Chapter 6

Vivienne slammed into the floor. The frame she'd been clutching to her chest flew out of her arms.

It hit stone. Glass exploded. Her mother's photograph was sliced across the face.

Everything in her went slack. She stared for a second without breathing, then lunged for the picture through the glass shards. Killian caught her and held her back, wrapping his arms around her, pressing panicked kisses into her hair.

"Vivi. Stop, you'll cut yourself. I promise the photograph will be okay."

She thrashed. "Let me go. It's the only picture I have left of her. It's mine—"

He grabbed her bloody hands. "Stop moving. You're bleeding."

Behind them, Celeste had crouched and was reaching into the broken glass herself—for the photograph.

Her hand came away bleeding.

Killian dropped Vivienne. He was across the room in an instant, grabbing Celeste's palm. "Cece—you're bleeding."

Celeste's voice was small, full of regret. "I'm so sorry, sister. Your mother was so beautiful. I wanted to keep her picture by my bed, to honor her. I didn't mean any harm."

Vivienne stared at her. What kindness did her mother owe these people? They had stolen her father. And now they wanted her mother's photograph on their nightstand?

Her mother, if she could see this, would break.

Julian was already on the phone for the family doctor. Celeste waved him off with a brave smile. "It's nothing. A little blood. As long as the photograph's okay."

They all huddled around Celeste, asking if it hurt. Vivienne knelt alone on the floor and picked up a single photograph drenched in blood. An old paper print, her mother's face stained red.

The way her mother had looked when she died. Vivienne had woken up in the wreckage tucked into her mother's body, and her mother's face had been red, red, red.

Her hands shook. She passed out from pure rage.

Before she blacked out she saw them rushing toward her, alarmed. She watched it through thinning eyes and felt nothing.

When she woke Celeste was at her bedside wearing an apology like perfume. The words, as always, didn't match.

"Sister. I really didn't mean it. You're not angry with me, are you?"

Vivienne didn't answer. Celeste stopped bothering with the act. She smiled, stirring Vivienne's medicine.

"Sister. Look how easy it is to replace someone. This is only the beginning. Everyone who used to love you will love me instead."

"Julian, Killian—they're all going to be mine."

Vivienne kept staring at the ceiling.

Celeste laughed. "Do you want to know why Julian turned on you overnight?"

Vivienne turned her head slowly. Was there something she had missed? Something she could fix? She would fix it.

"Why?"

Celeste kept stirring. "I hired a psychic. Told him you have a dark aura. That you bring death. That your mother died because of you. He believed it."

Vivienne's chest hollowed out. So that was it. An offhand line from a psychic, and her brother had taken it as gospel. Of course he had kept his distance. Of course.

She closed her eyes.

Killian came to see her a few times. He sat on the edge of her bed, repeating himself: "Vivi. The doctor says you're running on pure nerves. Don't take it so hard."

"Celeste only went for the photograph because she cares. I know you don't like that she's Delphine's daughter. But if you got to know her, you'd see she's kind."

When he said photograph, Vivienne finally moved. He leaned down and kissed her temple. "Julian took the picture to have it cleaned. I have to go to the office. I'll come back."

Julian came at dusk. He was holding the photograph. The cleaning hadn't worked. Her mother's face was a smear.

"Celeste tried her best. It was already damaged."

Vivienne looked at it for a long time. "Throw it away."

Julian gripped the frame, startled. "Vivienne. This is the photo Celeste almost lost a hand for."

If it weren't for Celeste, the photo would still be whole. Vivienne didn't bother saying it.

What she said instead was quieter. "Julian. You think I killed Mom, don't you?"

The silence was answer enough.

She remembered her mother's funeral. Aunts had whispered that it was too convenient Vivienne had survived, that maybe she had cursed her mother into the grave. Julian—seventeen then—had lost his temper. He had cut off relatives over it. He had held her and told her, again and again, "Don't listen to them. It was an accident. You are the most important person in my life, forever."

The memory belonged to someone else.

Richard walked in. His face was black. "You can't be out of the house for a day without starting a war. When will you learn to behave like Celeste?"

Vivienne let him finish.

"I'm moving out."

Her mother had left her a small production company—Ashford Media, a boutique label. She couldn't stay here anymore.

Julian's face twitched. "Vivi. Your company—I've given it to Celeste to run for the time being. For experience."