The morning of the party arrived with heavy heat that trapped the tension inside the Hale mansion.

I woke up to find my emerald silk dress still draped at the foot of my bed.

In the dim dawn light, its deep green color almost looked black.

The memory of glass breaking downstairs at 3:00 AM felt like a fever dream, but the hollow ache in my chest was very real.

When I finally made my way to the kitchen, the air smelled of expensive coffee and something metallic-the scent of a cleaning crew at work.

A woman in a gray uniform was carefully vacuuming by the library door. My eyes darted to the floor.

There, on the edge between the marble foyer and the mahogany library floor, was a faint, jagged scratch in the wood.

It was the only sign left of what had shattered in the middle of the night.

My mother was already at the breakfast bar, looking unusually pale.

She cradled a cup of herbal tea, her fingers shaking slightly around the porcelain.

"Morning, honey," she said, her voice sounding thin. "Did you sleep okay? This house has so many strange noises at night, doesn't it?"

"I heard something break," I said, sliding onto the stool next to her. "Was everything okay?"

She forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. They were red, as if she had been up as late as I had.

"Just a vase, Jane. Richard accidentally knocked it over while looking for some papers. You know how he gets when he's stressed about work."

Richard wasn't the type to "accidentally" knock anything over. He moved deliberately. I looked back at the scratch on the floor. It was too deep for a vase.

It looked like something heavy had been dragged or thrown.

"Where is he now?" I asked.

"He had an early meeting at the firm. He won't be back until it's time to leave for the fundraiser tonight." She squeezed my hand. "But he told me to tell you how excited he is for you to go to Tyler's party.

He wants you to make friends, Jane. He wants you to feel like this is your home."

"He wants me to look like I belong," I quietly corrected her.

She flinched, pulling her hand away to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Is that so bad? Wanting a fresh start? Your father made choices, Jane.

Richard is offering us a way out of those choices' shadow. Just for tonight, try to be the girl who lives here, not the girl waiting for a call from prison."

I didn't answer.

I couldn't.

The "shadow" she mentioned was my father's life, and no amount of Italian marble or emerald silk could make me forget the way he used to tuck me in and say that the truth was all that mattered.

I spent the rest of the day in a daze. I avoided the library and the common rooms.

Most of all, I avoided Edmund.

I could hear him moving through the house-the occasional thump of a door, the sound of his car engine revving in the driveway before he sped off toward the school for a pre-party meeting.

Every time I thought about the photo he had left in the box, my heart felt like it was being squeezed by a cold hand.

He wasn't there for your father. He was there for mine.

If Richard's private investigator was at the prison, it meant Richard was creating the "incident" my father was involved in.

But why?

To keep me in line?

To keep my father quiet?

The questions buzzed in my mind like vultures, waiting for me to tire out.

By 7:00 PM, the transformation began. I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my room, the emerald dress fitting my curves in a way that made me feel like a stranger.

The silk felt cool and heavy, like armor.

I styled my hair in loose waves, pinned back on one side with a silver clip, and applied a dark berry lipstick that made me look older-sharper.

A soft knock at the door startled me. I expected my mother or Richard, ready to give me one last lecture about "liability."

Instead, I opened the door to find Edmund.

He wore slim-fit dark jeans and a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looked effortlessly dangerous.

His eyes traveled from my face down to the hem of the dress and back up again.

For a brief moment, the coldness in his gaze faltered, replaced by something dark and intense.

"You look..." He cleared his throat, the mask of indifference snapping back into place. "You look like you're ready to play the part."

"I don't feel like myself," I admitted, my hand moving to the delicate silk at my hip.

"Good. You shouldn't. The girl you were wouldn't survive tonight."

He stepped into my room, closing the door behind him.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. "You forgot these."

I opened the box to find a pair of diamond studs.

They weren't huge, but they were as clear as ice, catching the light and casting tiny rainbows against the walls.

"I can't take these, Edmund. They're too much."

"They belonged to my mother," he said, his voice dropping to a low whisper. "Richard doesn't know I still have them.

If you wear them, he'll think he bought them for you and forgot.

He buys so much jewelry for people he's trying to own that he loses track."

I glanced at the diamonds and then at him. "Why are you doing this? You've spent every moment since I arrived trying to make me feel unwelcome.

Now you're giving me your mother's jewelry?"

Edmund stepped closer, the scent of cedarwood and something sharp, like rain on asphalt, filling the small space between us.

He reached out, his thumb brushing against my jawline as he tilted my head up.

His touch was electric, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

"Because," he said, searching my eyes with a desperate intensity. "If you're going into the lion's den, you should at least have something that hasn't been paid for by the lion.

Think of it as a reminder that not everything in this house is a lie."

He took the earrings from the box and, with surprising gentleness, leaned in to put them in for me.

His fingers were warm against my earlobes, his breath brushing over my neck.

I held my breath, afraid that any movement would shatter the fragile truce between us.

"There," he whispered, his face inches from mine. "Now you look like a Hale. Even if you aren't one."

He stepped back, the momentary softness disappearing. "I'm driving.

Get your bag.

We're already late."

The drive to Tyler's house was silent. Edmund drove his Audi with reckless precision, weaving through the North Shore's winding backroads as if he were trying to outrun the car itself.

I watched the moonlight dance over the dashboard, thinking about the photograph hidden in my bedside drawer.

"What did you mean?" I suddenly asked as we pulled into the long, car-lined driveway of a mansion that made the Hale estate look modest. "About the man in the photo being there for your father?"

Edmund didn't look at me. He killed the engine, and the night's silence rushed into the car. "My father doesn't just hire people to watch his enemies, Jane.

He hires them to watch his family. That man, Miller, has been following me since I turned sixteen. But lately, he hasn't been following me. He's been going to the prison."

"To see my dad?"

"To ensure your dad stays where he is," Edmund said, finally turning to face me. "Richard didn't just happen to find your mother.

He sought her out.

He needed leverage.

Your father was a witness to something in the firm's past-something that could ruin Richard.

By bringing you and your mother into the house, Richard didn't just rescue you. He took hostages."

The air in the car suddenly felt thin. "Hostages?"

"Think about it, Jane.

Why would a billionaire marry a waitress with a husband in prison? Out of the goodness of his heart?" Edmund let out a bitter laugh. "He bought your silence by buying your life. And as long as you're under his roof, your father will keep quiet to keep you safe."

I felt like I was falling, the world was spinning out of control.

My mother's "fairytale" was a kidnapping. My "scholarship" was a hush-money payment.

"Why are you telling me this now?" I gasped.

"Because Jessica is going to try to break you tonight," Edmund said, reaching across the console to grab my hand.

His grip was tight and steadying. "She knows about the prison.

She's going to use it to humiliate you. If you know the truth-the real truth-she can't hurt you.

The only way to win in this world is to know the secrets before they're used against you."

He let go of my hand and opened his door. "Wipe your eyes. Put on that mask I saw in the mirror. We're going in."

The party overwhelmed the senses.

The house was a glass-and-steel monstrosity overlooking the ocean, filled with the elite of Blackwell Academy.

Music pulsed through the floor, a heavy bass that felt like a second heartbeat.

The air was a mix of expensive vodka, chlorine from the indoor pool, and heavy floral arrangements.

As we walked through the front door, the crowd seemed to part. It wasn't just Edmund's status; it was the two of us together.

The "scholarship rat" and the "Prince of Blackwell."

I felt the weight of a hundred stares.

I spotted Jessica across the room, standing with a group of girls in silk dresses.

She held a martini glass, her eyes narrowing as she took in my appearance-the emerald dress, the diamonds, and the way Edmund's hand rested possessively on the small of my back.

"Don't leave my side," Edmund muttered under his breath.

"I can handle myself," I whispered back, although my knees felt weak.

We navigated through the crowd, with Edmund playing the bored aristocrat perfectly.

He nodded to people and exchanged brief, meaningless pleasantries while keeping me close.

I felt like a trophy, but for the first time, I didn't mind. It felt like a shield.

Then the music shifted, and the crowd moved toward the outdoor terrace for the "midnight toast."

As we stepped into the cool night air, Jessica blocked our path.

She looked stunning in a white bandage dress, her blonde hair shimmering under the patio lights.

Yet, her eyes held a venom that wealth couldn't disguise.

"Edmund, darling," she purred, ignoring me completely. "I thought you said you were done with charity work.

Bringing the help to a party? That's a bit much, even for you."

The circle of students around us fell silent. I felt heat rise from embarrassment, but I remembered Edmund's words. She can't hurt you if you know the truth.

"She isn't the help, Jessica," Edmund said, his voice smooth. "She's my sister. Or hadn't you heard the news? Our parents are making it official."

Jessica's smile didn't waver. She turned her gaze to me, her eyes scanning the emerald silk. "Oh, I heard.

I also heard about the incident at the prison yesterday. It must be hard, Jane, wondering if your father will survive the night while you're here wearing diamonds you didn't pay for."

A collective gasp rose from the crowd. Someone whispered "Prison?" and soon the word spread through the terrace like a virus.

I looked at Jessica, and for a moment, she didn't seem like a queen bee.

She looked like a girl desperately trying to hold her ground in a changing world.

"My father is a good man who made a mistake," I said, my voice steady and clear in the sudden silence. "At least he's honest about who he is. Can you say the same for your family, Jessica? Or should we discuss why your father's firm is currently under federal investigation?"

The color drained from Jessica's face. She looked at Edmund, then back at me, her mouth hanging open in shock.

I wasn't sure if her father was under investigation-it was just a guess based on Riley's comments about local business gossip.

But the way she recoiled told me I'd struck a nerve.

"You... you little-"

"That's enough," Edmund interrupted, his voice cold.

He stepped in front of me, his presence imposing over Jessica. "The next time you speak to her, remember whose house she lives in. And whose name she's going to be carrying."

He turned to me, his eyes shining with fierce pride. "I think we've had enough of this party. Don't you?"

He didn't wait for my answer. He took my hand and led me back through the house, past the music, the stares, and the whispers.

We didn't stop until we were in the Audi, the doors locking with that familiar, pressurized thud.

The silence in the car felt different this time. It wasn't suffocating; it was a relief.

"You lied," Edmund said, looking at me as he started the engine. "Her father isn't under investigation. At least, not yet."

"I took a page from the Hale playbook," I said, leaning back against the seat. "I used a secret to win."

Edmund studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable.

Then he reached out and took my hand, tracing the line of my knuckles with his thumb.

"You're learning," he whispered. "But be careful, Jane. Once you start playing the game, you can't ever stop."

As we pulled out of the driveway, I looked back at the glass mansion.

I had won the battle, but I knew the war was just beginning.

As I felt the weight of the diamonds in my ears, I realized I wasn't just a hostage anymore. I was a player.

But as we drove into the dark, I couldn't shake the feeling that the most dangerous person in my life wasn't Richard or Jessica.

It was the boy next to me, holding my hand as if he were the only thing keeping me from falling.

The luxury of the Hale mansion felt stifling the next morning.

Light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the breakfast nook, showing the dust motes dancing in the air like tiny, golden intruders.

I sat at the marble island, my head resting in my hands, staring into a cup of coffee that had gone cold twenty minutes earlier.

My skin still felt the ghostly weight of the emerald silk dress, and my ears felt oddly light without the diamond studs Edmund had lent me.

I had returned them to him in the driveway last night.

Our fingers brushed in a brief, electric moment that kept me awake until the sun began to seep through the curtains.

The silence broke with the sharp, rhythmic tap of heels on the tile.

My mother entered, wrapped in a cream-colored silk robe worth more than my father's entire wardrobe.

She looked radiant, refreshed, and completely unaware that her daughter had just survived a social nightmare.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," she said cheerfully, kissing the top of my head. "Richard told me you and Edmund were the topic of conversation at the party.

He was so pleased. He said you looked like you finally understood what it means to be part of this family."

I pulled back slightly. "He was pleased that his son used me as a shield against Jessica?"

Mom sighed lightly. "Jane, don't be so dramatic. It's a transition for everyone.

Richard just wants us to be happy. He even mentioned taking us all to the Hamptons this weekend to celebrate the engagement being made official."

I looked at her, searching for the woman who used to share a single order of fries with me at the diner because we needed to save money.

She was gone, replaced by this polished version of herself who seemed to think happiness could be bought.

"Mom, did Richard ever explain why he really chose us?"

She hesitated, her hand hovering over the silver toaster. "What do you mean?"

"Edmund told me things last night. About Richard's private investigator. About Dad."

The toaster clicked, and the smell of burning bread filled the room, but my mother didn't move.

She stood still, her back turned to me. When she finally turned around, the "perfect" mask was starting to tremble.

"Edmund is a troubled boy, Jane. He's bitter about his mother and wants to hurt Richard. You can't listen to him.

He's trying to drive a wedge between us and the man who saved us."

"Did he save us, or did he buy us?" I asked, my voice rising.

"That's enough!" she snapped, her tone sharper than usual. "You are at the best school in the country.

You have a future now. Stop searching for reasons to be miserable and just, for once, be grateful."

She grabbed her toast and hurried out of the room, leaving me alone with the cooling coffee and the realization that my mother wasn't just a victim of Richard's charm-she was a willing participant in the lie.

I needed to get out.

I grabbed my bag and headed for the front door, but a movement in the library caught my eye.

The door was slightly open, and the scent of old paper and expensive tobacco drifted out.

I hesitated, then pushed the door open.

Richard sat behind the massive oak desk, a stack of folders in front of him.

He looked up, his expression instantly shifting to that warm, paternal smile I now recognized as a weapon.

"Jane. Just the person I wanted to see. Come in, sit down."

I didn't sit. I stayed by the door, my hand on the brass handle. "I'm heading to school."

"You have a few minutes. I wanted to talk to you about your father's situation." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "I've spoken to the warden again.

It seems your father was protecting another inmate from a nasty group. He's a hero, in a way. I've ensured he's getting the best medical care available in the facility."

The way he said "ensured" felt less like a favor and more like a reminder of his influence.

"Why was your man Miller at the prison before the fight even happened, Richard?"

The smile didn't disappear, but it became rigid. Richard's eyes, usually warm, now seemed as hard as flint.

"Edmund has been talking. I should have expected that. He has a vivid imagination when he feels neglected."

"He had a photo," I said.

"Miller is my security chief, Jane. He visits many places to protect my interests. Your father is now one of my interests. I wanted to make sure he wasn't being targeted by people who might try to get to me through him. It's a dangerous world for a man of my standing."

He stood up and walked around the desk, stopping just outside my personal space. He smelled of sandalwood and power.

"I have given your mother everything she ever dreamed of. I have given you a life that girls would kill for. All I ask in return is loyalty. Is that so much to ask, Jane? Loyalty to the man who is keeping your father alive?"

The threat was thinly veiled, but it was there. Keeping your father alive.

"I'm going to be late," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

"Of course. Have a wonderful day at school. And Jane? Tell Edmund I'd like to see him for dinner tonight. We have much to discuss regarding his behavior at the party."

I practically ran to the car.

Blackwell Academy felt different today. The whispers were no longer about my clothes or my past; they were about the photo.

I was halfway to my locker when Riley intercepted me, looking frantic.

She grabbed my arm and dragged me into an empty classroom, locking the door behind us.

"Have you seen it?" she hissed, shoving her phone in my face.

It was an Instagram post from an account called Blackwell Secrets.

It showed me and Edmund leaving Tyler's party.

We weren't touching, but the way he looked at me-and the way I looked at him-screamed intimacy.

The caption read: The Charity Case and the Crown Prince: A Step-Sibling Scandal?

"It has five hundred likes, Jane. Jessica's followers are losing their minds. They're saying you seduced him to secure your spot in the family. They're calling you a gold-digger, a social climber... worse."

I leaned against a desk, feeling dizzy. "I didn't do anything. He was just... helping me."

"In this school, helping looks like claiming," Riley said, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement. "You've officially declared war on the social hierarchy. Jessica isn't just going to be mean now; she's going to be lethal. She's been the 'future Mrs. Hale' since she was in pigtails."

The door rattled. Someone was trying the handle.

"Open up! I know you're in there, Carter!"

It was Jessica's voice, filled with rage.

Riley and I exchanged glances. I felt a rush of adrenaline.

The fear I'd felt in the mansion and the intimidation from Richard transformed into a sharp point of defiance.

I walked to the door and unlocked it.

Jessica stormed in, flanked by two of her lieutenants.

Her face was blotchy, her perfect makeup ruined by what looked like hours of crying.

"You think you're clever, don't you?" she spat, stepping closer. "Using your mother's position to get close to him. You're disgusting. He doesn't love you, Jane. He's using you to annoy his father. That's all you are-a tool."

"Maybe," I said, my voice unnervingly calm. "But if I'm just a tool, why are you so scared of me?"

Jessica raised her hand, palm flat, ready to strike. I didn't flinch. I stared her down, waiting for the hit.

The hand never landed.

Edmund appeared in the doorway, catching Jessica's wrist mid-air.

He didn't look angry; he looked bored, which was even more terrifying.

"You're making a scene, Jessica," he said, his voice smooth and dangerous. "It's beneath you."

"She's ruining everything, Edmund! Look at what people are saying!"

"I don't care what people are saying," Edmund replied, dropping her wrist as if it were trash. "And neither should you. Unless, of course, you're worried that the rumors are true."

He looked at me then, a slow, deliberate sweep of his gaze that made the air feel heavy.

"Are they?" Jessica whispered, her voice breaking. "Are you really with... her?"

Edmund stepped closer to me, his shoulder brushing mine. "That's none of your business. Now, leave. Before I decide to tell my father exactly how you've been treating his guests."

Jessica let out a choked sob and fled the room, her friends following behind her like shadows.

The silence that followed was thick.

Riley slipped out the door, giving me a look that said we would talk later, leaving me alone with Edmund.

"You shouldn't have done that," I said, finally catching my breath. "You just made it a thousand times worse."

"It was already worse, Jane. The moment we walked into that party together, the fuse was lit. We might as well let it blow."

He walked over to the window, gazing out at the quad. The light highlighted the sharp angles of his face, making him look like a statue of some ancient, vengeful god.

"My father wants to see you for dinner," I said.

Edmund's jaw tightened. "I know. He sent me a text. It's not a dinner; it's an interrogation. He's realized he can't control us both if we're on the same side."

"Are we?" I asked. "On the same side?"

Edmund turned to me.

He crossed the room until he stood so close I could feel the heat coming from him.

He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of my jaw, mimicking the gesture from the night before.

But this time, he didn't stop.

He tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering.

"I don't have sides, Jane," he whispered, his eyes dark with some kind of pain. "I only have survival. But for the first time in my life, I think my survival might depend on yours."

He leaned in, resting his forehead against mine. It wasn't a kiss, but it felt more intimate than anything I had ever experienced. It was a pact.

"He's going to try to break us tonight," Edmund said against my skin. "He's going to use your father, and he's going to use my mother. We have to be ready."

"How?"

"By giving him exactly what he wants," Edmund said, pulling back to look at me with a cold, brilliant smile. "A perfect, happy family. We're going to play the role so well he'll start to believe his own lies.

And while he's focused on the mask, we're going to find the key to the vault."

I looked at him and realized I was no longer the girl from Lincoln High. I was a conspirator in a house of ghosts.

"One more thing," I said as he turned to leave. "The glass that broke last night. My mom said it was a vase. But I saw the floor. It was heavy, Edmund."

Edmund paused, his hand on the doorframe. He didn't turn around.

"It wasn't a vase," he said quietly. "It was the portrait of my mother that used to hang in the library.

Richard took it down and smashed it against the floor because I asked him where she was really staying."

He left without another word.

I stood in the empty classroom, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the hall.

The "perfect" dinner was only hours away.

I went to my locker, my movements mechanical.

As I opened the metal door, a small, white envelope fluttered out.

I picked it up.

There was no name on the front. Inside was a single Polaroid photo. It was grainy, taken from a distance.

It showed my father sitting in a wheelchair in the prison infirmary, talking to a man whose face was obscured by a shadow.

On the back of the photo, written in a hand I didn't recognize, were four words:

He's talking.

Stop him.

The chill that went through me had nothing to do with the air conditioning.

I shoved the photo into my bag and walked toward my next class, the weight of the secret feeling like a physical bruise.

The dinner wasn't just going to be an interrogation.

It was going to be an execution. And I didn't know which one of us was on the chopping block.

The air in the grand dining room felt heavy with unspoken threats, like trying to breathe through wet velvet.

Richard sat at the head of the table, the light from the crystal chandelier reflecting off the silver service with a cutting brightness.

He appeared to be a satisfied patriarch, slicing into a medium-rare steak with a precision that suggested he imagined it was someone's throat.

My mother sat to his right, her smile fixed and fragile, like glass that had been glued back together too many times.

Across from me, Edmund sat like a statue of defiance.

He hadn't touched his food.

He kept his hands in his lap, his eyes fixed on a spot above Richard's head. He looked like he was preparing for a fight.

"The wine is excellent, darling," my mother said, her voice a touch too high. "Don't you agree, Richard?"

"Superb," Richard replied, not looking at her. He wiped his mouth with a linen napkin and finally turned his gaze toward us. "But I didn't call us together tonight to discuss the cellar. I want to talk about optics.

Edmund, do you have any idea what the board of governors at Blackwell is saying today?"

Edmund didn't blink. "I don't keep up with the gossip of old men in cardigans, Father."

Richard's eyes narrowed. "They are discussing a scandal. They are talking about my son and my soon-to-be stepdaughter appearing in compromising photos on social media. They are talking about instability in the Hale household."

"It was a photo of two people walking to a car," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. The polaroid in my pocket felt heavy against my leg. "The only ones making it a scandal are those who want one."

Richard focused on me. It felt like being caught in a spotlight. "Jane, you are young.

You don't understand that in our world, perception is reality.

If people believe there's a rift-or worse, an inappropriate connection-between you two, it devalues everything I have built.

It makes us look like a soap opera instead of a legacy."

"Is that what this is about?" Edmund asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The stock price? God forbid people think we're actually human beings with complicated lives."

"I expect you to act with dignity," Richard snapped, the polite facade slipping to reveal the cold truth. "I have worked too hard to bring this family together to let it fall apart because of teenage rebellion. From now on, you will not be seen together outside this house. Jane, you will take the bus or a car service. Edmund, you will resume your duties with the student council and stay away from scholarship circles."

The silence that followed was deafening.

I looked at my mother, hoping for some maternal support, but she was preoccupied with the pattern on her china plate.

She had traded her voice for safety, and she wasn't willing to risk it now.

"And what about my father?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Richard's expression softened into a disquieting, paternal falsehood. "Your father is being looked after, Jane. But his safety depends on the stability of this house. If the press starts digging into us because of your behavior at school, they might start digging into him. And we wouldn't want his incident to become public, would we? It might complicate his parole."

It was a direct blow.

He was telling me, as clearly as if he'd yelled it, that my father's life was the price for my compliance.

I felt a hand brush against my knee under the table.

It was Edmund.

His touch was firm, a silent signal of support in the dark. I didn't pull away.

"We understand," Edmund said, his voice empty. "We'll play our parts."

Richard smiled, warmth returning to his face like the sun breaking through clouds. "Excellent. I knew I could count on your maturity. Sarah, tell them about the florist for the engagement party."

The rest of dinner became a masterclass in psychological warfare disguised as wedding planning. My mother discussed peonies and silk runners while the three of us silently played a game of chess.

Every time Richard looked at me, I saw the man in the shadow of the polaroid.

Every time I looked at Edmund, I saw the boy who had watched his mother's portrait shatter.

When the meal finally ended, I fled to the gardens. I needed air that didn't smell like Richard's cologne.

I stood by the fountain, the sound of the water drowning out the noise of the house, when Edmund appeared beside me.

He didn't say anything at first. He only stood there, looking up at the moon.

"He's getting desperate," Edmund said finally.

"He's threatening my father's life, Edmund. That's not desperate, that's certain." I pulled the polaroid from my pocket and handed it to him. "Someone left this in my locker today."

Edmund took the photo, his brow furrowing in the moonlight.

He flipped it over and read the note: He's talking. Stop him.

"Who is the man in the shadow?" I asked.

Edmund's face went pale. "That's not one of Richard's men."

"Then who is it?"

"It's a lawyer," Edmund whispered. "A man named Marcus Thorne.

He used to work for the firm before he was disbarred for unethical behavior. My mother once told me Thorne knew where all the bodies were buried.

If your father is talking to him, it means he's seeking a way out that doesn't involve Richard's help."

"But the note says 'Stop him.' Richard must have sent this."

"No," Edmund said, handing the photo back. "Richard wouldn't send a polaroid to your locker. He's too careful for that.

This came from someone who wants us to turn against each other. Someone who wants to provoke a crisis."

"Jessica?"

"Maybe. Or perhaps someone even closer." Edmund looked back toward the house, focusing on the window of Richard's study. "There are people in my father's circle who think he's softened because of your mother.

They want him focused on business, not on a new family. They might be trying to trim the branches."

I looked at the photo of my father-fragile, broken, and surrounded by wolves. "I have to get to him. I need to know what he's telling Thorne."

"You can't go to the prison, Jane. Richard will know the moment you book a ride." Edmund stepped closer, his presence a warm shield against the night chill. "But I can get a message to Thorne.

I still have contacts from when my mother... before she was moved."

"Why are you helping me? Richard just told you your future hinges on staying away from me."

Edmund reached out, his hand hovering over my shoulder before it finally settled there. His grip was heavy and sure. "Because he smashed the only thing I had left of my mother yesterday.

He thinks he can replace people like furniture. He believes he can buy loyalty with silk and diamonds.

He's about to learn that some things can't be bought."

He leaned down, his face inches from mine. "Do you trust me, Jane?"

I looked into those winter-sea eyes and saw the same fire burning in my own soul.

We were both trapped and tired of performing.

"Yes," I whispered.

He didn't kiss me. Instead, he did something much more important.

He took my hand and pressed a small, cold object into my palm.

It was a silver key.

"This is for the service entrance in the basement," he said. "It bypasses the alarm on the main gate. If you ever need to leave without being seen, use it. But be careful. If he catches you, I can't help you."

He turned to leave, but I caught his sleeve. "Edmund? What happens if we win? What happens to us?"

He paused, shadows from the willow tree dancing over his sharp features. "In this house, Jane, no one ever truly wins. We just find a way to survive the night."

He disappeared into the darkness, leaving me with the key, the polaroid, and a heart beating too fast.

I walked back to the house but didn't go to my room.

I went to the library. The door was locked, but I knew from my late-night wandering that Richard kept a spare key hidden in the base of a marble bust in the hallway.

I slipped inside.

The room smelled of old leather and remnants of the smashed portrait.

I didn't turn on the lights. I used my phone's flashlight.

The beam cut through the darkness like a blade.

I wasn't looking for money or jewelry. I was searching for the files Edmund mentioned-the ones Richard kept on his "interests."

I searched the desk, the drawers, and the hidden panels behind the books.

There was nothing. Richard was too smart to leave a paper trail.

Just as I was about to give up, I spotted a small, discarded scrap of paper in the wastebasket.

I picked it up and smoothed it out. It was a receipt from a private medical transport company.

The date was yesterday. The destination wasn't a prison infirmary.

It was a private clinic in the mountains.

My breath caught. Richard hadn't lied about my father being moved.

But he hadn't moved him for his health. He had moved him to a place where no one-not even a lawyer named Marcus Thorne-could find him.

Then I realized that the note in my locker wasn't just a threat. It was a countdown. My father was talking, and Richard was moving him to a place where he would never be heard from again.

I slumped against the desk, the cold realization washing over me. I was a "Hale" now, with the clothes, the school, and the name. But I felt more like a prisoner than my father ever had.

Suddenly, the library door creaked.

I dove behind the large leather armchair, my heart pounding. The light from the hallway spilled into the room, silhouetting a figure.

It wasn't Richard.

It was my mother.

She didn't turn on the lights. She walked straight to the mahogany bookshelf and pulled out a specific volume-a thick, leather-bound edition of The Count of Monte Cristo.

She opened it, took out a small envelope, and tucked it into the pocket of her robe.

She stood there for a moment, her shoulders shaking, before she turned and left as quietly as she had come.

I remained in the shadows, frozen by what I had seen. My mother, the woman who had begged me to be "grateful," was keeping secrets of her own.

I waited until I was sure she was gone before creeping out of the library. I didn't go to sleep. I sat by my window, watching the sun begin to rise over the North Shore, the silver key gripped tightly in my hand.

The engagement party was in three days. The world would see a happy family.

They would see a billionaire and his beautiful bride, along with two teenagers who had learned to behave.

But behind the silk and smiles, a war was being fought. For the first time, I wasn't afraid. I was ready.

I looked at the polaroid one last time before tucking it away.

My father was smiling in the photo. He was talking to someone he trusted.

He was trying to save me.

"I'm coming, Dad," I whispered to the empty room. "Just hold on."

Downstairs, I heard the heavy thud of the front door.

Richard was leaving for work.

The day had begun. In the Hale mansion, the clock was finally ticking.