TWENTY-FOUR

The envelope sat on the nightstand like it was watching me.

I’d stared at it on and off all morning, every time I passed it, every time I slowed down just enough to let my mind go there. The handwriting—small, neat, unfamiliar—felt too careful. Too intentional. It wasn’t a note. It was a message. One that was waiting to land like a punch to the gut.

Still, I didn’t open it.

Eventually, I slipped it into the top drawer of the nightstand and shut it with a quiet click.

Not today.

There was already too much going on. Between Diana prowling around the house like a queen assessing her court, and the not-so-minor fact that Brooklyn Morano was due to arrive any minute, I didn’t have the mental space for mystery.

I headed downstairs to the dining room, finding the maids already mid-setup. Plates being placed, glassware catching the afternoon light, polished silverware glinting on white linen. It looked like a damn royal banquet.

Without waiting to be told, I started helping. Not for the credit—just for something to do. I adjusted placements, folded the napkins, double-checked spacing between seats like it actually mattered. Busy hands meant fewer spiraling thoughts.

One of the younger maids gave me a grateful smile as I helped with the last water glasses. I returned it. It was the only normal moment I’d had all day.

And then, of course, she appeared.

Diana glided in like she hadn’t even touched the floor. She was in another perfectly tailored outfit—cream this time, with gold earrings that probably cost more than my entire education.

Her eyes swept over the table, then to me.

“Don’t you have something more appropriate to be doing?” she asked, tone light and deadly all at once.

I turned toward her slowly, careful not to let anything slip onto my face.

“I was just helping,” I said simply.

She smiled. Thin. Sharp. “Of course.”

And then she walked away without another word, leaving a trail of perfume and judgment behind her.

I stood still for a moment, jaw tight. Every part of me wanted to snap something back. Something clever. Something that would land.

But I didn’t.

I just stepped away from the table and found another spot to busy myself—close enough to stay involved, far enough to avoid giving her a reason to strike again.

Because the truth was, Diana Morano didn’t need reasons.

She just needed you to be in her way.

Brooklyn arrived exactly when she said she would—on time, on beat, and completely unreadable.

Her red hair was pulled back into a low twist, and she wore a dark green dress that made her look like she belonged on the cover of some old society magazine. Not flashy, not loud. Just… sharp. Composed. In control.

Her smile was the kind that didn’t quite touch her eyes, but it wasn’t cold either. It felt like she already knew the answer to every question I hadn’t asked yet.

I stood by the archway as she walked in, heart tightening slightly. I expected venom. Snide remarks. Some twisted game. But instead, she walked straight up to me and extended her hand like we were old acquaintances.

“Catrina, right?” she said, calm and polite.

I nodded and shook her hand. “Ms. Morano. It’s nice to—”

“Oh, no,” she cut in, waving a hand. “It’s Lancaster. Brooklyn Lancaster.”

There was a pause. I didn’t know if I should nod again or say something. She was still holding that small, unreadable smile.

“Though, technically,” she added a beat later, “we’re family now. You can just call me Brooklyn.”

I forced a small smile of my own. “Alright. Brooklyn.”

She tilted her head slightly, eyes scanning me like she was studying something behind my eyes. “How is it… living with Wesley?”

It wasn’t an attack. Just a question. Curious. Smooth.

Still, I hesitated. “It’s… interesting,” I said carefully.

Brooklyn let out a soft laugh, not unkind. “I’ll bet.”

She stepped a little closer, lowering her voice just enough to make it feel intimate. “Just… be careful. He’s not always what he seems.”

I opened my mouth to ask what she meant—what exactly she was trying to imply—but before I could, Diana’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

“Everyone to the table, please.”

Brooklyn turned her head at the sound, then glanced back at me. “Let’s not keep her waiting.”

She said it with amusement, but I felt the shift.

The conversation was over.

Whatever that moment was—soft warning, subtle threat, or something in between—she’d given it, and she was done.

I followed her into the dining room, the weight of her words still clinging to me like smoke.

The dining table looked more like a negotiation arena than a place to eat.

Everything was perfectly set, of course—silverware aligned, napkins folded like art, crystal glasses catching the afternoon light. But it was the seating that told the real story.

Wesley at the head, as usual. Brooklyn directly across from him, calm and unbothered. Diana to Wesley’s left, already sipping her wine like it was going to take everything in her not to throw it.

I hovered by the edge of the room, already backing away. I hadn’t technically been told to sit. And the vibe? Definitely didn’t scream welcome.

I cleared my throat softly, keeping my eyes down. “I’ll just let you all—”

Brooklyn’s voice cut in smoothly. “No—stay.”

I paused.

She turned her head toward me, then to Wesley, her eyes light but laced with something else. “You’re family now, aren’t you?”

The word hit the air like a dare.

Wesley didn’t look surprised. But his jaw clenched just a little.

He picked up his wine glass, took a slow sip, and then said, without even blinking, “Didn’t seem like you thought that when you tried to blow up my fucking house.”

Silence.

The kind that makes your shoulders tense and your breath catch. Even the maids froze for a second.

Brooklyn didn’t flinch. She just smiled—soft, elegant, like his words rolled right off her. “I was aiming for the courtyard.”

Diana gave her a look, something sharp and cold. But she didn’t say anything either. She didn’t need to. Her entire posture had changed the moment Brooklyn told me to stay.

I hesitated, then slowly pulled out a chair near the end of the table—far enough to not be at the center of anything, close enough to technically be included.

Wesley said nothing. Didn’t stop me. Didn’t invite me either.

I sat down quietly, smoothing the napkin into my lap, trying to ignore the way Diana’s eyes followed my every move like she was calculating how best to remove me from the room.

I’d gotten the message loud and clear.

She didn’t want me here.

Not just at the table—but in this world. In this house. In her son’s life.

And the scary part?

She wasn’t even pretending to hide it anymore.

Still, what rattled me more wasn’t Diana’s coldness.

It was Brooklyn’s strange warmth.

Why was she suddenly being… nice?

Why did she want me at that table?

What did she want from me?

And why did it feel like I was the only one who didn’t know?