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“We don’t need you today,” Charlotte says to me, smirking.

“But Audrey said⁠—”

“Get out of here,” Charlotte says again. “Unless you want another decking.”

Decking? She hardly decked me. In fact it was a fair fight, but whatever. I think of my list again.

Which duties might get me closer to Nathaniel?

I stop in my tracks at the thought. Where did that impulse come from?

All Nathaniel Vexley has done is make me feel lower than dirt. Not once, but twice.

Yet I still feel this pull toward him.

He might have no interest, but if I hold him close, maybe he’s the key to getting my mom the help she needs for her experimental treatment. Hell, he could pull some strings with the Vexley Foundation to get her on their radar. He seemed interested in helping her before… Before. She’s not exactly in need of physical rehabilitation, which is the foundation’s focus, but all the fat cats I saw last night don’t give a flying fuck where their money goes after they give it, as long as they have their precious tax write-offs in place.

Maybe I can make this—whatever it is—work for me. And for Mom.

Nathaniel’s office is on the lower level of the west wing, close to his father’s private suite of rooms and the secured conference chamber no staff member is allowed to enter without permission. The bar inside the office is usually restocked by Arthur Vexley himself.

Hmm…

Audrey told me to stay away from the family wing today, but she also said the silver in the west dining room needed polishing. That’s on the west wing…and so is Nathaniel’s office.

I’m not pining for him. That’s not why I’m moving in that direction.

At least, I tell myself that’s not the case. I do feel drawn toward him, though. Even now. Even after everything. Even after his cold withdrawal and the way he looked at me like touching me had been a mistake.

It’s weird, though.

I feel like something is happening in this house. Something more than rich people being cruel simply because it comes easily to them.

Last night at dinner, Stanley almost said too much.

I heard it.

I know I heard it.

Something about the new building the Vexley Foundation is funding.

The Foundation is supposed to be charitable. Hospitals, research centers, scholarship programs, disaster relief.

I rearrange my tasks inside my head.

Then I head toward the west wing. To polish the silver, of course.

Not because I’m chasing Nathaniel.

Not because I’m pathetic.

But because my mother needs me. She needs the help of a nonprofit foundation whose cracks are showing.

Cracks I might be able to exploit for my own gain.

Vexley House always has a certain atmosphere, a coldness built into the stone and polished wood.

Normally, there’s some sign of life here, even if it’s only distant voices or the rhythm of assistants moving between rooms. But today it’s oddly quiet.