I fought the urge to spit. It wasn't Olivia I hated specifically—it was everything she represented. A future I never asked for.
“Olivia is a bit of a celebrity," Arthur interjected. "A poet. A bestseller. The voice of her generation."
"Is that so?" I asked, my voice flat. Olivia didn’t look like the sort who bled onto the page. Creative souls have a kind of rawness, but her aura was more Chanel No. 5 than ink and sweat.
"It’s just a hobby that got out of hand," Olivia teased, looking at me through her lashes.
Dinner was a fucking chore. I don’t know if it was them or me. Arthur dominated the talk with "synergy" and "mergers," while Olivia rambled about her latest book signing and how the Florida heat was "uninspiring" for her upcoming honeymoon in Europe.
Every time she spoke, I felt an itch under my skin. I looked at Arthur. “I thought there were two daughters. Is Chloe not joining us?"
The table went silent. Arthur’s wine glass paused. Olivia’s smile curdled.
"Chloe is... a tragedy," Arthur said, swirling his red wine. "A beautiful girl, but unwell for a long time. Mute. Profoundly autistic. Not fit for marriage."
"She prefers the quiet," Ava interjected, her smile sharp enough to draw blood. "We’ve had the best doctors. They agree that isolation is her only peace."
Olivia leaned in. "She’s basically a mannequin, Killian. You could sit her in a chair for ten hours and she wouldn't move an inch. It’s quite sad."
I looked at the three of them. Liars. All of them. I'd spent years in rooms full of men who smiled while they lied. This was no different. Their explanations were too neat, too rehearsed—like they'd practiced them.
"I see," I said. "If you'll excuse me, I’m a smoker."
I walked out of the glass doors and onto the lawn, tapping Cartier on the shoulder as I passed. “Take a break.”
I headed for the shadows of a massive willow tree, the Spanish moss swaying like tattered lace. I lit a cigar, the first pull of smoke calming the irritation in my chest. I heard the tree rustle; leaves fluttered down to the grass.
I followed the sound upward.
Chapter 3: Chloe
Just as I'd taken off my underwear, standing barefoot on the splintered floor, the door groaned open. I froze. My heart slammed against my ribs. On instinct, my gaze dropped to the floor, my face smoothing into blankness. I braced for Olivia's palm or Caspian's whiskey breath.
I held my breath, waiting.
"It's just me, baby. Breathe."
The tension snapped. I exhaled as Mary stepped into the dim light.
Mary was fifty. She'd been taking care of me since I was born. The bad people only let her work two nights a week—they didn't want me to have anyone to depend on. But she kept coming back because she couldn't imagine what they'd do to me if she wasn't there.
She was the only person who kept me from forgetting my momma. Time blurs the faces of the people you love until you're holding onto smoke, but Mary still smelled like the cocoa butter and laundry detergent of my childhood, giving me something to hold onto that hadn’t been taken from me.
So many times, she'd offered to go to the police. I told her no. I wouldn't put it past my father to hurt her. She had a son in California—the only family she had left. I wasn't going to be the reason she lost him, or he lost her.
"He's outside, baby," she whispered, setting a small bundle on my bed—a camisole and lace-trimmed panties. I'd asked her to tell me when Killian was alone outside or in his room for the night. She knew my plans. She didn't like them, but she was willing to do anything to help me.
I stood tall. "Did they see you come up? Did you prepare the room directly under me for him?"
"Yes, dear. And they’re too busy stuffing their faces and lying to notice me," she said. "Chloe, be careful. That man... he looks like he can see right through a lie. Don’t push him too quickly."
I knew enough from life, even my isolated life, to know that pretty, needy girls were most men’s kryptonite. They made men feel necessary. Heroic. In control. Killian was no different. I had researched him. I knew him—what he was passionate about. I knew I could get what I needed from him.
"I don't have time to be patient, Mary," I said, pulling the thin camisole over my head. "My twenty-fifth birthday is coming in two months. If I don't get him on my side now, Caspian will finally have his way, the bad guys will win, and they'll walk away with all my bloodline's hard work. I’ll go from one hell to another."
Mary’s jaw tightened. “Your daddy…” She hesitated, as if the word itself tasted wrong. “He is a useless, greedy man, Chloe. Sometimes, I just—oxo—I want to hurt him for what he’s done to your momma and you. Kick him right in his down-below.”
I blinked. “Down-below?” I asked lightly, unable to stop the small laugh that slipped out of me. Mary never cursed, and "down-below" was as close as she would get to sayingdick.
