The coins in my palm felt heavier than they should have. I counted them again, even though I already knew the total. Three dollars and forty-seven cents. The prescription in my hand cost eighty-six dollars. The pharmacist behind the counter pretended not to watch me, but I saw the pity in her eyes. I hated that look. I had been seeing it my whole life. "Can I put this on hold?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt. She nodded slowly. "For forty-eight hours." Forty-eight hours. That was all the time I had to come up with eighty-six dollars I did not have. I stuffed the coins back into my pocket and walked out of the pharmacy into the cold evening air. Willow Creek was quiet this time of night. The kind of quiet that felt like the whole town was holding its breath. Streetlights flickered as I passed them, casting weak yellow pools on cracked sidewalks. I worked double shifts at the diner six days a week. I picked up extra hours at the grocery store on Sundays. I sold my old guitar last month. I sold my mother's necklace two weeks before that. But the bills kept piling up, and no matter how hard I worked, I could not catch up. Elara was dying. The doctors said it was Stage Four lung cancer. They said it with the kind of detached sympathy that came from saying the same words to a hundred different families. They gave her six months. That was three months ago. I walked faster. The cottage we rented was at the edge of town, half-hidden behind overgrown trees and a fence that had long ago given up on being a fence. The porch light was on, which meant Elara was still awake. She always waited up for me, no matter how late I was. I pushed open the door and found her at the kitchen table, a cup of tea gone cold in front of her. She smiled when she saw me, but the smile did not reach her eyes. Her skin looked paler than it had this morning. Thinner. Like paper stretched over bones. "You're late," she said. "Mrs. Patterson needed me to close," I lied. "She's been having trouble with her back." Elara nodded, but I saw the way her fingers trembled around the teacup. She knew I was lying. She always knew. But she never called me out on it. That was our arrangement. I pretended everything was fine, and she pretended she could not see right through me. I hung my coat on the hook by the door and sat across from her. The cottage was small, two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen that barely fit two people. But it was home. It had been home for as long as I could remember. "Did you eat?" I asked. "I had some soup." "Elara." Her lips twitched. "Half a bowl." I stood up and went to the stove. There was still some soup in the pot, the kind that came from a can but tasted like it came from a can that had given up. I heated it up and set it in front of her. She gave me a look that said she did not want to eat, but she picked up the spoon anyway. For me. Because she knew I would worry if she did not. The cough came without warning. She covered her mouth with a handkerchief, but I saw it. The red stain spreading across the white fabric. She tried to hide it, crumpling the cloth in her fist and shoving it into her pocket. But I saw it. I always saw it. I pretended not to. "You should rest," I said, my voice light. "I'll clean up." "I'm fine, Sera." "You're tired." "I'm fine." But she was not fine. She was dying, and we both knew it. But we played our parts, because that was the only way we knew how to survive. She finished half the soup before pushing the bowl away. I did not push her to eat more. I had learned not to. Instead, I sat beside her and took her hand. Her fingers were cold, the skin thin and papery. I rubbed warmth into them, the way she used to do for me when I was a child and could not sleep. "Tell me a story," I said. She smiled. It was a real smile this time, the kind that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. "What kind of story?" "The one about the princess." She laughed, which turned into a cough, which turned into another cough. I waited for her to catch her breath, my heart clenched tight in my chest. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "Once upon a time," she began, "there was a princess who was born in a castle by the sea. She had eyes like the ocean and hair like midnight, and everyone who saw her said she was the most beautiful baby they had ever seen." I leaned my head against her shoulder. I had heard this story a hundred times, but I never got tired of it. "But the princess's mother was cruel," Elara continued. "She did not want the princess. She wanted a son. So she took the baby to the forest and left her there, hoping the wolves would take her." "They did not," I said, because I knew the story by heart. "They did not," Elara agreed. "An old woman found her instead. She raised the princess as her own, and the princess grew up strong and brave and kind. She did not need a castle. She did not need a crown. She had love, and that was enough." I closed my eyes. "And they lived happily ever after." "No," Elara said softly. "They lived honestly ever after. That's better than happy." I looked up at her. Her eyes were wet, but she was smiling. I wanted to ask her what she meant, but something in her expression stopped me. There was something she was not telling me. There was always something she was not telling me. "Elara," I said, "who were my parents?" Her face changed. Just for a moment. A flicker of something, fear, maybe, or grief. Then it was gone, replaced by the same gentle smile she always wore when I asked this question. "They died when you were a baby," she said. "I've told you that." "Tell me again." She sighed. "There's nothing to tell, Sera. They were good people. They loved you. But they died, and I took you in, and I've raised you as my own. That's the truth." It was not the truth. I knew it was not. But I did not know how to prove it. I did not know how to find the words that were buried somewhere deep inside her. I opened my mouth to ask again, but the look on her face stopped me. She looked so tired. So old. So fragile. I could not do it. I could not push her. Instead, I held her hand tighter and said nothing. The fire crackled in the hearth. Outside, the wind howled through the trees. The cottage creaked and groaned the way it always did, like an old ship on rough waters. I listened to the sound of my grandmother's breathing, slow and labored, and I tried not to think about what I would do when she was gone. I would be alone. Truly alone. I had no other family. No friends who would stick around after the funeral. No one who would care if I disappeared. Just Elara. Only Elara. And she was leaving me. "Sera," she said suddenly, her voice sharp. I looked up, startled by the urgency in her tone. Her eyes were wide, her grip on my hand suddenly tight. "Promise me something." "Anything." She swallowed hard. "If someone ever comes for you, don't go with them." I blinked. "What?" "Promise me." Her fingers dug into my skin. "Promise me, Sera." "Elara, you're not making any sense." "I know." She let out a shaky breath. "I know I'm not. But please. Just promise me. If someone comes to take you away, don't let them. Don't trust them." I stared at her. The firelight flickered across her face, casting strange shadows. She looked like a stranger. Someone I did not know. Someone I was afraid of. "Who would come for me?" I asked. She shook her head. "Just promise." I did not understand. I did not know what she was talking about. But she looked so terrified, so desperate, that I found myself nodding. "I promise," I said. She let out a breath and slumped back in her chair. Her grip on my hand loosened. "Good," she whispered. "That's good." She fell asleep a few minutes later, her head lolling to the side, her breathing shallow. I stayed with her, watching the rise and fall of her chest. I watched her for a long time. Then I went to her room. I do not know why I did it. I do not know what I was looking for. But something about her warning had unsettled me. Something about the fear in her eyes had made me want to know more. I stood in the doorway of her bedroom and looked around. It was small and neat, the way it always was. A single bed. A dresser. A window that looked out over the dead garden. I knelt beside the bed and looked underneath. There was a box. I pulled it out. It was old, wooden, with rusted hinges and a lid that creaked when I opened it. Inside, there were papers. Photographs. A newspaper clipping. I picked up the photograph first. It was a picture of a woman. She was young, beautiful, with dark hair and eyes that looked just like mine. She was holding a baby in her arms. Smiling. Happy. And behind her, in the background, there was a house. A mansion. Something out of a fairy tale. I flipped the photograph over. Someone had written on the back in faded ink. Elizabeth Blackwood. April 17th. The day everything changed. My hands were shaking. I picked up the newspaper clipping next, the edges frayed. The headline read: Blackwood family welcome twins. Heiress Eleanor Blackwood and husband Richard celebrate the birth of twin daughters. The date was twenty-three years ago. I stared at the words until they blurred. Twenty-three years ago. That was the year I was born. The article mentioned a celebration. A party. A family that was famous for its wealth and influence. The Blackwoods. I had never heard the name before. But something about it made my skin prickle. I looked at the photograph again. The woman. Elizabeth Blackwood. She was not Eleanor Blackwood. She was someone else. Someone who looked exactly like me. I heard a sound behind me. A soft gasp. I turned. Elara stood in the doorway, her face pale, her eyes wide with horror. "What are you doing?" she whispered. "I found this," I said. My voice sounded strange to my own ears. "Who is Elizabeth Blackwood? Who are the Blackwoods? Why do you have this?" Elara's face crumpled. She took a step toward me, then stopped. Her hands were shaking. "I can't," she said. "I can't tell you." "You owe me the truth," I said. "I deserve to know." She shook her head. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "You don't understand. If I tell you, you'll be in danger. We'll both be in danger." "Danger from who?" She opened her mouth to answer. Then she collapsed. I caught her before she hit the ground. Her body was light, too light, and her skin was burning hot. She was breathing, but it was shallow. Wrong. I held her in my arms and screamed for help. But there was no one to hear me. We were alone. And somewhere out there, someone was coming. I could feel it. A shadow waiting to swallow us whole.

Elara was unconscious when the ambulance arrived. I rode with her to the hospital, holding her hand the entire way. The paramedics asked me questions I could not answer. Medical history. Medications. Allergies. I knew none of it. I realized with a sickening jolt that I knew nothing about the woman who had raised me. Not really. They stabilized her at the hospital. Dehydration. Exhaustion. The cancer was spreading faster than the doctors had predicted. They kept her overnight for observation and told me to go home and rest. I did not rest. I sat in the waiting room until dawn, staring at the same four walls, the photograph and newspaper clipping burning in my pocket like live coals. When they finally let me see her, she was awake. Pale. Fragile. But awake. I closed the door behind me and stood at the foot of her bed. She looked at my face and her eyes filled with tears. "You found the box," she said. It was not a question. "Who is Elizabeth Blackwood?" I asked. My voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that came before a storm. Elara closed her eyes. A tear slipped down her cheek. "She was your mother."The words hit me like a physical blow. I gripped the metal rail of the bed to keep from falling. "My mother," I repeated. "You told me my parents died when I was a baby." "I lied." "Why?" She opened her eyes and looked at me. Really looked at me. There was so much pain in her gaze that I almost had to look away. "Because the truth would have gotten you killed," she whispered. "I was your nanny, Sera. I worked for the Blackwood family. When you and your sister were born, your mother, Eleanor, she... she did not want you. The delivery was difficult. It damaged her body. She blamed you for it. She wanted to get rid of you." My stomach turned. "Get rid of me?" "She told your father to leave you at the hospital. To say you died during birth. But I could not let that happen. I took you and I ran. I disappeared. I changed my name. I raised you as my own." I stared at her. The woman who had tucked me in at night. Who had kissed my scraped knees. Who had told me stories about princesses and castles. She was a stranger. She had always been a stranger. "You kidnapped me," I said. My voice cracked. "I saved you," she corrected. Her voice was fierce despite her weakness. "Eleanor Blackwood is a monster. She would have destroyed you. I swore an oath to protect you, and I have kept that oath for twenty-three years." "Who else knows?" "No one. I never told a soul. Not until now." I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to shake her. I wanted to demand answers to a thousand questions. But before I could speak, the door opened. A nurse stepped in. "Miss Morrow? There are some people here to see you. They say they're family." My blood ran cold. I walked out of the room in a daze. The hallway was bright and sterile, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. And there, standing at the end of the corridor, were two people I had never seen before. The woman was tall and elegant, dressed in a black coat that probably cost more than I made in a year. Her hair was perfectly styled, her makeup flawless. The man beside her was older, distinguished, with graying temples and a face that revealed nothing. The woman smiled when she saw me. It was a cold smile. Calculated. "Seraphina," she said. Her voice was smooth as silk. "You look just like your sister." I stopped walking. "Who are you?" "I'm your mother," she said. "Eleanor Blackwood. And this is your father, Richard." The world tilted. I grabbed the wall to steady myself. "My mother is dead." Eleanor's smile did not waver. "No, darling. Your grandmother is dead. Or she will be, very soon, if you don't come with us." The words hit me like a slap. "What did you just say?" Richard stepped forward. He looked uncomfortable, his hands shoved into his pockets. "We're not here to hurt you, Seraphina. We're here to take you home." "I don't have a home with you," I spat. "You abandoned me. You left me to die." Eleanor's expression flickered. Just for a moment. Then it was smooth again. "That was a mistake. One I intend to correct." Behind me, I heard a commotion. Elara was on her feet, IV pole in hand, stumbling toward us. A nurse tried to stop her, but she pushed past. "Get away from her!" Elara screamed. Her voice was raw, desperate. "You stay away from her" Eleanor turned to look at her. Her lip curled. "You," she said. "The nanny. I should have known you were still alive. You always were a stubborn thing." "You will not take her," Elara said. She planted herself between me and the Blackwoods, her thin body shaking. "I won't let you." Eleanor sighed. It was the sound of a woman who was bored. "You're dying, Elara. Stage Four lung cancer. The doctors here told us. You have maybe three months left. Maybe less." Elara flinched. I felt the blood drain from my face. "We can afford treatments that could save her life," Eleanor continued, her eyes fixed on me. "Experimental treatments. The best doctors in the country. We can give her years instead of months. But only if you come with us." I stared at her. "You're blackmailing me." "I'm offering you a choice," Eleanor said. "Stay here with your dying nanny and watch her suffer. Or come home with your real family and save her life." I looked at Elara. She was crying now, tears streaming down her face. She shook her head."Don't," she begged. "Don't go with them. They'll destroy you. Please, Sera. I would rather die than see you hurt." I looked at the IV drip. The oxygen tank. The pile of unpaid bills on the bedside table. I thought about the eighty-six dollars I did not have. The forty-eight hours that had already run out. I thought about the way Elara had held me when I was a child. The stories she had told me. The love she had given me.And I thought about what my life would be without her. "Miss Blackwood," I said slowly. My voice was steady. "What do you want from me?" Eleanor's smile widened. "I want you to come home. I want you to meet your sister. And I want you to take her place in a marriage that was arranged before you were born." The words hung in the air. Elara let out a sob. "What kind of marriage?" I asked. "A very important one," Eleanor said. "To a very powerful family. The Valtorres. Your sister was promised to them years ago, but she has refused to honor the contract. We need someone who looks like her to take her place." I felt sick. "You want me to pretend to be my sister and marry a stranger?" "Three strangers," Eleanor corrected. "The Valtorre family has three sons. The contract requires that a Blackwood daughter marry all three." The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet. Three men. She wanted me to marry three men."That's insane," I whispered. "That's not even legal." "Legal is a flexible word when you have enough money," Eleanor said. She reached into her purse and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "This is a contract. It states that if you agree to the marriage, we will pay for Elara's treatment. All of it. Every penny. She will have the best care money can buy." I took the paper with trembling hands. The words blurred before my eyes. All I could see was the number at the bottom. The cost of Elara's treatment. More money than I would make in ten lifetimes. "Don't do it," Elara whispered. "Please, Sera. I'm not worth it."  I looked at her. My grandmother. My nanny. My only family. "You're worth everything," I said. I turned to Eleanor. "I have one condition." "Name it." "Elara receives treatment immediately. Before I go anywhere with you. I want to see the doctors. I want to see the paperwork. I want to know that she's being cared for." Eleanor nodded. "Of course, darling. Family takes care of family." She said it so easily. Like it meant something. Like she had not abandoned me at birth and left me to die. I wanted to hate her. I wanted to scream at her. But I was too tired. Too broken. "I'll go with you," I said. The words tasted like ash in my mouth. Elara cried out. She grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong for someone so weak. "No. No, you can't." "I have to," I said. "I won't let you die, Elara. I won't." "You don't understand," she sobbed. "They're not your family. They're your executioners." Eleanor stepped forward. "That's enough. We're leaving." She gestured to Richard, who stepped toward me. He took my arm gently, like he was afraid I might shatter. Maybe I would. "I'll pack a bag," I said. My voice sounded hollow. Distant. Like it belonged to someone else. Eleanor nodded. "Make it quick. We have a car waiting." I walked back to the cottage one last time. The porch light was still on. The door was still unlocked. The soup bowl was still on the table. Everything looked the same. But nothing was the same. I was not the same. I walked to my room and pulled a duffel bag from the closet. I threw in clothes. A toothbrush. The photograph of Elizabeth Blackwood. The newspaper clipping. I did not know why I kept them. Maybe because they were the only proof I had that my life before this moment had been real. I was zipping up the bag when I felt a hand on my wrist. Elara stood behind me, swaying on her feet. She had followed me home. I did not know how. The hospital was a mile away. She must have walked. She must have run. "You can't go," she said. Her voice was barely a whisper. "They will hurt you. They will use you. And when they're done, they will throw you away like garbage." "Then at least you'll be alive," I said. "That's all that matters." "No." She shook her head. Tears streamed down her face. "You matter. You've always mattered. I should have told you the truth years ago. I should have prepared you. But I was afraid. I was so afraid." "Afraid of what?" She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "Afraid of what, Elara?" "They're not your family," she whispered. "They're your executioners." I stared at her. Her eyes were wild. Desperate. She gripped my arm so hard it hurt. "Promise me you'll be careful. Promise me you'll watch your back. Promise me you'll never trust them." "I promise," I said. The words felt like a lie. But I did not know what else to say. She pulled me into a hug. Her body was thin and frail, but her arms were strong. "I love you," she whispered. "I have loved you since the day you were born. You are my daughter. Not hers. Mine." I hugged her back. I did not want to let go. But I had to. The Blackwoods were waiting. I walked out of the cottage and did not look back.The black car was sleek and silent. The leather seats were cold. Eleanor sat in the front, next to the driver. Richard sat beside me in the back. He did not speak. He did not look at me. He stared out the window like a man who was already somewhere else. I watched the cottage disappear in the rearview mirror. I watched Willow Creek fade into the darkness. I watched my old life slip away.And I wondered if I would ever see it again.The car pulled onto the highway. The city lights of Blackthorn Bay glittered in the distance. A new world. A new life,a new nightmare. Eleanor turned in her seat and smiled at me."Welcome home, Seraphina," she said. "You're going to love it here." I did not answer. I just stared out the window and tried not to think about Elara's warning.They're not your family. They're your executioners,I did not know what that meant. But I was about to find out.

The Blackwood estate was not a house. It was a monument to everything I had never had. The car pulled through iron gates that opened automatically, gliding along a driveway lined with trees that had been trimmed perfectly. The mansion rose before us, all sharp angles and gleaming windows. Marble columns. A fountain that sparkled under the moonlight. It looked like something from a magazine. Something from a dream. It felt like a nightmare. Richard opened my door before the driver could. He offered me his hand, but I ignored it and stepped out on my own. The air smelled like roses and fresh-cut grass. A far cry from the dying garden outside our cottage. Our cottage. I corrected myself. Elara's cottage. I did not have a home anymore. Eleanor walked ahead of us, her heels clicking against the marble steps. She did not look back to see if I was following. She knew I had no choice. The front doors opened before she touched them. A woman in a black uniform stood in the doorway. Her hair was pulled back so tightly it looked painful. Her face revealed nothing. "Mrs. Blackwood," the woman said. "Welcome home." "Mrs. Harlow," Eleanor replied. "This is Seraphina. She will be staying with us. Show her to her room." Mrs. Harlow's eyes flickered to me. Just for a moment. Then she nodded and gestured for me to follow.I did not move. "Where's my grandmother? I want to see the paperwork for her treatment." Eleanor paused. She turned to face me, her expression patient. "It's late, darling. The doctors have already been contacted. Elara is being transferred to a private facility as we speak. You'll be able to visit her once we've settled you in." "I want proof." "You'll get it. Tomorrow." I wanted to argue. I wanted to demand answers right now. But I was exhausted. My bones ached. My head throbbed. And Elara's warning echoed in my mind like a broken record. They're not your family. They're your executioners. I needed to be smart. I needed to watch. To listen. To learn. So I followed Mrs. Harlow into the mansion.The inside was worse than the outside. Not because it was ugly. Because it was beautiful. The kind of beautiful that felt like a slap in the face. Marble floors so polished I could see my reflection in them. Chandeliers that probably cost more than the cottage. Paintings on the walls that looked like they belonged in museums. Everything was perfect. Everything was cold. Mrs. Harlow led me up a sweeping staircase. I counted the cameras as I went. One in the hallway. One at the top of the stairs. One near a door that looked like it led to a study. They were small, barely visible, but I had spent years working in places where I was watched. I knew what to look for. "Your room is this way," Mrs. Harlow said. She stopped in front of a door and pushed it open. The room was large. Bigger than the entire cottage. A bed with silk sheets. A window that looked out over the ocean. A bathroom with a tub I could swim in. A walk-in closet. But there were no photographs. No personal touches. No warmth. It looked like a hotel room. A place where no one had ever lived. "This is where Vivienne stays when she visits," Mrs. Harlow said. "You'll be using it for now." "Where does Vivienne live?" "She has her own apartment in the city. But she'll be coming home tomorrow to meet you." The way she said it made my skin crawl. Meet you. Like I was an animal at the zoo. "Thank you," I said, because I did not know what else to say. Mrs. Harlow nodded and left. The door closed behind her with a soft click. I stood in the middle of the room and listened. The house was quiet. Too quiet. But beneath the quiet, I could hear something. A faint hum. The cameras. They were always watching. I walked to the window and looked out. The ocean stretched into the darkness. Waves crashed against the shore. It should have been beautiful. It should have been peaceful. But all I could think about was Elara. Was she in the hospital? Was she scared? Was she alone? I pulled out my phone. No signal. I tried again,Nothing. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall. The silk sheets felt wrong against my skin. Everything felt wrong. I was a stranger in a strange house, wearing clothes I had not chosen, sleeping in a bed that belonged to someone else. I did not sleep. The next morning, Mrs. Harlow brought me breakfast on a silver tray. Eggs. Toast. Fruit I could not name. I ate because I knew I needed to keep my strength. Then I showered and dressed in the clothes that had been left in the closet. They fit perfectly. Which meant someone had been expecting me. Which meant Eleanor had been planning this for a long time. At noon, I heard the front door open. Voices echoed through the house. One of them was Eleanor's. The other was lighter. Younger. Sharper. I walked to the top of the staircase and looked down. She was standing in the foyer, draped in silk and confidence. Her hair was the same shade as mine. Her face was the same shape. Her eyes were the same color. But everything else was different. She held herself like a queen. She looked at the world like it owed her something. She looked up and saw me.For a long moment, we just stared at each other. The mirror image that was not a mirror at all. "So you're the spare," she said. Her voice was light. Almost pleasant. But her eyes were cold. I did not respond.She walked up the stairs, each step deliberate. She stopped a few inches from me. Up close, I could see the differences. The perfect skin. The designer perfume. The smile that did not reach her eyes. "Mother said you'd be grateful," she continued. "You should be. You're nothing but a stray dog we're letting into the house." I clenched my fists at my sides. The words stung. But I had been called worse. I had been called nothing my whole life. I would not let her see that she had drawn blood. "What am I a replacement for?" I asked. My voice was steady. Vivienne's smile flickered. Just for a moment. Then it was back, brighter than before. "You don't know?" She laughed. It was a  cruel sound. "Oh, this is going to be fun." She turned and walked down the stairs, leaving me standing there with my heart pounding and my hands shaking. Dinner that night was a performance.The dining room was enormous. A table that could seat twenty, but only four of us sat at it. Eleanor at the head. Richard to her right. Vivienne across from me. Me. The stray dog. The food was exquisite. I could not taste any of it. Eleanor did most of the talking. She talked about the upcoming social season. About the charities she was involved with. About how important it was to maintain appearances. And then she turned to me. "We have a lot of work to do," she said. "You have Vivienne's face, but you don't have her presence. Her style. Her way of speaking. We'll need to fix that." I set down my fork. "Fix what, exactly?" "Everything," Eleanor said. "The way you walk. The way you talk. The way you hold yourself. You need to become Vivienne. Or at least, a version of her that the Valtorres will accept." The name again. The Valtorres. The same name Elara had whispered in the hospital. The same name that had made my blood run cold. "What do the Valtorres have to do with me?" I asked. Eleanor smiled. It was the same cold smile she had worn in the hospital. "Everything, darling. They have everything to do with you." She did not explain. She just went back to her dinner, cutting her steak into perfect pieces, like she had not just dropped a bomb in the middle of the table.Vivienne watched me over the rim of her wine glass. Her eyes glittered with something I could not name. Amusement. Cruelty. Or maybe, just maybe, a flicker of fear. After dinner, I excused myself and went to my room. I closed the door and leaned against it, my heart racing. I was not being welcomed home. I was being trained. Trained to become someone else. Trained to take Vivienne's place. But why? What were the Valtorres? What did they want? And why was Vivienne so afraid of them? I did not have answers. But I was going to find them. I waited until the house was quiet. Then I slipped out of my room and crept down the hallway. The cameras were still humming. I kept my head down and moved quickly. I did not know where I was going. I just knew I needed to hear something,Anything.I found myself outside a door that was slightly ajar. Eleanor's voice drifted through the crack. She was on the phone. "She's here," Eleanor said. "She looks exactly like Vivienne. The Valtorres will never know the difference." I froze. My blood turned to ice.The Valtorres. Again. Who were they? What did they want with me? Eleanor laughed. It was a cold, satisfied sound. "By the time they realize the truth, it will be too late. The contract will be fulfilled. The alliance will be secured. And Seraphina will belong to them. Body and soul." The words echoed in my skull. Belong to them. Body and soul.I backed away from the door, my hands trembling. I needed to get out of there. I needed to think. I needed to find a way to escape. But as I turned, I saw her.Vivienne was standing at the end of the hallway, watching me. Her arms were crossed. Her expression was unreadable. "Listening to secrets?" she asked softly. "That's dangerous in this house." I did not answer,i could not. My voice had abandoned me.Vivienne walked toward me, her heels clicking against the marble floor. She stopped inches from my face. Her breath was warm against my skin. "You want to know about the Valtorres?" she whispered. "I'll tell you one thing. They're not men. They're monsters. And if you're not careful, they'll destroy you." She smiled. It was the first real smile I had seen from her. It was not kind. It was not cruel. It was something else. Something almost like pity. "Welcome to the family, sister," she said. Then she turned and walked away, leaving me alone in the dark hallway with my heart pounding and my world crumbling around me.The Valtorres were coming. And I was not ready