Chapter 1 Dream and Dread

Maeve's POV

"Look what I got you, Maeve."

The stuffed rabbit was almost as big as my seven-year-old self, its fur pristinely white and ears flopping as Herman held it out. His dark eyes crinkled at the corners as he watched my face, drinking in my reaction.

"It is beautiful!" I reached for it hesitantly, my small fingers brushing against the soft fur. "But Mother said no more toys this month..."

Herman chuckled, ruffling my light brown waves. "Let me worry about Mother. This is our secret, okay?" He pressed his index finger against his lips in an exaggerated gesture that made me giggle. "Besides, you got straight A's this semester. You deserve a reward."

As I took the rabbit into my arms, Chopin's Nocturne began without warning, the notes warping like wax under flame. I looked up, startled by the music, and found Herman sitting at the grand piano—except he wasn't the way I remembered him. His shoulders were broader, his jaw sharper, his presence somehow more commanding. Something wasn't right. If he was this grown up, then I must be... I glanced down at my hands on the piano bench, no longer the small fingers of a child but those of a teenager.

"Your hair has gotten longer," he observed during a pause between movements, his voice carrying an odd note that made my skin prickle. His hand reached out, catching a wavy strand between his fingers.

"Should I cut it?" The words left my mouth before I could process the strangeness of our sudden aging, the wrongness of this moment.

"No." the word snapped like a mousetrap, then he cleared his throat. "No, it suits you. Everything suits you, little dove."

The pet name hung in the air for a moment before his hands left the keys. In one fluid motion, he was pressing me back against the piano, his body caging mine. Gone was any trace of brotherly affection—his eyes were dark with hunger, his breathing heavy as he loomed over me. His face had changed again—sharper, harder, aged into the man I remembered from five years ago.

"So you see," his voice was raw, dangerous, as his hands gripped my wrists, pinning them against the cold surface. "You were never really my sister." His mouth crashed against my neck, teeth scraping skin. "All those years of restraint, of pretending..." One hand kept my wrists trapped while the other roughly hitched my leg around his waist, the edge of the piano digging into my back. "They were unnecessary."

"Herman, please..." My voice trembled as I tried to twist away, but he was everywhere—his weight crushing me against the hard surface, his hand sliding under my clothes, his teeth marking my skin.

"You belong to me now," he growled, his grip bruising. "You always have, and now there is nothing stopping me from taking what's mine—"

This isn't right, my mind screamed through the haze of terror. This isn't how it happened. It wasn't at the piano, it was in my room, it was—

I woke choking on silence.

The Crowley mansion's bedroom clung to me like a second skin. Evening sunlight oozed through the curtains, staining the walls the color of old bruises. My hands shook as I pressed them to my stomach, where phantom fingers still dug crescent moons into my flesh.

My gaze fell on the pregnancy test lying face-down on my bedside table, and reality crashed back with brutal clarity. That was right—I had dozed off while waiting for the results. How long had it been? My period was weeks late now, something that had never happened before, even with my condition. The possibility that grew with each passing day filled me with cold dread.

As I shifted to sit up, I became aware of the dampness between my thighs, my underwear already wet, and shame flooded through me. Had the dream actually aroused me? The thought made me sick. What kind of person had I become in this five years, to have such a physical response to...?

I hurried to the bathroom, disgusted with myself, only to find a different truth when I checked: blood. The relief hit me so hard my knees nearly buckled. Just my period, finally arriving after making me worry for so long. Everything would be fine. I wouldn't have to face the possibility that I was carrying Herman's—

A commotion erupted from downstairs—multiple footsteps, rapid conversation, the clatter of luggage being dragged across the marble floor. The sound of Herman's distinctive baritone carried up the stairs, issuing sharp instructions to Todd, his personal driver, about his briefcase and travel documents. I frowned, glancing at the ornate clock on the wall. Six-thirty. Herman wasn't supposed to be back until tomorrow night; his business trip should have kept him away for at least another day.

I turned to the mirror, knowing I would need to go down soon. My reflection surprised me—despite the spotting, my skin was unusually clear. Typically, my period brought with it a constellation of angry blemishes across my jaw and forehead. But now my complexion seemed to glow, almost luminous in the bathroom's harsh lighting. I smoothed down my hair, straightened my clothes, trying to make myself presentable enough for his inevitable scrutiny.

As I moved to leave, my eyes caught on the pregnancy test still lying face-down on the table. I should throw it away, I thought, now that my period had started. My fingers brushed against the plastic, accidentally flipping it over.

Two pink lines stared back at me with devastating clarity.