Chapter 4

I stopped taking Mara’s video calls. Mornings meant collecting supplies, afternoons were for therapy, and evenings went to the appointment book. I also read Lucia’s hotel contracts and challenged the worst liability clauses.

“We might actually make money on this one.” She showed Thomas the revised agreement as if I’d won a prize.

The scars were gradually fading. I changed the stiff collars that rubbed them raw and cut my hair short enough to clear the brace. Six weeks in, I could put it up myself. Thomas abandoned his spray gun to tell Lucia, who closed early and took us out to celebrate. “My girl doesn’t need me to do her hair anymore.”

I’d once finished a fundraising speech for two hundred donors, only for Mother to complain that my raised eyebrow hadn’t looked humble enough.

That evening, a silver-embossed invitation arrived. Benefit donors were voting for an ordinary family’s representative to give the opening address. Someone had nominated me.

[She’s got my vote. We donated enough. Let’s get some entertainment.]

The winning family would receive a year’s restoration contract, and partner organizations would stream the speech. They knew the Brennans needed that work.

Mara finally messaged me.

[My little surprise. Since you won’t take my calls, I’ll see your miserable life in person.]

In her fitting video, she wore champagne satin while a seamstress adjusted the trouser hems. An assistant brushed concealer behind her ear. Her shoulders were rigid, and a fading IV bruise marked her hand.

[Adrian’s announcing the wedding date. He won’t let me see the ring until that night.]

I’d seen that box in Father’s safe before the swap, beside documents waiting for my signature.

[Try to dress decently. Don’t make Lucia sell her sewing machine. It’s probably worth more than you.]

She asked if I’d finally accepted reality. I looked at the invitation again. The speech would be streamed to partner organizations, giving the shop a chance to reach customers outside our old circle.

I would stay in the main hall, give the address, and leave with Lucia and Thomas before the wedding announcement.

I typed back: [Keep my slot. I’ll be there.]

Lucia used the department-store gift cards she’d been saving to buy me a navy evening gown. My scars had faded until they were no longer visible. As she adjusted the sash, I thought about how carefully she had saved those cards.

She believed she was spending them on her daughter. I had kept quiet because I was afraid of losing her, but she deserved the truth, even if she never wanted me in her home again.

Her eyes filled. “You don’t have to hang your head, sweetheart.”

I squeezed her hand. “I won’t tonight.”

At seven thirty, black sedans lined the Gold Coast hotel. Falcone guards controlled the entrance; Adrian’s men watched the private lounge. I entered through a side door and heard the host announce me.

“Please welcome our special guest, Mara Brennan, to open the evening.”

Scattered laughter filtered through the doors. A last message arrived: [Showtime, freak.]

I brushed my fingers over the smooth, unblemished skin at my neck and pushed open the ballroom doors.