She steps into the hallway.
Sadie.
Chapter 3
Sadie
If nerves were visible, mine would be a frantic flock beating against my ribs.
The velvet curtain at my back is cool and heavy, brushing my knees like it’s trying to nudge me forward—or swallow me whole.
Either seems possible.
I shouldn’t be here.
If I made a list of Places Cassadie Hart Should Never Show Her Face, an auction for companionship in a remote Montana town would be item number three—right after anywhere without a backexit and anyplace crowded enough that I can’t watch every angle.
But this place, this auction, is my way out. Because I’m out of money. Out of options. Out of places to hide.
A girl with a criminal empire on her heels can’t be picky.
I smooth my hands down the thrift-store dress I bought with the last of the cash in the trunk of the car I escaped in—a soft tealthing that fits almost right if I hold my breath. It’s simple and modest and trying its best.
The cardigan around my shoulders is the same one I wore to late-night cramming sessions at vet school. The cuffs are pilled. One elbow thinning. But it feels like a piece of the life I almost had once.
I tug it tighter even though the stage lights are warm.
My hair is brushed but not styled. My makeup is Dollar Store mascara and shaky-handed concealer. I don’t look glamorous. I look like I’m pretending not to be terrified.
Which, to be fair, is exactly what I’m doing.
This auction isn’t about romance. It’s about survival. It’s my last chance to find somewhere—someone—safe enough to breathe.
The stagehand lifts a finger. My cue.
My stomach drops. My pulse tries to make a break for it.
How did Shay do this?
Shay O’Riordan—now Sutton—the girl I once studied with, who somehow ended up selling herself at this auction a year ago.
Last month, when I arrived in Montana out of breath and out of options, I messaged her.
I need help. Please.
Four words. No context.
She replied almost instantly, like someone who knows the shape of fear.
Sadie? Hey. I’m here. I’ve got you. Are you somewhere safe to talk?
She didn’t ask for details. Didn’t pry. Maybe she didn’t need to. Girls who grow up with ghosts recognize each other on sight.
I refused to bring danger to her family’s door. So she gave me one name:
Marlie.
The woman who changed her life. The conduit to Havenridge. The reason Shay got her fresh start.
