The message burned on Sara's phone screen.
He's lying to you. About his mother. About who really killed her. Ask him the truth before you die for him.
Sara stared at the words, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.
Adrian stood beside her, watching her face. "Sara? What is it?"
She looked up at him. At this man she loved. This man she had trusted with her life, her brother, her future.
"Who killed your mother?" she asked quietly.
Adrian's face went pale. "What?"
"Someone just sent me a message. They said you're lying about your mother's death. They said I should ask you the truth."
Adrian reached for her phone. She let him take it.
He read the message. His jaw tightened. His hands shook—actually shook.
"Sara, I can explain—"
"Then explain." Her voice was steady, but inside she was crumbling. "Tell me the truth, Adrian. No more secrets. No more lies. If we're going to walk into that church tomorrow, I need to know who I'm walking in with."
Adrian closed his eyes for a long moment.
When he opened them, they were wet.
He led her to the study. To the photograph on his dresser—the woman with kind eyes.
"My mother," he said quietly. "Elena Volkov. She was the only good thing in my childhood."
Sara nodded, waiting.
"My father... he was cruel. Violent. He hurt people for fun. He hurt my mother most of all."
Adrian's voice cracked.
"I was fifteen when I killed him."
Sara's breath caught. "You told me you killed him three years later. When you were eighteen."
Adrian shook his head slowly. "That's what I told everyone. That's what I told Dimitri. But the truth..." He swallowed hard. "The truth is worse."
He turned to face her.
"I came home from school. I heard shouting. I ran to their room. My father had my mother by the throat. He was choking her. Her face was purple. She was dying."
Sara's hand flew to her mouth.
"I grabbed the first thing I could find—a heavy lamp—and I hit him. Once. Twice. Three times. He let her go and turned on me. We fought. I was just a kid, Sara. I was scared. I was desperate."
Tears streamed down his face.
"He fell. Hit his head on the corner of the table. Died instantly."
Sara stared at him. "That's... that's self-defense, Adrian. That's not murder."
"I know." His voice broke. "But Dimitri didn't see it that way. He came home right after. Saw me standing over our father's body. Saw our mother on the floor, barely alive. And he decided—right then—that I had killed them both."
Sara's mind raced. "But your mother—"
"She died in the hospital three days later. The damage to her throat was too severe. She never woke up." Adrian wiped his eyes angrily. "Dimitri blamed me. Still blames me. Thinks I could have saved her if I'd acted faster. Thinks I wanted our father dead so I could take over the family."
Sara crossed the room and took his hands.
"Adrian, that's not your fault. None of it was your fault."
"I know that now. But Dimitri..." He shook his head. "Dimitri has lived with that hatred for twenty years. Nothing I say will change his mind."
Sara pulled him close, holding him tight.
"Thank you for telling me the truth."
Adrian's arms wrapped around her. "I should have told you before. I was ashamed. Ashamed of what I did. Ashamed that my own brother hates me."
"You saved your mother. You defended yourself. There's nothing to be ashamed of."
They held each other in the darkness.
Outside, the night deepened.
And somewhere, Dimitri waited.