King of Sloth (Kings of Sin #4) by Ana Huang

An invisible anchor dragged my heart through my stomach. No. “I did a test run to see how everything would look,” Xavier said. “But I thought I heard a noise in another room, and I got distracted. I accidentally knocked one of the candles over.” His eyes were bleak. “I tried to put it out, but there was wood and cardboard everywhere. The fire spread too quickly, and I got trapped. Luckily, we didn’t have a lot of staff back then, just a housekeeper. She was outside checking the mail, and when she saw the flames, she called the fire department. But my mom came home right then, and when she found out I was inside, she didn’t wait for the firefighters. She ran in and pulled me out. We almost made it to the front door before a beam fell and trapped us again. I don’t remember much of what happened after that. I passed out from too much smoke inhalation. When I woke up, I was outside with the medics. I survived. She didn’t.”

I didn’t think; I just reached out and closed my hand around his, wishing I could do something, anything, except listen helplessly.

“My father rushed home when he heard the news. I don’t think he truly believed my mother, his wife, was gone until he saw her body. And when he did…I’d never heard anyone cry like that. Sometimes, I can still hear it. It was almost inhuman.” Xavier brushed his fingers over the pocket watch, his expression taut. “He loved my mother more than anyone else in the world. They’d met in college, the aspiring businessman and the heiress who fell in love with his charm, his ambition, his loyalty. She was the reason why he worked so hard to build the Castillo Group, and when she died, a part of him died with her.”

Xavier lifted his head again, his gaze clouded with decades-old anguish. “He blamed me. After her funeral, he told me he wished I were the one who’d died instead of her. He was drunk at the time. Really drunk. But I’ve never forgotten those words. The truth always comes out when our inhibitions come down.”

I couldn’t breathe through the knots in my chest.

I had a shitty family, but I couldn’t imagine a parent saying that to their child. Xavier had been ten. He’d been just a kid.

“The thing is, I didn’t blame him,” he said. “Not at first. It was my fault. If I hadn’t been stupid enough to light that one damn candle, there wouldn’t have been a fire, and my mother would still be alive. But the older I got, the more I…” Xavier faltered. “I don’t know. I got angry too. Anger was easier to swallow than guilt, and my father was right there, taking his rage out on me. Physically, mentally, emotionally. He still wanted me to take over the company because he had no other choice. I was his only heir. But outside of that obligation, he hated me, and I hated him back.” He tapped a tattoo on his bicep. It featured the family crest for the Castillos’ biggest rival and had set social media ablaze when he first got it. “One year, I came home with this, and I left with scars.”

My stomach roiled at his matter-of-fact tone.

“My father was the only parent I had left,” Xavier said. “It should’ve brought us closer, but it drove us apart. Every time we were together, we were reminded of who was missing, and it hurt too much. So we lashed out in our different ways, and by the time I graduated college, I was done. I didn’t want anything to do with him or the company—except when it came to money. It doesn’t reflect well on me, but it’s the truth.”

Heavy silence descended, punctuated by the soft burble of water and faint music from inside the hotel.

Xavier stared at where my hand rested over his, a thousand emotions passing over his face before he shook his head.

“I’m sorry.” He let out a rueful laugh. “This was supposed to be a beautiful dinner, and I dragged you into the most morbid conversation possible.” He tried to pull his hand away, but I stopped him with a firmer grip.

He’d been there for me at the hospital, in Spain after my father’s email, and in a dozen other situations and ways he didn’t know mattered as much as they did.

It was my turn to be there for him.

“This is a beautiful dinner. Coconut puffs are the way to my heart,” I said, earning myself a shadow of a smile. “But before I say what I’m about to say, I want you to know two things. One, I’m terrible at comforting people. I have no talent or desire to do so, and tears make me uncomfortable. Two, I hate platitudes. They’re fake and stupid. So I want you to listen carefully when I say this: It wasn’t your fault. You were a kid, and it was an accident.” I squeezed his hand, wishing I could imprint my sincerity into his skin because I meant every word. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Xavier’s eyes gleamed bright and turbulent. Playboy, heir, hedonist, flirt—those masks were gone, leaving only the man in their place. Raw in his vulnerability, flawed in many ways, and marred by cracks and bruises beneath a deceptively polished façade.

I looked at him, and I’d never seen anyone more beautiful.

His hand curled around mine and squeezed. Just once. Just enough to jump start a piece of my heart I’d never known existed. Then the cracks sealed, the bruises faded, and he stood, withdrawing his hand from mine to pull his shirt over his head.

I was so thrown by the sudden shift in atmosphere that I didn’t find my voice until he was halfway to the pool. “What are you doing?”