Chapter three-Sloane

T he “red man” signal warning pedestrians not to cross the road stared me down. I

ignored it and power walked across the street, tuning out the blaring car horn of an

oncoming truck.

I was already late, and if I didn’t take off my shoes soon, my bloodied feet would kill

me faster than getting hit by a car. Four-inch stilettos looked great, but they weren’t made

for ten blocks of city walking.

Unfortunately, London traffic was a shitshow, so I’d ditched my cab after being stuck

on the same street for twenty minutes.

By the time I reached the hotel, my dress was stuck to my body with sweat and I could

barely feel my feet, but I made it to the penthouse without incident (unless I counted the

other guests’ horrified stares).

Please don’t be asleep.

I knocked on the door, my heart in my throat.

Please don’t be asleep. Please don’t be—

My breath exhaled in a puff of relief when a familiar round face answered the door.

“There you are.” Rhea ushered me in, her eyes darting toward the entrance like George

and Caroline would walk in at any minute. She put her job in jeopardy every time she

texted me, but we both took our risks for the same reason. “I was afraid you couldn’t make

it.”

“I got held up by traffic, but I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I took off my shoes and

sighed. Much better.

With Rhea’s help, I quickly cleaned my bloody feet before walking into the suite’s

living room. My heart clenched when I saw her sitting on the floor, watching a kids’ cartoon

about ballerinas. She always gravitated toward shows about dance or sports.

Her back faced me, but she must have had a sixth sense because she turned the instant

I entered the room.

“Sloane!” Penny scrambled to her feet and ran toward me. “You came.”

“Of course I came.” I bent down to hug her. God, she’d grown so much since the last

time I saw her.

She buried her face in my stomach, and if I could cry, I would’ve at how tightly she

clung to me. Besides Rhea, I was probably her first hug of the day.

Her nanny left the room, giving us time alone, and I eventually, reluctantly released

her so I could fish her gift out of my bag. “Happy birthday, Pen. This is for you.”

My half sister’s eyes lit up. She took the gift and unwrapped it, taking great care not to

rip the silver-striped paper.

She was Penelope to her parents and Penny to everyone else, but she’d always be Pen

to me. The sister I never knew I needed, the only one who’d cried when I left, and the only

Kensington I still considered family after my grandmother died.

She finished unwrapping the gift, and her delighted gasp brought a smile to my face.

“The new American Sports doll!” She clutched the precious item to her chest. “How

did you get this?”

“I know people. Your older sister is pretty cool, you know,” I teased.

The limited-edition doll was one of the most sought-after toys in the world. There

were only two dozen in existence, but my friend Vivian’s husband pulled some strings andgot me one in time for Pen’s birthday.

She couldn’t play with it openly, but one of the upsides to her parents’ neglect was that

they wouldn’t notice or question how she’d gotten the toy.

“So, how does nine feel?” I sat next to her on the floor. “You’re almost in the double

digits.”

“Gross. Soon I’ll be old like you—ah!” Pen erupted into hysterical giggles when I

tickled her side. “Stop! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” She gasped. “You’re not that old.”

“That’s what you get for insulting me,” I quipped, but I stopped tickling her, mindful

not to overexert her. I always trod a line between treating her like a normal kid while

knowing she wasn’t, at least not in terms of physical stamina.

Two years ago, Pen was diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome, or CFS, after an

unusually lengthy bout of mono. Characterized by extreme fatigue, sleep issues, and joint

and muscle pain, among other things, CFS had no cure or approved treatment. It was

difficult to determine the cause, though her doctors suspected it was triggered by a change

in the way her immune system responded to illness, and the best we could do was manage

the symptoms.

Despite having no FDA-approved treatments, CFS had spawned a thousand and one

snake oil salesmen who promised a “cure” via special vitamins, antiretrovirals, and other

“miracle” medications. Pen’s parents had flushed a ton of money down the drain trying to

find something that worked. Nothing ever did, so eventually, they gave up and simply

shoved her at home where they didn’t have to think about her.

Luckily, Pen had mild CFS, so she could carry out everyday activities better than those

with more severe cases, but she couldn’t play sports like she wanted or attend school like

her peers. On bad days, it was difficult for her to walk. She was currently homeschooled,

and Rhea stayed with her pretty much twenty-four seven in case she crashed.

“I made something for you.” Pen sounded out of breath, but my concern ebbed when

she walked to the coffee table and returned without missing a beat. A knot formed in my

throat. It was a good day; she deserved a good day on her birthday. “It’s a friendship

bracelet.” She placed the jewelry carefully in my palm. “I have a matching one. See?”

The beaded bracelet simply had five hearts. Hers were pink; mine were blue.

The pressure from the knot wound its way up behind my nose and ears. “It’s beautiful.

Thank you, Pen.” I slid the bracelet onto my wrist. “But you should receive gifts on your

birthday, not give them.” Especially not when making the jewelry probably cost her hours’

worth of energy.

“I don’t get to see you on your birthday,” she said in a small voice.

I hated that she was right. We only saw each other a few times a year when Rhea could

sneak me in. My family was spiteful enough that they’d lock her in a vault before they’d

willingly let me visit, and I was proud enough never to apologize for something I wasn’t at

fault for. I’d thought about it, but I couldn’t do it. Not even for Pen.

“Well, we’re together now,” I said, pushing thoughts of the past aside. “What do you

want to do? We can watch a movie, play with your new doll…”

“I want to watch the Blackcastle versus Holchester game.” Pen looked at me with big

doe eyes. “Please?”

I wasn’t a sports person, but she loved soccer, so I acquiesced to a taped replay. The

game made headlines earlier this year because it’d been the first time Asher Donovan, thedarling of the Premier League and the newest transfer to Blackcastle, had played against his

old team.

Besides Xavier, Asher was my most difficult client, but he was also Pen’s hero. She’d

nearly ruptured my eardrum when he signed with my firm a few years ago.

Speaking of Xavier…

While Pen curled against my side and watched the match with rapt attention, I quickly

checked my phone for any new gossip items. I ignored a text from an old hookup asking to

meet up again—the man could not take a hint—and scanned the news.

I had alerts for all my clients, but there were only two names that made my blood

pressure rise whenever they popped up onscreen. One of their initials: XC.

Nothing. Good. He was behaving. I swore Rhea had an easier time taking care of Pen

than I did keeping Xavier in line.

Pen and I didn’t talk throughout the game, but we didn’t need to. Even though we

didn’t see each other often, the best part of our reunions was being comfortable together.

Sometimes that meant talking nonstop; other times it meant watching a movie in content

silence.

She shifted half an hour in, and when I looked down, my pulse spiked with worry. Pale

face, glazed eyes—she was about to crash. “I’m okay,” she said when I called for Rhea. The

older woman rushed into the room, her face wreathed with concern. “Stay.” Pen clutched

my sleeve with her little hand. “I never get to see you.”

Despite her words, her voice faded into a whisper toward the end. The night had taken

its toll, and it was a testament to her fatigue that she didn’t argue again when I kissed her

goodbye on the forehead.

“We’ll see each other again soon,” I said fiercely. “I promise.”

I wished we had more time together, but Pen’s health came before anything else.

Rhea and I took her into the bedroom, where she instantly crashed. I hoped she slept

through the night. Otherwise, tomorrow would be rough.

I smoothed back her hair, my throat clogged with emotion. Another visit finished too

soon. Our time together never lasted as long as I would’ve liked, but at least I saw her. It

was the best I could’ve asked for given our circumstances.

“It’s good she got to see you for a bit tonight,” Rhea said after we returned to the

living room. “Mr. and Mrs. Kensington didn’t spend a lot of time with her before they went

out.”

Of course they hadn’t. My father and stepmother considered Pen’s condition an

embarrassment and kept her away from the public as much as possible.

“Thank you for letting me know about tonight,” I said. Rhea had called last week and

told me they would be in London. George and Caroline had dinner and show reservations

tonight, which gave me a large enough window to see Pen. “I appreciate—”

“…absolutely terrible.” A familiar voice outside the door stopped us in our tracks and

made my stomach plunge. “Honestly, George, I’ve never had a more abysmal lobster.”

Rhea and I stared at each other, her huge eyes mirroring mine. “They’re not supposed

to be back for another two hours.”

Her mouth trembled. “If they see you…”

We’d be done for. Rhea loved Pen like a mother. If she were fired, they would both be

devastated, and if I couldn’t see Pen anymore…Do something. CEOs and celebrities paid me exorbitant amounts of money to guide

them through rough patches, but a strange disassociation rooted my feet to the floor. It was

like I was watching an actor play me in the hotel room while the real me spiraled down a

tunnel of unwanted memories.

Dating you is like dating a block of ice…I don’t know if you even like me…

Can you blame him for what he did?

If you actually cared that much, you’d cry or show some emotion.

Don’t embarrass us, Sloane.

If you walk out that door, there’s no coming back.

Pressure pushed against the backs of my eyes, desperate for a way out. As always, it

found none.

A key whirred against the suite’s card reader.

Move! a voice inside my head screamed. Are you stupid?

You’re going to get caught.

The soft click of the door unlocking finally snapped me out of my trance and into

crisis-management mode.

I didn’t think. I simply grabbed my bloodied heels from the entryway, scanned the

living room for any traces I might’ve left behind and, satisfied there were none, ducked

behind the floor-to-ceiling drapes.

The door opened, revealing a glimpse of gray hair before I fully ensconced myself

behind thick red velvet. My palms curled, slick with sweat.

I hadn’t planned on running into my family today. I wasn’t mentally prepared for that,

and though I wasn’t a particularly religious person, I prayed with everything I had that they

were too tired to do anything except go straight to sleep.

“We should’ve stuck with our regular spot.” Caroline’s clipped tone echoed in rhythm

with her heels. “This is what happens when you give so-called rising stars a chance,

George. They’re rarely up to par.”

“You’re right.” My father’s deep, familiar voice rumbled through me like thunder on a

Friday night when I was tucked in bed with a book and a flashlight. Equal parts comforting

and ominous, it chipped at the wall I’d erected long ago until a sliver of nostalgia escaped.

It’d been years since I heard his voice in person.

“Next time, we’ll go to the club,” he said. “Rhea, order room service for us. We barely

ate anything at the restaurant.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And why are the drapes open?” Caroline’s voice grew louder. “You know they must

be closed immediately at sunset. Lord knows who could be looking in right now.”

No one because you’re on the twelfth floor and not facing any other buildings.

My snarky mental reply didn’t prevent the taste of copper from filling my mouth when

my stepmother’s footsteps stopped in front of me. I stood frozen, staring at the swath of

velvet that was the only thing separating me from disaster.

Don’t look behind the drapes. Don’t look behind—

She grasped the curtains with one hand. I pressed my back against the window, but she

was centimeters from my face and I had nowhere else to go.

Thud. Thud. THUD.The ominous drum of my heartbeat intensified with each passing second. I was already

devising multiple plans and backup plans for what I would say, what I would do, and who I

would hire to help if Caroline found me and shipped Pen off to some remote location where

I couldn’t see her.

Caroline’s hand tightened around the drapes. For a heart-stopping moment, I thought

the jig was up.

Then she dragged the curtains closed, hiding me completely, and resumed her

complaints about that night’s dinner.

“Honestly, I don’t know how Vogue could’ve named him one of the best new chefs of

the year…” The sound of her heels faded along with my father’s murmured response and

the click of a door closing.

Neither one asked about Pen or acknowledged Rhea again.

My body sagged, light with relief, but when Rhea pulled back the drapes, I didn’t

waste time loitering. George and Caroline could come back out any minute.

I squeezed Rhea’s hand in a silent goodbye and escaped out the front door. She smiled,

her eyes worried, and I didn’t breathe properly until I hit the sidewalk outside the hotel.

The shock of unexpectedly being in the same room as my father again disoriented me

for a few minutes, but the cool October air poured over me like an ice shower, and by the

time I reached the corner, the buzz had vanished from my ears and the streetlights no longer

blurred into an orange stream.

I’m fine. This is fine. I hadn’t been caught, I’d spent time with Pen on her birthday, and

now I could—

My phone buzzed with a news alert.

I glanced at it, my stomach plummeting the minute I saw Perry Wilson’s distinctive

blog logo.

I clicked into the article, and a crimson haze wiped away any lingering unease over my

narrow escape from the hotel.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Two hours. I left him alone for two hours and he still couldn’t follow simple

instructions.

I shoved my phone into my bag and hailed a passing cab. “Neon.” I slammed the door

shut, causing the driver to wince. “I’ll give you your biggest tip of the month if you get me

there in ten minutes.”

Every second counted when I had a client to strangle.

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