Chapter 9

His pupils trembled. The panic he had been holding down broke loose. He called her. Straight to voicemail. Called again. And again.

He ran for Julian. Julian's number was blocked too. Every channel between them and her was dead.

Killian's lips went white. "Julian—is she angry about what's online? Did she see it?"

Julian didn't answer. He was staring at his own phone, unsteady on his feet.

"Killian. You need to see this."

Killian looked over Julian's shoulder.

Security footage from inside Blackwell. Vivienne strapped to a metal chair, her wrists bound, being shocked over and over. Her body convulsing. Her screams hitting the microphone.

Her voice, raw: "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I was wrong. Please. Please—"

A man kicking her in the ribs, laughing. "Not quite there yet, sweetheart. Miss Ashford said we were supposed to really host you."

Killian's vision went red. Every vein in his forehead stood out. He wanted to go through the screen and kill every man on it.

He couldn't. He could only watch.

The whole time, Julian had thought Vivienne had done a cushy stretch at a country club. He had never imagined this.

He thought back to the morning Vivienne had been released. He had been the one dressed and ready to drive to Blackwell with Killian. Richard had stopped him.

"Vivi has always been impossible with Celeste. Celeste has finally settled in. If we all run out there, Vivi will make another scene. Let her learn a lesson. Don't go."

Julian had agreed. He had thought, yes, Celeste was the gentle one. Vivienne needed a wake-up call.

Now in front of him was the opposite of everything he had believed. Celeste wasn't gentle. Celeste had been paying guards to torture his sister in that room.

And there was more. The supposed stabbing had been staged by Celeste herself.

An audio file. Celeste's voice, laughing. "I want you to help me put on a show. Stab me. Then tell them my sister hired you. When it's over you'll get three hundred thousand."

A man's voice, surprised. "But she's your own sister."

Celeste, cold: "That's exactly the point. She's been spoiled her whole life. Time for my precious sister to see the world."

"Once she's inside—Killian, Julian, every one of them is going to be mine."

Julian's hands shook so hard he could barely hold the phone.

He remembered Vivienne the night they sent her to Blackwell. Her face white as paper. Her eyes empty. He remembered hating the sight of her. His own sister.

He had been her ruin. He had selected those men for Blackwell himself.

He flashed back to their mother on the stretcher, blood soaking through the sheet, cupping his face with a ruined hand. "Julian. I won't see you grown. You're the big brother. Take care of her."

He had sworn it. Seventeen years old, sobbing. "I'll protect her. I swear."

And now. He had done less than nothing. He had listened to Celeste and told himself his mother had died because of his own sister.

Killian had been reading all of it. His face had gone to stone.

He met Julian's eye.

"Celeste," he said, biting down on every syllable, "is going to pay for this."

Celeste was oblivious. She was onstage in a couture gown, in front of hundreds of guests. Her mother and her father beamed up at her. Richard took the mic, beaming.

"This is my long-lost elder daughter."

The room rustled. People who hadn't known whispered to people who had. Didn't the Ashfords only have one daughter? Wasn't that Vivienne?

Onstage, Celeste's smile faltered for a second as she registered the name she would never be rid of. Then she smoothed it out. Fine. The Ashford name, the father, everything Vivienne had ever owned, would be hers.

The guests had assumed tonight was some sort of debut for Vivienne. They were confused.

Richard explained that Celeste was his daughter with Delphine from years ago. In a single breath he converted her from illegitimate child to eldest daughter of the Ashford house.

"Congratulations, Richard," someone began, leading the applause. "A daughter! Wonderful news."

Celeste was radiant—until Julian and Killian walked into the ballroom with faces like hurricanes. Julian's voice cut the room in half.

"I don't consent to this."

Richard's smile broke. Celeste went stiff. Delphine lost color.

Richard tried to recover. "And why not? She's your sister too. You can't play favorites."

Celeste rallied, wounded already. "Killian—Julian—did my sister say something? I don't know what I did wrong—"

She started to cry. Killian didn't even blink. "You know exactly what you did."

Her stomach dropped. She caught her mother's eye.

Richard was already furious. "What has Vivienne done now? I knew we shouldn't have let her out."

Delphine patted his arm. "You know how dramatic that girl gets. Don't let her upset you."

Julian's face was pure ice. "Father. Please watch this."

Behind them, the projection that had been scrolling through Celeste's glamour shots cut to black—and then to Vivienne strapped to a chair in Blackwell, convulsing under electrodes.

Celeste screamed. "Daddy—that isn't real—someone is setting me up—they're faking it—"

Richard's smile locked on his face, and then slid off. He was watching a girl who looked exactly like Seraphina being tortured. His face went gray.

The footage kept rolling—meetings, wire transfers, Celeste laughing with a hired man.

Delphine grabbed Richard's arm. "Richard. Celeste is sweet. She couldn't. This is deepfake. They're trying to ruin her."

She was practically screaming. Celeste sobbed. "Dad. How could I do this to my sister? They're setting me up."

Richard stared at the screen. His chest had gone cold.

The projection switched. Delphine and Celeste, caught on a hidden mic.

Delphine, years ago: "Seraphina stole my man and left us rotting in Europe for a decade. Too bad she died young. He's back to us now."

Delphine, stroking Celeste's head, smug: "That bitch took everything from us. Now you take everything from her little bitch. Fair's fair."

Celeste, teenage, eager: "So I can move on Vivienne?"

Delphine, indulgent: "Do whatever you want with her. Just don't leave a body."