WELCOME HOME

CASSY

A thief and a fraud. A man who destroyed his partner and built an empire on Sienna's father's corpse.

God, how did I not know? How did I never question where the money came from, why the Vales disappeared, why Sienna never came back to school after that day in the cafeteria?

Because I didn't care. Because I was a cruel sixteen years old and, I was so wrapped up in my own perfect life that other people's suffering was just background noise.

You looked right through me like I was furniture, Sienna had said. Like I was nothing.

She was right.

And now she's going to make me pay for it.

The car pulls up to a building that makes my breath catch. It's all glass and steel, modern and sleek, the kind of place that has a doorman and a concierge and probably a waiting list a mile long. The kind of place I used to live in.

The driver opens my door.

"Miss Vale is expecting you on the penthouse floor," he says. His voice is neutral, professional. He's done this before, I realize. Picked up girls from The Gilded Cage and delivered them to Sienna's door.

How many others have there been?

The thought makes something twist in my stomach. Jealousy? No. That's insane. I hate her. I'm terrified of her, and trapped by her.

I'm not jealous.

The lobby is all marble and gold. The concierge doesn't even look at me as I walk past, like girls in worn-out jeans show up here all the time. Maybe they do. Maybe I'm not special. Maybe I'm just another acquisition, another plaything, another…

The most expensive thing I've ever bought, Sienna's voice echoes in my head.

Four million dollars.

The elevator to the penthouse requires a key card. The driver hands it to me without a word, then disappears back to the car.

I'm alone.

The elevator is mirrored on all sides. I catch my reflection and barely recognize the girl staring back. I look pale, and hollowed out. My eyes are too wide, my hair is a mess, and I look like I've been through a war.

I guess I have.

The elevator keeps rising. I count the floors, forty, fifty, sixty. The penthouse must take up the entire top floor.

Of course it does.

The doors open directly into the apartment, and I forget how to breathe.

It's obscene. That's the only word for it. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, lights spreading out like fallen stars. Open concept living room with furniture that's clearly designer, art on the walls that I recognize from auction catalogs I used to browse. A kitchen with marble countertops and appliances that probably cost more than a car.

And standing in the middle of it all, backlit by the city like some kind of dark angel, is Sienna.

She's changed. The suit is gone, replaced by an expensive-looking black silk pajamas, the kind of thing you wear when you want to look effortlessly elegant even in your own home. Her hair is down, falling past her shoulders in dark waves. She's holding another glass of whiskey.

"Welcome home," she says.

Home.

The word is a mockery.

"This isn't my home," I say. My voice sounds braver than I feel.

"It is for next year." She takes a sip of her drink. "Come in. Close the elevator."

I step inside. The elevator doors close behind me with a soft ding that sounds like a cell door locking.

"We should establish the rules," Sienna says, walking toward the kitchen. Her movements are graceful. She moves like someone who's never doubted themselves for a single second. "I don't like repeating myself, so pay attention."

She sets down her glass, then turns to face me.

"Rule one: You will address me as Ma'am or Miss Vale at all times. In private and in public. The only exception is if I explicitly tell you otherwise."

My jaw clenches. "You can't be serious."

"Rule two: You will be available to me at all times. That means when I call, you come. When I tell you to do something, you do it. No questions. No hesitation."

"I'm not a dog-"

"Rule three:" Her voice gets quieter, colder. "You will not interrupt me. Ever. If you do, there will be consequences."

I swallow hard, and force myself to stay quiet.

"Better." She picks up her glass again. "Rule four: You will wear what I tell you to wear. Eat what I tell you to eat. Sleep where I tell you to sleep. Your body belongs to me now, Cassy. Every inch of it. I own it, and I'll do with it as I please."

She walks toward me slowly, like a predator stalking prey.

"Rule five: You will accompany me to any event, meeting, or gathering I require. You will behave appropriately, which means you will be silent unless spoken to, gracious, and you will remember at all times that you are mine. My possession. My property."

She's right in front of me now. I can smell her perfume again, amber and smoke. Its intoxicating and terrifying.

"Rule six: You will not contact your family or friends without my explicit permission. As far as the world is concerned, you've taken a private position and are unavailable. Your phone, your email, your social media… all monitored and controlled."

"That's illegal…"

"Is it?" She tilts her head. "You signed a contract, Cassy. A legal, binding contract that gives me authority over your time and activities for one year in exchange for resolving your sister's legal troubles. Which part of that is illegal, exactly?"

I don't have an answer.

"That's what I thought." She turns away, walks back to the kitchen. "Rule seven: You will not engage in any romantic or sexual activities with anyone but me. Your body is mine. I don't share."

"I'm not your girlfriend," I spit out. "I'm your… your…"

"My what?" She looks at me over her shoulder. "My employee? My servant? My slave?" She smiles. "Pick whichever makes you feel better. The reality doesn't change."

"The reality is that you're insane. This is insane. You can't just…"

"Can't I?" She sets down her glass with a sharp clink. "Let me be very clear about something, Cassy. I can do whatever I want. I have enough money to buy senators. I own half the dark web's infrastructure. I know everyone's secrets. I could destroy what's left of your life with a single phone call."

She walks back toward me, and I fight the urge to step back.

"I could make sure Delilah never sees the outside of a prison cell. I could make sure you join her. I could ruin your mother… yes, I know where she is. I could take everything you have left, which admittedly isn't much, and grind it into dust."

She stops inches from me.

"Or…" Her voice softens. "You can obey the rules. Serve your time. And at the end of the year, you and Delilah both walk away free. Clean records. Fresh start. Half a million dollars to start over."

She reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is almost tender.

"Your choice."

It's not a choice. We both know it.

"When do I start?" I whisper.

"You already did." She steps back. "Now, let me show you where you'll be sleeping."

She leads me down a hallway lined with more art, more evidence of wealth that shouldn't exist, not for a girl who was the maid's daughter ten years ago.

"How did you do it?" I ask before I can stop myself. "How did you get all this?"

She glances back at me. "I was smarter than everyone else. I worked harder. I wanted it more." A pause. "And I was motivated by the best fuel there is."

"What's that?”