It’s not possible.
It can’t be.
Because that would mean—
“The Tate brothers,” Crispin announces, “will act as your keepers for the duration of your sentence.”
There’s a roaring in my ears as footsteps sound behind me. My eyes close as I fight to stay upright, to push away the dizziness threatening to send me toppling to the floor. It feels as though all of the air in the room has been sucked away, and it’s because ofthe three men who come to stand around me, their eyes on my face.
I canfeelthem, feel their stares like a brand on my skin.
And I know, then. Know that it’s them.
Because only three people have ever made me feel that way.
Just for a moment, hope trickles in.
Crispin said they couldn’t find a character witness.
Butthey’re here. Theycame. So maybe, just maybe…
Slowly, I open my eyes.
It takes me a few seconds for the awareness to sink in. For me to realize that these are not the boys I once knew.
And that small, final, precious piece of hope fizzles out.
Of course. Why did you think they would be any different, Anastasia?
Kit’s shoulders are broader now, even as he folds his arms, watching me silently with those unique violet eyes that feel ice cold as they bore into me. His hair brushes over his forehead in a slight curl, a raven’s wing of blue-black.
I can barely breathe. Kit. Kit ishere, and if Kit is here, then that means—
My eyes move to his twin. Identical in their facial features, yet as different as night and day. His shoulder-length wavy caramel blonde hair falls carelessly over his face, strands coming free from the cord he uses to keep it tied back. The sight of them together still makes me catch my breath. Rafe’s breathing is almost as staggered as mine, the anger in his face, in his hooded green eyes clear. If Kit is ice, then Rafe is fire, the hate in his gaze heating my skin.
I have to take a second before I can face Silas. If the twins can look at me like that, then Silas might well kill me on the spot. I push down the memories of our last meeting as I turn to him slowly. My eyes slide up… and up.
The oldest Tate brother is even bigger than I remember. He was tall then, but now he outflanks even the twins, matched only in the width of his shoulders and torso.
He looks like he could break me. Especially as he clenches his fists, my eyes trailing from the movement to his face. Deep, indigo blue stares back at me. His hair is sleek and dark, shorter than the twins. More controlled, just like the man who watches me with a hate-filled gaze.
Exactly as I last saw him.
“Hello, Anastasia,” he murmurs. “Long time, nosee.”
There is not enough air. They’ve stolen it all, every scrap of oxygen as my hand reaches for my throat.
And then my head meets the stone floor, and they’re gone.
4 – Stasi – ten years ago
“Really, Anastasia. There’s no need to look so glum.”
My mother sits across from me. Angelica Westin looks perfectly at home here, her heeled ankles crossed elegantly as she sips from a glass of champagne, courtesy of the mini refrigerator built into the limousine sent to bring us to our new home. The silk blue dress she’s wearing looks expensive. I haven’t seen her wearing it before.
Not Angelica Westin anymore, I remind myself.
And I am no longer Anastasia Westin.
