of this," he warned, his voice low and dangerous. "It's one thing to make fun of your brother, but don't ruin an innocent woman's life by gossiping."
Micheal's sharp blue eyes glinted as he raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion. "Did you forget what happened the night before Flora's wedding? Or are you conveniently avoiding it?"
Ethan's brow furrowed, genuine confusion flashing across his face. "What are you talking about?"
Micheal's tone turned theatrically sympathetic, laced with barely veiled irritation. "Ah, it seems Dame Vivian is better at hiding the truth than I thought. Or perhaps you're just playing dumb to avoid responsibility. Which is it, brother?"
Ethan stiffened, his confusion shifting to unease. Fragments of that night resurfaced: falling asleep in a chair, waking up tucked in, and the faint scent of blood. He'd dismissed it as exhaustion, but Micheal's words clawed at his composure.
Sensing the turmoil, Micheal stepped closer, his voice soft but biting. "Go easy on Dame Vivian tomorrow, brother," he said, placing a hand firmly on his brother's shoulder.
"The poor woman's body was covered in aura burns. Do you even remember what you did?"
Ethan's breath hitched as Micheal's words struck like a hammer.
A vivid image flashed unbidden: Vivian on his lap, her torso bare, her hair disheveled, half-lidded emerald eyes gazing up at him.
The memory stole the air from his lungs. He stumbled back, his hand covering his mouth as though he could stop further revelations.
"Your aura was mixed with hers," Micheal continued, his smirk sharpening.
"It was quite a revelation to find that out. Next time, brother, perhaps think ahead—unless you want to be holding a newborn this time next year."
Ethan's fists clenched, fury flashing in his eyes as he raised his hand.
But Micheal, his patience frayed, met him head-on. Their auras collided in a spark of tension, and Ethan froze, his shock rippling as he slowly lowered his hand.
"I… I'm sorry," Ethan muttered, the weight of his reaction sinking in.
Micheal leaned in, his voice a dangerous murmur. "Tell me, brother, is that reaction for me or for your frenemy?"
Ethan glared, but the fire in his anger dimmed, replaced by a gnawing unease. Micheal shoved him backward, and Ethan slumped into the nearest chair, his thoughts spiraling in turmoil.
The fragments of memory clawed at him, doubt churning relentlessly.
Was it true?
Had he been the one to hurt Vivian?
He recalled the faint scent of blood at Flora's wedding and the fury he'd felt for whoever had harmed her. But if it had been him… what then?
His mind circled to Vivian's aura. Her extraordinary healing meant she could recover from most injuries within minutes—unless her attacker was vastly stronger. The only ones in Altona capable of such harm were Fredrick or himself.
And Fredrick… wouldn't have sought another woman on the eve of his wedding.
Ethan's composed facade shattered further as the realization sank deeper. Micheal's gaze lingered for a moment, then he turned on his heel, his expression unreadable.
"I'm going to take a bath," he said lightly, his tone carrying a cold finality. "A cold one. You should try it sometime."
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Ethan alone in the heavy silence, his thoughts an inescapable storm.