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I feel it too. A black luxury sedan turns onto the drive. My fingers tighten around the garden hose.

Guests have been arriving all morning, but this isn't one of them. I know every reservation. Every name. Every vehicle Belinda was expecting today.

That car isn't on the list. It rolls slowly toward the house and stops.

The rear door opens. A woman steps out. She’s older. Perfectly styled dark hair. Expensive clothes. The kind of posture that announces she expects the world to arrange itself around her before she even asks.

Another door opens. A younger woman emerges. Same dark hair. Same carefully polished appearance.

Both bear enough resemblance to Belinda that recognition hits immediately. But neither is anywhere near as gorgeous.

Not even fucking close.

Her mother. Her sister. Must be.

My Devil growls.

No.

For once, I'm in complete agreement. Then the younger one's eyes find me. And stay there. She looks me up. Down. Then slowly back up again.

Not subtle. Not even slightly. Her lips curve. I growl angrily.

What the fuck?

I glare at her. She actually pushes her hair behind one shoulder and pushes out her chest.

Gross.

My Devil bristles.

Not mine.

“No fucking kidding.”

I have zero interest in Belinda's sister. None. If anything, the way she's looking at me makes my skin crawl.

Especially knowing what Belinda told me. The boyfriends. The things Melida took because everyone around them acted like Belinda should simply move aside.

Not this time. Never fucking again.

Albert lets out one sharp, irritated chirp. Sparky hisses. I glance over at them. Both animals are staring at the women.

“Well. At least we're all in agreement.”

The older woman's gaze lands on me. She waits. I wait. Apparently, this confuses her. Her mouth tightens.

“You there. Servant.”

Oh, this should be good.

“Get my bags.”

I slowly look behind myself. Nobody there. I turn back. She points toward the trunk.

“Yes, you.”

I look down at myself. Jeans. Boots. Old black T-shirt. Garden hose.