Chapter 3

The Vistari estate suddenly went into lockdown that day.

The route for a North Harbor handoff had been leaked. The convoy had been ambushed, leaving two Vistari family members badly wounded.

Leon called everyone into his study.

Three pieces of evidence lay on his desk: a route plan sent from my computer, access logs showing that my credentials had been used to enter the archive, and backup copies found in my studio drawer.

All of it pointed to me.

Catherine stood beside Leon, seemingly defending me. She said I'd been with him for six years and would never willingly betray him. But the more she suggested that someone might have put me up to it, the more suspicious everyone became.

All I told Leon was that I hadn't done it.

He stared at the evidence for a long time. In the end, he followed the family protocol and sent me to the basement holding cell while they investigated.

I stopped at the sight of the black iron door.

When I was eight, kidnappers had locked my mother and me in a pitch-black basement storeroom for two days. She'd died there protecting me. Ever since then, I hadn't been able to breathe in complete darkness.

Leon knew. Even when the power went out for just a few minutes, he'd always had someone bring me a light immediately.

He seemed reluctant, but he looked away anyway. "Rules are rules, Isabella. You have to understand."

The iron door closed behind me. As the last sliver of light disappeared, I started gasping.

I pounded on the door and begged them to leave me a light. No one answered.

Eventually, I lost track of time. All I could do was huddle in a corner, pinching my arm hard and telling myself I wasn't eight years old and trapped in that basement again.

But the more I told myself that, the more clearly I remembered my mother dying in my arms.

Six years ago, Leon had known this was what terrified me most.

Six years later, he was the one who put me there.

I had no idea how much time had passed when the iron door finally opened.

Leon told me Marianne Foster had confessed to using my computer and stealing my access credentials.

I knew at once that she was taking the blame for me. Marianne had raised me after my mother died. She didn't even know where the archive was, let alone how to get her hands on the North Harbor route files.

I shoved Leon aside and ran to find Marianne. An agonized scream came from the back courtyard.

By the time I got there, the third lash had just fallen.

Marianne was tied to a whipping post. Her clothes were torn open across her back, and she could barely stand. The next blow made her cough up blood.

Something was wrong. The Vistari family used a soft whip for routine punishment. 12 lashes would hurt, but they would never do this much damage.

I broke free of the bodyguards and grabbed Leon, telling him there was something wrong with the whip.

I dropped to my knees and begged him to check it before they went on.

Leon hesitated, but Catherine cut in. "How can you expect anyone to respect your authority if you let people bend the rules so easily?"

I watched in despair as the lashes kept falling. Marianne's cries grew weaker until she stopped breathing.

Only then did they discover that someone had switched the whip. Metal links were hidden in its tip.

Leon held me and tried to explain. I didn't want to hear it. What difference would an explanation make? Marianne wasn't coming back.

After my mother died, Marianne had raised me.

Now she, too, had died in front of me trying to protect me.

And this time, the person who'd stood by and let it happen was Leon. The man I'd loved for six years.