I grunt in mock irritation, turning away from the empty doorway Kamiyah fled from. “Don’t you have a few hands to shake and checks to cash?” Ethan is the facility’s fund development coordinator. Although we lost touch for years after high school, we were friends long before my mother came under the care of Haven Crest. In fact, his knowledge of the inner workings of the organization was instrumental in helping mechoose the facility during a time I didn’t trust the Remingtons. I still don’t. However, I can’t dispute the magnificent care my mother received from the staff, nor the good my donations do for those who couldn’t afford the quality of care my mother did.
Ethan narrows his eyes at me, the corner of his mouth lifting in a knowing, almost accusing smirk. “Hey? Don’t tell me you’re falling for her again.”
I force a short laugh, the kind meant to sound certain. “Not a chance. I learned my lesson.” The words taste steadier than I feel, but Ethan seems satisfied enough; he lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for both of us.
My gaze drifts toward the doorway Kamiyah disappeared through, a faint echo of her hurried footsteps still ticking in my ears. “How’s her sister doing?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
Ethan scratches his jaw. “Rough week. She had a seizure a few days ago, but she’s stable.”
A hollow thud lands in my chest. Was that the reason Kamiyah looked like she was bracing for impact? Or was it the message she refused to mention?
“The episode definitely complicates the family’s plans,” Ethan adds.
I tilt my head, studying him. “What plans?”
“It’s all hush-hush,” he murmurs, lowering his voice, “but the Remingtons are getting ready to take the facility public or sell.” He shrugs. “Honestly, I’m surprised they waited this long.”
Public. The word hits like a cold draft.
Did she know what her family planned? Did she care?
Considering her sister is still touch and go, the Kamiyah I knew would want to stay at her sister’s bedside. Perhaps her concern for Anna is a front, because the last text I saw glowing on Kamiyah’s phone wasn’t about her concern for Anna’s health at all.
It was a summons.
CHAPTER THREE
KAMIYAH
The quiet, downtown mid-morning streets, devoid of the afternoon traffic and hectic holiday shoppers, are a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing in my mind. Sitting in the back seat of the taxi, my fingers tremble as I read and reread the threatening message on my phone. It’s a simple, chilling sentence: “Come home immediately or Anna will pay the price.”
Anna is the one person my family uses to bend me to their will. The thought of harm befalling her is unthinkable when each day she struggles to survive. Because of me. The closer I get to my family’s mansion, my childhood home, the harder my heart pounds in my chest. It’s fear. The same fear that always grips me when I don’t know what my aunt and uncle’s plans are.
The road begins its winding trail to our beachfront property. Each stop sign is a signal to run in the opposite direction. The shadows cast onto the road from the overhanging branches of a tree feel like lurking danger.
My childhood home comes into view, but I don’t recognize it. There’s no joy or love here. No laughter. It’s quiet. Too quiet. And the first steps into a house I no longer belong to arecold despite the warm ocean breeze blowing through the open windows.
Taking a deep breath, I steel myself and knock before entering the library. The door swings open, revealing my aunt Priscilla sitting in the chair behind my father’s desk while my uncle Maxwell stands beside her, a glass of brandy in his hand.
“Kamiyah,” Priscilla greets, her voice smooth as silk and twice as insidious. “Please come in.”
She’s long given up pleasantries or asking after my wellbeing, and frankly, I prefer this to pretense. But I can’t deny that my heart breaks a little more at every interaction.
Priscilla waves me into the room, but I hesitate. The room smells of jasmine mingled with wood and aged books. Any trace of the familiar scent of my dad’s aftershave is long gone.
“Why am I here?” I should be visiting Anna, not playing their games. I glance toward Maxwell for any hint of what’s happening. He’s always been the more readable of the two, but with the brandy fortifying his courage, his expression is unreadable. Detached.
“Sit down, Kamiyah.” Priscilla gestures to the pair of chairs behind me.
I turn to comply and see Damian, the nephew of my aunt’s closest friend, meekly sitting in the opposite chair. He barely acknowledges me before his gaze quickly flickers away as if he wishes to be anywhere but in this room, leaving me more confused about what’s going on.
“We have a proposition for you,” Priscilla begins, her tone businesslike.
Maxwell clears his throat. “Like an opportunity, if you will.”
My heart sinks. Showering the Remington name with praises in public is difficult enough when I know how vicious my aunt and uncle are behind closed doors. Am I now supposed tohelp Damian do the same for his family after his most recent allegations?
He’s accused of spiking more than one woman’s drink, and the most recent is barely eighteen. I grimace, not trying to hide my disgust.
