Prologue
I became everything Calder Verne despised. A mess. No ambition. Too much smoking, too much drinking, too much of all the wrong things.
Next to his golden girl, I was a grain of rice stuck to the tablecloth — something you flick away without thinking.
When they cornered me at school, I called him. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. All he said was, "Briar. Don't let me see your face again."
So I disappeared from his world.
And he lost his mind.
Chapter 1
Three years after I left the Verne family, Calder somehow got ahold of my number. He called over and over until I picked up.
"Briar. You're really never coming back?"
I pressed my lips together and kicked an empty pill bottle across the floor. My eyes stayed down. "No."
"Tomorrow is Mom's memorial. If you have any conscience left, you'll come pay your respects."
A pause. "Remember — you owe me this."
He was the one who drove me out. And now he wanted me back.
But I had no choice. Mom's belongings were still in his hands.
"Fine. I'll come. Happy?" I said quietly.
The second he had his answer, he hung up. Didn't hesitate. Like I was something dangerous that might latch on if he stayed on the line too long.
I checked my bank balance, then forced myself to call my doctor, Devlin Sharpe, to ask him to stop my medication.
He didn't understand. "You're sure you want to end treatment? If you complete the full course, the surgery has a real shot at working."
"You could ask your family for help with the cost. From what I know, the Vernes aren't exactly short on money."
The Vernes weren't short on money. I was.
I'd been working myself half to death just to keep up with the medical loans.
I ran my hand over my head — shaved bare for chemo prep — and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Bones jutting out everywhere. Ugly. Barely recognizable.
I looked nothing like I did three years ago.
"It's fine," I said. "I'd rather go with some dignity."
Devlin didn't push it. He was my doctor, not my decision-maker.
I took the last six dollars in my pocket and bought a hat from a vendor downstairs. Put on a mask and walked the whole way to the memorial.
Not many people had shown up. Calder wasn't there yet.
The household staff had been completely replaced since I left. None of them recognized me. They whispered among themselves, but the moment I looked their way, they went quiet.
I leaned against the doorframe and waited in the blazing sun for an hour. My lips cracked.
A Maserati tore past me and came to a stop.
Calder stepped out with a girl — poised, elegant. He looked me up and down with that half-smile of his. The one that wasn't really a smile.
"This is Gemma Talmadge," he said. "She's a direct apprentice under a master of traditional opera."
Then he leaned in close. His voice was a poisoned blade. "If you hadn't dropped out, maybe you could've been her classmate. Instead of — this. A whole lot of nothing."
The air left my lungs. It felt like an invisible hand had reached into my chest and squeezed my heart shut.
Calder watched me struggle and scoffed. "Is there anything you're good at besides playing the victim?"
"Instead of putting on a show for me, why don't you go ask Mr. Grant for Mom's jade pendant back?"
My lashes trembled. I lifted my eyes to look at Calder — this person who used to be my brother and now felt like a stranger.
"I heard Mr. Grant likes to… hurt people," I said softly.
"That's all talk!" He cut me off. "He just wants you to sing a couple of lines for him and you're already making excuses. Do you know how many times a day Gemma practices?"
He sneered, took Gemma by the hand, and walked inside without looking back.
Gemma let him lead her, but she kept glancing over her shoulder at me.
Mr. Grant's table was packed with powerful men — the kind who read the room and treated people accordingly.
Calder sat down with Gemma and left me standing.
To curry favor with him, the men at the table treated me like a cocktail waitress. Snapping their fingers. Barking orders.
"This little songbird young Verne's been telling us about — we haven't had the pleasure yet! How about a song?"
Mr. Grant narrowed his eyes, shrewd and calculating, and held out a glass to me.
The strongest liquor at the table.
His voice left no room for refusal.
"Drink it."
