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“First, let me just say that I had no idea Timothy was posing as the Baron King all this time.” She tilts her head slightly, like she’s still processing the disbelief. “But all the same, it makes sense. If anyone in Forsyth could live a double life, it’d be him.”

I know I should ask more about Timothy, but it feels wrong to discuss my husband with someone outside our family. Instead, I ask, “Did you know her?”

“Amber?” Sarah snorts softly, a sound that’s equal parts amusement and something heavier. “Yes. I knew her as well as House Girls are allowed to.”

“What was she like?” I blurt, leaning forward slightly in my chair. “I’m just curious. Timothy won’t discuss her at all.”

Sarah leans back, her expression turning thoughtful as she gazes out the tall windows for a moment, gathering her memories. The sunlight catches the soft strands of auburn hair that have escaped her ponytail.

“How Amber ended up as Baroness was a shock to all of us,” she begins. “She had ‘Princess’ written all over her–shiny blond hair, perfect sorority girl wardrobe, that polished, delicate energy. She was so different from the other girls who entered the Hunt that year. Frankly, no one thought she’d make it through the first night. But that’s the thing about Amber… she proved every single one of us wrong. Under all that pink lip gloss and those diamond earrings, she had real steel. Layers most people never saw coming.”

I nod, trying to picture it–Timothy’s mysterious ex-wife as this unexpected force. He’d like that.

“We were all going through our own chaos back then,” Sarah continues. “In West End, the Dukes were fighting among themselves, as usual. The House wasn’t united. We weren’t paying close attention to what was happening in the other frats. So when Amber and Timothy got married, peeling off from Benji, it wasn’t really a surprise. Tim always wanted more–the shiny hotel empire, the picture-perfect wife, kids, a legacy that stretched beyond the House of Night. Don’t get me wrong, he was committed to BRN, but he craved a life outside all of this. We all thought Amber wanted that, too.”

Sarah pauses, her fingers tapping lightly against her knee. “I’m not going to diagnose someone who isn’t my patient,” she says carefully, “but there was a noticeable change when Amber got pregnant with Remy. She lost a little of that bright luster. It’s not unusual for pregnant women to have hormonal and chemical changes, but it was like she was reaching for something to hold onto outside of herself–something solid she could control.”

She shifts in her seat, her voice growing quieter, more reflective. “We were pregnant at the same time, Amber and I. It brought us closer than two women from different territories were supposed to be. We spent a lot of time together—same doctor appointments, same pregnancy yoga classes, same worries about bringing children into this world. She started digging deeper into the old rituals of BRN, talking constantly about protecting Remy from the darkness lurking in Forsyth. She wanted him connected to the earth, to the spirits, to something purer than she experienced. It felt… intense.”

I stay silent, absorbing every word.

She shifts in her seat, her voice growing quieter. “Once Remy was born, things seemed to go back to normal. Our boys were the same age—Simon and Remy were close from the very beginning. They were practically inseparable as toddlers. We were in the same playgroups, the same events.”

Sarah’s expression darkens. “But then Amber started to change. She lost weight. She looked sickly, almost frail. Timothy was so focused on work–his hotel had just taken off, this perfect boutique spot for Forsyth alumni and visitors. I don’t think he even noticed how much she was struggling. While he was gone, she started spending nearly all her days at the House of Night. I could barely get her to meet me so the boys could play.”

I swallow hard, the image forming in my mind. A young Amber slowly disappearing.

“Her behavior became more erratic. More delusional,” Sarah continues, her tone careful, but honest. “The things she said about Remy–about babies in general–it was scary. She became obsessed with protecting him from the darkness of our world, talking about spirits and rituals and shielding him from everything the Houses stood for. At the time, I suspected it was postpartum depression, or something deeper. I was the one who finally reached out to Timothy to voice my concerns. He needed to know.”

“How did he react?” I ask.

Sarah lets out a slow breath. “Not great. Timothy never kept his disdain for my studies in psychology a secret, and when I suggested Amber may need to see a doctor for treatment and possibly medication, he shut me out. Completely. She did, too. And I didn’t see or hear anything from her for months until I found out she had been committed for treatment. What surprised me was that it became permanent. But that’s how he is,” she sighs. “He’s a fixer. He wants solutions and resolutions. He wants to fix things, and when he can’t–he’ll just walk away.”

“So he left her there?” I ask, understanding spreading through me. “And that’s why Remy hates him so much.”

She thinks for a moment, obviously trying to decide how much to share. Finally, she says, “Remy and Timothy have a complicated relationship. The roots may start with Amber, but it spreads much farther and deeper than that. Remy has his own struggles–which he has worked hard to overcome.” She holds my eye. “I won’t discount what you’ve been through, Arianette. Living in Forsyth is hard. Being a royal is even harder. Many men and women in this town have struggled under the weight.” She leans forward, reaching out and resting her hand on mine. “You’re doing a good job.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” I admit.

“Why?”

“Because nothing I’ve done is useful.” My pulse thrums with the confession. “What if I never remember what happened? What if we never find Stella? What if the Guardian kills again?”

She’s quiet for a moment, studying me. Then she says, “Saving Forsyth and solving the crimes of evil men isn’t your job, Arianette. The damage was done long before you became Baroness. Probably long before you were born, and it will continue after you’re gone.”

It’s a nice gesture, taking the accountability off of me, but it doesn’t make anything better. “I don’t want to live in a world where women are disposable, chaos reigns, and darkness does its best to pull us under,” I say. “I want to stop this. I want you to help me get these memories out of my head.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” I say more firmly.

She nods. “Well, then let’s get started.”

Sarah’s voice is calm and steady, guiding me through a gentle meditation.

“Take a slow breath in through your nose… and let it go through your mouth. Good. Now soften your shoulders… let your jaw relax… feel the weight of your body sinking into the chair. You’re safe here. Nothing can reach you in this room. Just notice the rise and fall of your breath. Let your nervous system know it doesn’t have to stay on high alert right now.”

I follow her lead, eyes closed, focusing on the warmth of the sunlight on my skin and the quiet rhythm of her words. Bit by bit, the constant tension I’ve been carrying loosens it’s grip. My hands stop fidgeting. The knot in my stomach eases. For a few precious minutes, my mind grows quieter.