Chapter 5

The room erupted.

Every pair of eyes in the place turned to me — and the look in them was strange.

I lowered my gaze. Here we went again. Another situation where I'd end up the villain because of Celeste Pemberton, no matter what I said.

Julian Ashford's timing, as always, was impeccable.

Celeste had been burned for maybe thirty seconds when he burst through the door. His face was so cold it was frightening.

"Sparrow." His voice didn't rise above a murmur, which was worse. "I thought you meant it the other day. I thought you actually wanted me to be happy with Celeste."

Celeste was slumped half-unconscious against his chest, half-sobbing with pain. The burn was spread across her collarbone and shoulder — wide, angry, red. Another inch and it would have caught her face.

I laughed. I couldn't help it.

It was admiration, in a way. The girl had just poured boiling soup on herself to frame me. Who does that?

But to Julian, my laugh was the laugh of a woman who'd gotten away with something.

He crossed the room in three long strides and caught my wrist.

Tess moved to stop him and was too slow.

He twisted.

The pain came in a white flare. My hand bent the wrong way — a small, wrong, impossible angle.

Broken. He'd broken my wrist.

I locked my jaw so hard I could hear my own teeth grinding. I would not make a sound in front of him. I would not.

Tess was screaming.

"Julian, you are out of your mind. You're going to defend this — this manipulative little — "

She spun around the room.

"Who here — right now — is willing to stand up and swear they saw Vera pour that soup on her? Anyone?"

Nobody moved. Nobody even raised their head. No one in this circle would stick their neck out for me. They'd rather let the Ashford heir break my arm than get involved.

Julian didn't look at them.

"I don't know Celeste that well," he said, quiet and cold, eyes locked on Tess. "But I know Vera."

I pulled Tess back and walked up to him myself.

"What is it you know about me, Julian?"

He didn't answer.

"That I'm cruel? That I'm heartless?"

He'd thrown those words at me a thousand times, in my first life. I'd memorized them.

His eyes hardened. "Aren't you?"

I shook my head. I looked over at Celeste, tear-tracked and trembling in his arms.

If my hand hadn't been broken I would have applauded her.

Applauded him, too. The great Julian Ashford. Spending his whole life worshipping a woman like that.

I was curious, suddenly, about something.

I wondered — if one day Julian ever saw Celeste Pemberton for what she actually was — would he regret what he was doing right now?

The private physician arrived within minutes.

Julian had him bandage Celeste. He ignored me entirely, even though I was sweating through my dress from the pain.

He wasn't going to let this go. Not tonight. He meant to teach me a lesson.

He had someone posted at the door. No one left until I apologized.

Then he walked over to me and did something I hadn't seen him do in a decade. He reached out and brushed his knuckles along my cheek — the same soft, brotherly gesture from when we were children.

But his eyes weren't soft. They were black. Cold. Something ugly underneath.

"Sparrow. Has the Ashford family spoiled you so much that you think you can do whatever you like?"

He sounded almost gentle.

"Let me teach you how this works. When you hurt someone, you apologize."

He wanted me to apologize to Celeste.

I made a quiet, disgusted sound in my throat.

"Go ahead and break the other wrist, Julian. I don't care. Vera Harrington doesn't apologize for things she didn't do. Not if you kill me for it."

The silence that followed was very long.