She's... Maeve?

Maeve pov

"Wrong room," Theodore said. A lie.

Guilt, probably, was why he didn't ask Bronwyn what he was doing at the door. Instead he offered an explanation unprompted: "I was drinking at a bar nearby last night, had too much, checked in here to sleep it off. Went out this morning, came back to the wrong floor." Then he left, quickly.

Bronwyn turned to me. The surprise in his eyes curdled immediately into contempt. "What did you do with Theodore? He's Saffron's fiancé. Don't you dare try anything with him."

I had already anticipated this. Three years ago, the Howards had reclaimed their biological daughter, Saffron. The arranged union between the Howard family and the Thorne family had always been meant for their real daughter. I was the one who had been swapped at birth — the impostor heiress — and I had never had any right to marry Theodore.

"He was the one who came to my room," I said, calm. "You should be asking what he did to me."

"You'd better keep yourself in line," Bronwyn said. "I can bring you home, and I can send you right back."

Home.

The word went into me like a blade.

Three years ago, I had been driving home when Saffron threw herself in front of my car and accused me of trying to kill her. She called me unstable, hysterical, and begged the Howards to have me committed — said she couldn't feel safe in the house otherwise. I had called those people Mom and Dad and big brother for eighteen years. I believed they would hear me out. I believed they would handle things fairly.

They didn't even let me finish speaking.

I will never forget what Bronwyn said: "Saffron just got here. Let her settle in. Just bear with it for a while."

The brother I had called mine for eighteen years. The one who, in middle school, had let himself get beaten half to death by a group of boys to protect me.

He was the one who put me in that place.

At first I had tried to escape. Every time, they caught me and brought me back. They would pry my mouth open, force a tube down my throat and into my stomach, and pump in a solution that paralyzed my entire body. It felt like a hole being burned through the lining of my stomach.

I had waited endlessly for Bronwyn to come and take me home.

I took a slow breath and looked at him with the blankest expression I could manage. "Understood, Mr. Howard."

His brow furrowed. "Why are you still calling me that? It's been a whole night — surely you're not still angry."

Three years of what they did to me. And one night is supposed to be enough.

I said nothing. I walked past him.

"It's cold out," Bronwyn said. He slipped off his jacket and moved to drape it over my shoulders.

I quickened my pace. The jacket fell to the floor behind me.

Warmth that comes too late cannot thaw what has already gone cold.

I heard him exhale sharply behind me — the sound of something barely held in check.

---

In the car, my phone buzzed. An unknown number.

Little citrus.

It took me a moment. Then last night came back — Theodore's lips against mine, his voice: Sweet and tart. Citrus.

It was him.

A second message followed immediately: When can I see you again?

I almost laughed. The man who had stood by while I was put away, now wanting to use me as a substitute for the woman he'd lost.

"Who's texting you?" Bronwyn's voice was low. "You've been out one day and you're already making new friends? Let me see."

He reached over toward my phone.

Three years, and Bronwyn hadn't changed at all. Every friend I'd ever had, every place I'd ever gone — he had to know. There had never been any privacy between us. Or rather, there had never been any privacy allowed to me.

"Mr. Howard," I said. "We have no relationship anymore. You don't have the right to manage me."

"Maeve!"

His voice rose sharply. "What right do you have to throw a tantrum? You almost killed Saffron. If I hadn't interceded with Howard on your behalf, you'd have gone to prison. Three years in a facility — you should be grateful."

I looked out the window. The streets had changed a great deal in three years.

"She threw herself at my car," I said.

"You hit Saffron and now you want to blame her for it?" Bronwyn's voice dropped into a snarl. "Three years of treatment clearly wasn't enough."

"The surveillance footage from that stretch of road was destroyed," I said, turning to face him.

"Because you destroyed it!"

"I was restrained within minutes of the incident. When would I have had the opportunity?"

The anger on Bronwyn's face went rigid.

"Only the person who fabricated the story would have had reason to destroy the footage," I said.

I watched the rigidity spread across his features. There was a brief flicker — doubt, maybe — before it hardened back into fury.

"Stop making things up. Saffron is a gentle, guileless girl. Why would she throw herself at your car? And I'm your brother — I loved you. Do you think I would have let you be wrongly committed?"

The anger in his voice had an undercurrent of defensiveness. I could see it clearly.

I didn't bother arguing further.

"Gone quiet? Guilty conscience?" He exhaled, and his tone softened slightly. "Go home and reflect on your behavior. Stop making everything about Saffron. As long as you behave, you can still be a daughter of the Howard family. I'll still take care of you."

He reached toward my back, the way he used to when we were children — to let me lean against his shoulder.

His hand connected with the wounds on my back. The pain made me flinch violently before I could stop myself.

Those wounds were from the orderlies at the facility.

"You dare pull away from me?" His eyes narrowed. "Are you determined to defy me at every turn? I gave you a way out, and you don't want it — fine. That's on you."

"Stop the car." He snapped the order at the driver.

The car halted. Bronwyn grabbed my arm and hauled me out onto the pavement. I had no strength left in my body; my legs gave way and I went down.

"Stop performing." His voice, close to my ear, was cold and unfamiliar — a cruelty I hadn't heard in it before. "If Grandmother weren't gravely ill and asking for you, do you think any of this would be over? And you have the nerve to give me attitude?"

He struck me across the face.

I had no time to turn away. My cheek erupted in heat.

I pushed myself up from the ground, coughing. The taste of blood filled my mouth — copper and faintly sweet.

Grandmother. She was the only person in that family who had ever been kind to me without condition. Even after Saffron arrived, she had continued to treat me as the granddaughter she treasured most.

If not for her, I would never have gone back.

"And look at me like that again—" Bronwyn seized my collar and raised his hand a second time.

A black Maserati — a limited-edition model — pulled up in front of us.

Theodore stepped out, freshly changed into a new suit, his presence sharp and composed. He looked between us with confusion.

"What's going on here?"

"My sister wasn't behaving," Bronwyn said. "I'm disciplining her."

"Sister?" Theodore's expression shifted from confusion to shock. He stared at me for a long moment.

"She's... Maeve?"