My sister is suddenly taller than I remember, or maybe just more confident. I feel the burn of embarrassment rising in my neck, and I want to shove her aside.
Helena lowers her voice. “Just… be nice to her. At least try. You don’t have to marry her. You don’t even have to like her. But if you make her life hell, you’ll regret it. Trust me.”
“Why do you care?” I ask. “You’ll be gone in two weeks.”
She smiles. “Because I know what it’s like to walk into a room and be hated on sight. Finishing school is full of girls just like you, but meaner.”
That lands. I look away. “Fine. I’ll try. But I don’t have to like it.”
She laughs. “Nobody expects you to. Just don’t sabotage it before it starts.”
I nod. She lets me go, and I walk the empty halls for a while, the echo of her words rattling around inside my head. I tell myself she’s wrong, that I’m in control, that I’ll find a way to undo this mess before it becomes permanent. But I know the truth: Iamscared. Scared to let another omega in close enough to nearly ruin it all. Again.
When my father and siblings have finally left, I return to the sitting room. Bastion’s there, lights low, staring into the fire.
“You ready for tonight?” he asks.
“I’ll survive,” I say. “If she’s smart, she’ll run before dinner.”
He grins, but there’s nothing happy in it. “You ever think maybe she’s not the problem?”
I don’t answer.
Wyatt drifts in from the corridor, carrying a fresh bottle and three glasses. “I say we take bets. How long before she leaves, or you do?”
Bastion takes a glass. “A week, tops. Ranier’s got the record for running them off.”
Wyatt passes me a glass. “You in?”
I hesitate, then take it. “Three days.”
Wyatt laughs. “I’ll take the under.”
We drink, and for a moment, it almost feels like old times. Almost.
But as I watch the last ember flicker out, I wonder how long it will take to erase her, this omega with her cotton-candy hair and her starved ambition.
Not long, I hope.
But hope has never done me any good.
CHAPTER 9
Emery
The limo’selectric motor is so quiet it feels like we’re coasting through a graveyard. Eloise sits beside me, tapping her phone against her thigh, a staccato that has nothing to do with notifications and everything to do with dread. My hands are clammy, clutching my duffel in my lap.
“You ready?” Eloise asks, and when I don’t answer, she elbows me so hard my arm goes numb. “Emery. Are you ready?”
I want to say yes, but what comes out is: “If I don’t make it, torch my sketchbooks before anyone can see and judge them.”
She snorts, then checks her lipstick in the reflection. “If you don’t make it, I’m painting you on the side of their house, naked. Revenge is forever.”
I snicker.
The car glides to a stop at the bottom of the circular drive. For a second, we just sit and stare. The front door is already open, light spilling down the steps in a way that should be welcoming, but is so clearly staged it makes my teeth ache.
I get out first. My legs are gelatin. Eloise is right behind me, swinging her duffel over her shoulder like a weapon. We haul our bags to the foot of the stairs, where a trio of shadows waits just inside the threshold.
