For a moment, we say nothing. The silence is heavy—thick with all the years of control her aunt has exerted over her, all the fear she’s lived under, all the ways she was forced to bend until she broke.
Then—
Three sharp knocks rattle the door.
Kamiyah jumps.
I stand so fast the blood rushes to my head. “Stay here.” With everything that’s happened and the emotional toll it’s taking on Kamiyah, and my need to protect her, her nerves are heightened, expecting threats at every turn.
For a brief second panic flares across her face. “Are you expecting someone?”
I shake my head. I rarely entertained before, but since my child’s…entertaining people is non-existent. I look through the peephole and my eyes widen. “It’s Priscilla.”
“Caden, she wouldn’t come here—she wouldn’t.”
Oh, yes.
She would.
And she has.
The pounding on the door comes again. It’s clipped and carries the kind of entitlement only a Remington could weaponize. I straighten. Where is my concierge? My penthouse isn’t a place people barge into. And no one—no one—comes here demanding access.
“Kamiyah Remington,” the voice snaps. “I know you’re in there.”
I meet Kamiyah’s wide eyes. “You stay put.” I grip the handle, and pull it open with deliberate calm.
Priscilla stands in the hall in a blood-red scarf loosely draping her shoulders and pearls large enough to choke on. Her hair is tightly pinned on the top of her head and her jasmine perfume tickles my nose.
“Sorry Mr. West,” my concierge says from across the hall. “I tried to stop them.” His face pales. “And her chauffeur wouldn’t let me call up.”
“It’s all right,” I assure the older man. “Go about your duties.” I dismiss him before cupping my focus back to my unwanted guest.
She doesn’t look at me at first. Instead, she looks past me—searching for her niece. When Priscilla finally raises her gaze to mine, she smiles in the way snakes probably do before striking. Her voice is chilly. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Then you’re already having a bad night,” I reply.
“But of course Kamiyah won’t come to the door and fight her own battles.” Her jaw ticks. “I’m here for my niece.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You’re interfering in family matters you don’t understand. If you don’t want me coming after you, she’ll stop her silly little tantrum and her petition to revoke my conservatorship and return home where she belongs.”
I still at the threat, because in my experience, threats are a weakness, an attempt to excerpt control. But her eyes light up, as if declaring victory. “Your niece is not your property.”
She tilts her head, amused. “Everything she has, everything she is, exists because of me.”
I step forward, lowering my voice. “Not you. Every scarp of wealth she inherited is because of her parents. It’s too bad they trusted you with their children’s wellbeing. As for your claim that Kamiyah isn’t capable of handling her own affairs, it’s baseless. And illegal. And you know it. That’s why you’re dangling Anna in her face like a pawn.”
“You can fight the inevitable,” she says lightly, “but you won’t win.”
“Watch me.”
“Move aside,” she orders.
“No,” I say, then watch her eyes flash angrily, probably because she’s no use to being challenged directly. But I’ve never been good at bowing. I lower my voice, letting steel edge my next words. “You’re on my property, uninvited, and harassing a guest. That ends now.”
“She’s my responsibility.”
