Page 88 of Wicked Fortune

And yet here I stand, staring at a photo that may hide a dark secret.

No—that does hide a dark secret. I’m certain of it, because I’m certain Lila wants me to open it. That should be enough to have me backing away. At the very least, I should tell Matthew what she said and let him show me.

But he could refuse, and I think that would be worse, because surely my imagination can spin a tail more horrible than the truth.

I take a step forward, then stop, my internal debate still raging.

Move, dammit. Just make a damn decision and move.

Right.

With that pathetic pep talk, I inch even closer to the photo, then reach out, figuring that before I get too into my head over this, I should at least confirm that there’s a safe back there.

At first, I can’t find it, and a wave of disappointment mixed with relief washes over me. But since I’m not sure whether I’m bummed or gleeful, I keep trying even though the photo seems glued to the wall.

Then my fingers find a tiny latch on the right side of the frame, I press it, and that side of the frame pops off the wall with a sharp little click.

It’s on a hinge, and I take the popped side and push it to the left, as if I were opening a book.

And there it is. A small safe with an electronic keypad.

Which means I have to stand there and debate the ethics all over again.

Fuck it.

I’m doing this. I got this far, and yes, I could argue with myself forever, but I’ve stuck my big toe into the pool now, and I know I’m diving in.

And maybe Matthew doesn’t even need to know. Maybe I can see what’s in there, deal with it, process it, maybe have a good cry … and then I’ll be done with it.

Maybe …

I shouldn’t do it. I know that. Just like I know that I’m going to feel guilty as hell for doing it.

But, yeah. I’m doing it.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I punch in the six digits of Matthew’s birthday. I hear the click of release. I turn the handle, and the safe opens smoothly on its well-oiled hinges.

Oh. My. God.

My knees go weak, and a wave of nausea crests over me, so intense that I have to reach out and grip the safe’s door to keep from sagging to the floor.

This can’t be real. How the hell can this be real?

But there it is, diamonds gleaming in the light from the living room lamps, the beautiful, dancing sparkles almost too much to bear. Only one diamond is missing—the large yellow diamond that should be at the point. The diamond that is worth an absolute fortune. That spot is empty, like an eye that can see nothing.

Vivien Lorainne’s diadem.

My family’s heirloom. The near-magical headpiece that had been the glue of my family. The glue that The Cat had stolen. A fiend who I had once called the Stair Man. Who I had once believed was my protector. My friend.

But who turned out to be nothing more than a thieving alley cat.

A con man.

A man who would steal and scrape and scam to build his empire.

Matthew.

Matthew stole the diadem.