Sluice. App Store research for builders.

NovelRealm -v1

Started 12d ago

“Alright, Genevieve. Let’s do it once more—slow it down this time,” Mrs. Rose, my speech therapist, said. My stomach knotted instantly. I could feel my stepmother’s stare drilling into the side of my face. “Th… th… the c-c-clock w-wa… was t-t-t—” The sounds jammed in my mouth, my tongue refusing to obey. Mrs. Rose gave me a gentle nod, like she could will the words out of me. From the back of the room, Rosalind made a sharp little scoff. I clamped my lips together and looked down. Butterscotch—my worn stuffed bunny—sat in my lap, his stitched eyes watching while heat rose behind my own. “Keep going. That was closer than before,” Mrs. Rose urged. I bit my lip until it hurt and shook my head. Rosalind stood up. Her hands went to her hips, and her Jimmy Choo heels snapped against the hardwood as she crossed the room. “It’s pointless. She’s never going to get it. I don’t know why Jonathan keeps wasting thousands on these sessions,” she muttered, drifting toward the study. She tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder, perfect as always in designer clothes and a full face of makeup. Mrs. Rose’s voice stayed careful. “I’ve been thinking it might help to teach her some sign language—just so she has an easier way to communicate.” Rosalind’s head whipped back. “No. That’s an excuse. She can talk. She’s choosing not to because she wants attention.” Mrs. Rose stiffened, eyes widening. Then she leaned nearer to me anyway. “Mrs. Kingsley, with respect, that isn’t true. Genevieve was born tongue-tied, and given everything that’s happened… it’s going to take time.” Yes, Rosalind was my stepmother. And yes—she hated me. She hated me because I reminded her of my mother, the woman my sisters insisted had seduced my father and nearly ruined their family. That’s what Caroline and Kimberly always said. I kept my gaze down. My long, straight black hair slid across my cheeks as I squeezed Butterscotch’s soft paw. He was all I had left of Mom—besides whatever memories I could hold onto. Rosalind’s tone turned flat, final. “This is the last session. After today, I’ll accept your resignation and pay whatever my husband agreed to.” The tears finally spilled. Mrs. Rose was one of the only people who felt safe. Besides Daddy—except Daddy was never here. A door slammed somewhere down the hall. Mrs. Rose opened her arms. “Come here, sweetheart. I know you’re trying so hard.” Her perfume smelled like apples. I sank into the hug and breathed like it could keep me steady. “I’m sorry I can’t keep coming,” she whispered, tucking my hair behind my ears. “But you promise me you won’t stop, okay? I’m leaving you these books. Practice every night before bed.” Her honey-brown eyes held mine until I nodded. “Th… th… thank y-you,” I forced out. She smiled anyway and wiped my cheeks with her smooth palms. “Don’t let them grind you down. Stay strong.” The security guard, Kenneth, appeared in the doorway. “Mrs. Morrison, your car is waiting out front,” he said. His eyes flicked to me, and his mouth pulled into a sad little smile. Everyone looked at me like that. Everyone, except the ones closest to Rosalind. They looked at me like I was something dirty. I hadn’t always lived in this house. Before, it was just Mom and me. After the accident, they came for me—days later. I had tried to keep Mom warm. I had tried to clean her up, to wake her, to make her open her eyes. Nothing worked. Now I lived here. It had already been three years. Daddy used to visit then. Back when I was his precious little secret. Now I wished I’d stayed a secret. When I was six, I’d had surgery on my tongue. But it hadn’t fixed me the way everyone wanted. I pushed and pushed to speak, and the words still came out wrong. “Goodbye, Gene,” Mrs. Rose said, tears shining in her eyes. “Take care of yourself.” She walked out. And the moment she was gone, something in me knew it—whatever hope I’d been clinging to had left with her. After that, it got worse. Rosalind found the papers Mrs. Rose had given me and ripped them to pieces. I was sure she didn’t want me to learn. Maybe she didn’t even want me to have a voice at all. Then Caroline and Kimberly made sure I remembered my place. Day after day, they found ways to hurt me. The only reason I survived it was my dad. He was the one person who could make it feel bearable. Rosalind kept me homeschooled. Kept me tucked away. A stain under their roof—better hidden so only a few ever knew. Now I am twenty-one. And tonight my father is hosting a gala celebrating two elite companies merging. What no one will be told—at least not until the right moment—is that it’s also where Caroline’s engagement is going to be announced. She has been pining after Julian Sterling for years, and tonight she finally gets what she’s been dreaming about. I’m just glad she’ll be out of this house. Brenda, the housekeeper, came into my room carrying a garment bag. “Here,” she said, lifting out a soft blue dress. Long sleeves. High neckline. “Mrs. Rosalind bought this for you.” For me? That didn’t happen. “Me?” I mouthed, tapping my chest. Brenda nodded with a small smile. Over the years, most of the staff had become my real world. Since I rarely left this house, Brenda had turned into something like a mother. She had even taught me sign language in secret. My dad had supported it whenever he was home. The second he left for work, Rosalind fought anything that helped me. Dad spent a lot of time overseas—Beacon Enterprise had grown fastest outside the country. He split his life between this house and wherever the company had dug in next. We got him every other month, for a few weeks at a time. Rosalind and my sisters didn’t seem bothered. Money arrived in place of him, and they were satisfied. I wasn’t. I didn’t care about the money. I missed my father. We wrote letters back and forth. That became ours—because phone calls were a nightmare for me. Brenda set the dress aside and patted the vanity chair. “Come on. Let’s fix your hair.” She started brushing out my long black hair, and I stared into the mirror. Fair skin. Full lips. Soft blue eyes in a face that—if my memory was right—looked too much like my mother’s. I was thin, with wider hips and a medium bust, standing around five-three. My dad used to call me his sweet little bunny. Rosalind hated that. After I turned seventeen, she seemed to want me less and less in her sight. I stayed upstairs, in my room, out of the way. When I turned eighteen, I’d thought about leaving. I even wrote Dad about it. He had begged me not to go. He said he’d worry himself sick. And I didn’t have anywhere to run. So I stayed. In the quiet hours, I started making jewelry and selling it online. I had saved about six thousand dollars. It wasn’t much. Maybe things would feel lighter once Cecilia left. Still, I hadn’t expected to be included tonight. But with Dad back, they had to remember I existed. Appearances mattered. “Your father is so happy to be home,” Brenda said, voice bright. “He keeps talking about how beautiful you’ve become.” Heat rushed to my cheeks. I looked down at my hands, the hint of a smile pulling at my mouth as I nodded. He had said he was staying for a while. He had even said that the next time he traveled, I might be able to go with him. I still couldn’t quite believe it. “Brenda!” Cecilia’s voice sliced up the hall. “I’m going to be late for my appointment!” Brenda groaned, curling iron in hand. I reached up and wrapped my fingers around her wrist, giving it a squeeze. Go, I signed. She let out a heavy sigh and shook her head. “I’m throwing my own damn party the day that girl is out of here,” she muttered. I slapped a hand over my mouth as laughter tried to break free. “We have time before everyone gets here,” Brenda said, already moving toward the door. “I’ll come straight back when I’m done, okay?” I nodded. I can’t believe I get to go. Something tells me tonight will be unreal—especially with everyone celebrating Cecilia’s engagement. And maybe… maybe I’ll meet a boy too. A girl can dream. Chapter 2—Excitement (Genevieve) I leaned out from behind the wall, pulse sparking with that jittery kind of thrill as warm food and sharp champagne drifted through the air. It had been forever since the house had sounded like this—really, not since Kimberly’s twenty-first two years ago. Nobody had exactly asked for me, but I was parked just outside the towering foyer doors anyway, listening to laughter and bright voices leak through the seams. Brenda had even taken pity on me, slipping out with a little plate and a flute of champagne. I wasn’t old enough, but she’d insisted a sip wouldn’t end the world. The fizz climbed straight into my head, and soon all the chatter blurred into one shimmering, happy hum. Dad hadn’t been able to show earlier, so Rosalind had checked with Kimberly about whether I should be included. Kimberly hadn’t even paused before saying no. I didn’t take it personally. Crowds weren’t my thing. Watching them was. A caterer—Wesley—came around the corner with a tray balanced on his palm, a neat forest of champagne glasses wobbling slightly as he walked. “Gene,” he said, gentle and amused, “you’re supposed to be upstairs getting ready, not hiding out.” People like Wesley had moved through this house for years, setting up parties, clearing plates, fixing the illusion. He’d caught me drifting on the edges before. Wesley was in his forties, the one Rosalind usually hired for dinners and events. He worked with Colin—Colin did the flowers, and every Sunday he delivered fresh arrangements for every room Rosalind cared about. Always the same request. Red roses. Red, white, black—those were Rosalind’s colors, her signature stamped across the whole place. Kitchen, study, bathrooms, everything. Everything except mine. My room stayed white. Most of what Rosalind approved for me was bland and airless, but I’d learned not to need much. I could be content with almost anything. I nodded, waved at Wesley, and pivoted toward the sweeping staircase. Bare feet slapped softly over marble as I sprinted up, taking the steps two at a time—until a familiar voice thundered from down the hall and my body locked up. “Rosalind, you already burned through that account?” Dad’s anger cracked like a whip. “I said small. Private. Not two hundred people and a six-figure budget!” I’d heard him annoyed before, sure—sometimes at my sisters, sometimes at Rosalind—but this was different. Money usually wasn’t a battlefield. “Oh, sweetheart,” Rosalind purred, syrupy and bright—the voice she reserved for him. I doubted he’d ever heard the one she used on me. “It’s our firstborn’s engagement announcement. Don’t you want Caroline to remember it forever?” “I told you to stop spending,” Dad pushed on, his voice flattening with exhaustion. “We’re counting on the merge with Sterling Industries. If this doesn’t happen—” Merge? Was something going wrong at work? “It won’t fail,” Rosalind murmured, and I heard her move closer. “This engagement is the final piece. The families will be tied together. Relax… let me take care of you.” A wet, unmistakable kiss followed. My face tightened. I eased past the office door as quietly as I could and headed straight for my room. So tonight mattered. Not just socially—financially. And Dad and Rosalind fighting about money? That was new. Inside my room, I shut the door and let my gaze travel across the familiar blankness until it landed on the dress laid out on the bed. Blue. Plain, if I was being honest. A little matronly. But I didn’t own things like this. Rosalind controlled what I wore, what I looked like, what was “acceptable.” Dad brought suitcases of clothes from everywhere he traveled, and my sisters always chose first. I never cared much. Give me a T-shirt and jeans and I was fine. Still, I peeled off my white tee and denim, stepped closer, and lifted the dress by the shoulders. When I held it up against my narrow frame and caught my reflection, a smile found me anyway. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t dazzling. But it was pretty. Maybe Rosalind expected me to hate it. I shimmied into it and tugged it up, then reached behind to pull the zipper. It caught. I managed halfway before it refused to budge, and my fingers started to shake with frustration. A knock cut through the moment. “Bunny? It’s me.” Dad’s voice, soft now, careful. I hurried to the door, clutching the dress tight over my back and biting down on the edge of my worry. Maybe he could help. I could feel the gap where the zipper had stopped. I opened the door slowly. Dad stood there looking… worn down. Not just tired—drained. His blue eyes were rimmed red, and his light brown hair was mussed like he’d dragged his hands through it too many times. I lifted my hand, curling it into a fist, pinky and thumb extended, and brought it near my chin. “What’s wrong?” I mouthed, signing the words. “Nothing, sweetie.” He tried for steady. “Can I come in?” I nodded and stepped aside. He walked in, and his gaze swept over me from head to toe, pausing as if he needed to confirm I was real. “Genevieve…” he breathed, the corners of his mouth lifting. “You look so beautiful.” Heat rushed into my cheeks. Compliments were rare enough to feel unreal, even when they came from him. I signed a quick thank you anyway, because it mattered. Then I pointed at my back, at the stubborn zipper. “You need help, don’t you?” he asked. I nodded again and turned around. In seconds, he tugged the zipper up the rest of the way. I stepped to the mirror and stared at the fit, letting myself take it in. The fabric skimmed my body, falling to my ankles, with a slit that opened only to my knees. The neckline rose into a neat collar, modest enough that nothing really showed, and yet—somehow—I looked older. Like I’d stepped closer to womanhood without meaning to. Dad’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You look like your mother.” My throat tightened, and I met his eyes in the reflection. Mom wasn’t talked about—Rosalind and my half-sisters treated her name like poison—but I treasured every scrap of her Dad ever gave me. I signed carefully, watching his face. “Daddy… are you okay?” He exhaled and crossed to the bed, sitting down heavily. His hand patted the empty spot beside him. “Come here, bunny.” He reached across the bedding and picked up Butterscotch, my battered stuffed rabbit. He’d survived more than most things in this house. Brenda had stitched his ears back on more than once, and somehow that only made him more precious. Dad held him for a second, like he understood what Butterscotch meant, then looked back at me. “Tonight, stay close to me,” he said. “There will be a lot of people, and you know I worry.” Something in him felt wrong—too brittle, too urgent. I sat and slid my hand into his. His gaze dropped to the rabbit again. “Genevieve… I’m sorry I’ve been gone so much.” His voice roughened. “I know it hasn’t been easy. And with you not being able to speak, I—” He swallowed. “I should’ve done more. I should’ve helped you more.” My chest ached, and I pulled in a shaky breath. I signed with sharper movements, my lips forming the words. “Dad. What is this?” He blinked hard. “If this partnership… if it doesn’t happen… things will change.” He stared at the floor like it could answer him. “This house. The money. I failed you. I spent years trying to make everything better for you girls, and I missed what mattered. Caroline’s engagement to Julian Sterling—this is the only thing that can save us.” His eyes filled, and panic flickered in the wet shine. I scooted closer and wrapped my arms around his waist, holding him like I could keep him from falling apart. He trembled against me. Dad hadn’t been around enough. I’d been lonely sometimes. But my life hadn’t been terrible. Not the way his face suggested. I didn’t want him drowning in guilt for me. I rested my cheek against his chest, breathing him in, letting him hold me until his shaking eased. “How did I get so lucky,” he murmured, voice thin, “to have a daughter as kind and beautiful as you?” I pulled back and widened my eyes in an innocent little look I knew would get him. It worked. His laugh came out quiet, but real, and his smile returned like a fragile thing he didn’t want to break. Then he sobered again. “Rosalind’s on edge today,” he said. “So stick with me, alright?” He hesitated, like he hated what he was about to add. “And… your grandmother Georgina is coming.” My stomach dropped. Georgina—Rosalind’s mother—made Rosalind look gentle. She’d always insisted I was faking my stutter. She’d tried everything to force words out of me, including locking me in a dark room until I begged the “right” way. I couldn’t. I’d been trapped for hours. Even now I slept with a night light. I knew it was embarrassing. I didn’t care. Darkness still felt like a door closing. As Dad watched me, my eyes wide and my mouth gone dry, dread rolled through me, heavy and sudden. Maybe tonight wasn’t going to be good after all. Chapter 3—Honey (Genevieve) “Ready, Bunny?” Dad asked, looking down at me as we stopped before the tall double doors opening into the foyer. Voices spilled through the cracks, bright and busy. Servers moved in and out with trays, and I figured Rosalind, Kimberly, and Caroline had already gone down to play hostess. Soft instrumental music floated over everything, and my smile stretched before I could stop it. I nodded. Dad’s grin widened too, and he guided me inside with my arm tucked through his. “You’re going to be the most beautiful woman in this room,” he said. Heat rushed to my cheeks. I tipped my head forward and let a curl slide over my shoulder, pretending it was nothing. Brenda hadn’t gotten back in time, so I’d done it myself. Somehow, I’d pulled it off—lip gloss, mascara, a little shadow. I really did feel pretty. I took another step and nearly pitched forward when my heel caught. Dad tightened his hold immediately. “I don’t know why Rosalind picked those shoes,” he muttered. I did. Because I never wore heels. Most days I went barefoot, honestly—there wasn’t much reason to dress up when I rarely left the house. Now I had on white heels with a towering lift, and every shift of weight sent a sharp complaint through my toes. I felt like a newborn deer trying to convince everyone I knew what I was doing. The room opened up around us in a wash of luxury. Giant arrangements of red flowers were set like sculptures throughout the space. Waiters in crisp black-and-white suits threaded through crowds, offering champagne and delicate finger foods that looked too expensive to bite. To the left, a small orchestra—four strings—played sleek, modern covers near the open bar. “Jonathan, good to see you,” an older man said as he stepped into our path. A woman stood beside him, eyes scanning me from head to toe before her mouth curled in a practiced little sneer. “Chuck, I’m glad you came,” Dad replied. “You remember my youngest—Genevieve.” The man’s attention snapped to me. “Oh—well, we actually haven’t met,” he said, blinking as if I’d appeared out of thin air. “I didn’t realize you had three daughters. Lovely to meet you, Genevieve.” Dad went rigid beside me. The comment didn’t sting the way it probably should have. I’d been hearing variations of that my whole life. I offered my hand anyway. He shook it, and I turned politely toward the woman. She made a point of not seeing me. “Darling,” she said to him, “let’s get a drink and leave these two to their rounds. Congratulations, Jonathan.” She tugged him away, leaning close to whisper—about me, most likely. “Bunny,” Dad said quietly once they were gone, confusion in his voice. “I thought you’d met Chuck before. He’s been to a few parties.” I shook my head. I didn’t want him to feel guilty, but the truth was simple: he may have gone to those parties, but I hadn’t been brought along. And it kept happening. Dad introduced me, over and over, and people reacted like they were being told a secret that should have come with a warning label. Many of them were friends of Rosalind and Cecilia. Their looks slid over me with open distaste while Dad tried to make small talk, and it twisted something in my chest. Not because I cared what they thought of me. Because I didn’t want a single cruel word aimed at him. I tugged lightly on his arm while he was mid-conversation with a man from work. “Drink,” I signed. Dad’s eyebrows pulled together, then he nodded. “Just one, okay?” he said, suddenly nervous. “And come right back.” I smiled up at him, rose onto my toes as much as the shoes allowed, and kissed his cheek. “One. Promise,” I signed. Then I slipped away so he could socialize without worrying about me hovering nearby. I moved through the party at my own pace, weaving between polished people in designer outfits that probably cost more than my entire closet. I let my eyes drink it in—the lights, the glass, the laughter that felt rehearsed. And then I saw them. A pair of brown eyes—so warm they looked golden, like honey held up to sunlight. My feet stopped before my mind caught up, and at the exact same moment, the man did too. He wore a black suit and tie over a black shirt, sleek and sharp. Dark brown hair was brushed back from his forehead. His olive skin caught the chandelier glow like it belonged there. Square jaw, straight nose, tall and lean—somewhere in his twenties, if I had to guess. I blinked quickly, trying not to stare like a complete idiot. My heart was doing something frantic and fluttering, like a hummingbird trapped under my ribs. I started walking again. He did too. People flowed between us, but I kept finding those eyes in gaps and shifting shoulders, catching them again and again. The corner of his mouth lifted as if he knew exactly what he was doing to me. Who was he? At the edge of the crowd, we finally ended up face-to-face. He was taller than I’d thought. Up close, it was worse—better—impossible. Like standing too near a painting and realizing it’s even more beautiful in the brushstrokes. “Good evening,” he said, smooth and confident. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” His voice matched his eyes—rich, warm. I swallowed, suddenly aware of how badly I wanted to answer. I could only give him an awkward smile. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked. I nodded quickly. He glanced away, spotting a waiter. “Come with me,” he said, and reached out. His fingers closed around my hand. Heat flashed through me so fast it felt unreal, like a spark hitting dry paper. The touch traveled straight through my skin and down into places I didn’t have names for. I stared at our joined hands, cheeks warming more by the second. When I looked up, he was already watching me, smiling. I smiled back. Somewhere between one step and the next, I loosened. The contact started to feel…familiar. Natural. Like my body had been waiting for it. A waiter approached, offering two glasses. The waiter’s name tag read Landon, and he gave me a gentle nod. “Miss Kingsley,” Landon said, friendly and respectful, “I do hope you’re enjoying the party.” I nodded in thanks. The man beside me turned so quickly his expression shifted into surprise. “Kingsley?” he repeated. I nodded again. His eyes searched mine with sudden curiosity. “Are you a cousin?” Landon cleared his throat as if stepping in front of an oncoming problem. “No, sir,” he said, careful but firm. “This is Jonathan Kingsley’s youngest daughter—Genevieve.” The man’s gaze held on me as though he was fitting that information into a puzzle. “Genevieve,” he said. My name sounded different in his mouth—soft, musical, something I wanted to hear again and again until it wore a path into me. For a moment, everything else thinned out. The room blurred, the music faded, and all I could see were those honey-warm eyes. “Genevieve!” Grandma Georgina’s voice cut through it like a blade. “There you are,” she snapped, marching up and clamping her wrinkled hand around my arm. Her grip was shockingly strong for someone who looked like she might crumble in a stiff breeze. “You insist you can’t speak, but your ears still work, don’t they? Or are you deaf now too?” My face burned. I looked down, wishing the floor would open. Then she turned, laugh switching on like a light. “Oh, Julian,” she said, suddenly sweet. “I didn’t realize you were here. I hope Genevieve hasn’t been bothering you.” Julian. Before I could make it worse by standing there like a statue, Grandma’s smile tightened. “Be a dear,” she told me. “Go upstairs and get your sister Kimmy’s purse. She left it in her room.” Her eyes made it clear it wasn’t a request. I nodded and fled. As I hurried out through the doors toward the staircase, I thought I heard voices lifting behind me—sharper, tense—but the noise of the party swallowed it whole. I didn’t know who Julian was. I only knew I’d never felt anything like that before, not once in my life. And if the night ended right there, I could still live on that moment. Those brown eyes—honey and sunlight—would be enough to carry with me for years. Maybe forever. Chapter 4—Caught Red Handed (Genevieve) I kicked off my white heels the second I reached the stairs, refusing to torture myself by climbing in those awful things. A long breath slipped out. Thank God. No more aching. Barefoot, I hurried up, my pulse still sprinting from earlier. A ridiculous smile tugged at my mouth anyway. Who was that man? I’d never seen him—was he somebody’s son from Dad’s work circle? Grandma Georgina had said his name, I knew she had, but the instant her fingers clamped around my arm, my mind had gone blank. And still—he was easily the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on. I was heading for Kimberly’s room when a hard thud cut through the hallway and stopped me cold. My forehead creased. What was that? Another bang followed, louder. It was coming from Caroline’s room. I was almost sure I’d seen her at the bar earlier, so… was it even her in there? I bit my lip and crept closer. Her door sat slightly ajar. I leaned in, peering into the dimness. A thin wedge of light reached the edge of her king-sized bed—just enough to catch movement shifting in the dark. “Oh yes—right there… fuck!” Caroline’s voice rang out. My eyes flew wide. A man with red hair was between her legs. Her glittery pink dress had been shoved up above her hips, and his face was buried against her while her legs hooked over his shoulders. I clapped my palms over my eyes and stumbled back into the hall. Was he—oh my gosh. Was that her almost-fiancé? Panic hit like a shove. I spun and rushed for Kimberly’s room, breath coming too fast as dread poured through me—dread that I’d be caught, dread that I’d seen something I wasn’t supposed to see. I hadn’t even met Julian Sterling yet, but maybe they’d been too impatient to wait until marriage. Dad had always told me to save myself. Wait. Give everything to the right person, the right moment. He’d never spelled it out, of course, but I wasn’t clueless. I’d read plenty—books Stella, Brenda’s daughter, used to sneak to me. Stella was a year older and away at college now, but when she visited, the house felt louder, brighter. She and Kimberly didn’t really get along, so she didn’t show up often. When she did, she came armed with gifts meant just for me—chocolate, candy, salty snacks Rosalind would never allow. Rosalind ran the kitchen like a drill sergeant: no greasy food, nothing processed, nothing “bad.” Which, unfortunately, meant she banned the things that tasted best. Once, when I was little—right after Mom died—Dad took me to an amusement park to distract me. I still dreamed about what we ate. The first time cotton candy dissolved on my tongue had felt like actual magic. I reached Kimberly’s room and flicked on the light. Right in the center of her bed sat her green, sparkly clutch. I snatched it up and hugged it to my chest before slipping back into the hallway. I tried to glide past Caroline’s door without making a sound. The door swung open. I locked up instantly. Caroline stumbled out, giggling, clinging to the man beside her like she’d forgotten how to stand on her own. He looked older, beard trimmed neat, eyes a dark green, mouth set in a smug little curve. Something about him felt wrong. Then the hallway light caught his hand. A wedding ring flashed. My stomach turned. Married? Rosalind lifted her head—and pinned me in place with her stare. The happiness on her face vanished as if someone had yanked it off. “What are you doing up here, freak?” she hissed. “Were you following us?” I dropped my gaze to the floor and shook my head, the word slicing through me and leaving an ache behind. I wished I’d stayed hidden in Kimberly’s room a few more minutes. Caroline reeked of alcohol; it rolled off her in a warm, sour wave. Of my two sisters, Kimberly acted like I was air. Caroline made sure I felt it. She never let me pass without reminding me exactly where I stood. Her attention snapped to my hands. “What’s that?” Before I could pull back, she ripped the clutch from my grip and flipped it over. The man beside her checked his watch, then glanced down the hall like he expected someone to appear. “This is Kimberly’s,” Caroline said, voice sharpening. “Why the hell do you have Kimberly’s purse?” My throat tightened. I raised my hands to explain—signs quick, desperate—but she couldn’t read them. “You fucking dumb bitch,” Caroline snarled. “My mother is going to be pissed. You know you’re not allowed on our side of the floor.” Her fingers dug into my arm and yanked. My room was on the other wing—near Dad’s office and the guest rooms—far from hers. “Caroline,” the man cut in, uneasy. “Maybe she really was just bringing it to her.” He looked between us and lowered his voice. “Don’t start something. Bethany texted me. She’s asking where I am.” I flinched at the name and stared at the carpet. Caroline’s grip tightened. “Relax. She won’t say anything,” she told him, like I was furniture. “She doesn’t talk.” She leaned close enough that her perfume burned my nose. “I don’t know why you’ve got this,” she breathed into my ear, dripping mockery, “but if I catch you up here again, you know what happens, Genevieve. And it’d be such a shame… it just got long again.” Her hand slid into my hair and she yanked a lock as if to prove her point. I turned my face away. I wanted to fight back—just once—but I knew better. Caroline didn’t quit. The fastest way out was to take it, nod, let her get bored. Then Dad’s voice carried down the hallway. “Gene, sweetie—where are you?” Caroline’s head snapped toward the sound. Her eyes went wide. In a rush, she shoved the red-haired man back into her room and slammed the door. I rubbed the spot where she’d grabbed me, starting forward. Caroline slipped right up beside me, hooking her arm through mine like we were friends. She smoothed her pink sequin dress and tossed her light brown hair over one shoulder as if she’d been doing nothing but help. She looked like my stepmother, only with darker hair. Curves in all the places Rosalind liked to show off—full chest, tight waist. Her lips were pouty, her skin soaked in fake tanner that, annoyingly, looked expensive and even. Caroline was beautiful. That part was true. “Oh, there you are,” Dad said, relief softening his face. “When Grandma Georgina mentioned you went looking for Kimmy’s purse, I started to worry.” His eyes flicked to Caroline, then down to our linked arms. “Carol,” he added, confused, “what are you doing up here? Your mother’s been searching everywhere. Julian’s about to make the announcement.” Caroline sweetened her voice until it sounded syrupy. “I was helping Gene with the purse. Poor thing couldn’t find it.” So that man in her room wasn’t Julian Sterling. Then who was he? “All right,” Dad said, still smiling, “come on, both of you. The party feels wrong with my two beautiful daughters missing.” I tried to smile back. My face didn’t want to cooperate. Dad studied me like he could sense something, and I dropped my eyes. He stepped between us, taking an arm from each of us, and guided us toward the staircase. “Bunny,” he whispered to me, “you should’ve told me where you were going. I was worried.” I signed I’m sorry and forced one of my biggest smiles. The tension in his shoulders eased. Caroline, meanwhile, launched into excited chatter. “Oh my god, Daddy, I can’t wait for you to see the ring I told Julian to get. I sent him a few options and the jeweler hinted one was just purchased.” My thoughts snagged. How could she talk like that—giggly and thrilled—after what I’d just seen upstairs? “That’s wonderful, sweetheart,” Dad murmured, but his eyes slid back to me, concern returning. I pretended not to notice. I just wanted the night to stop doing this—stop twisting. At the bottom of the steps, I slipped my shoes back on. Caroline immediately tugged Dad by the arm, steering him toward the crowd as a voice boomed from a microphone. “We would like to thank all of you for coming this evening,” Richard Sterling announced, his tone familiar from the phone calls I’d overheard in Dad’s office for years. “Tonight marks a special occasion. Not only will Sterling Industries and Beacon Enterprise enter a partnership… but my son would also like to share an announcement.” I lifted my gaze across the packed room. A man with brown hair walked to the front. Him. The handsome man from earlier. My stomach dropped so fast it felt like it tore something loose inside me. The name clicked into place like a lock. Julian Sterling. My eyes stung, and for a second I honestly thought I might crumble right there. Of all people—why did it have to be him? Julian’s gaze swept the room, and when it landed on Caroline, he cleared his throat. An instinct screamed at me to run. The words he was about to say already hurt. I edged backward, but I bumped into someone and realized I’d been swallowed by a wall of onlookers. “Tonight,” Julian said, “I’m announcing my engagement to one of Jonathan Kingsley’s beautiful daughters. A woman who took my breath away the moment I first saw her.” People murmured approvingly—soft laughter, excited whispers, praise for how romantic he sounded. I stared down at my fingers, a strange sadness blooming in my chest. Caroline really was lucky. Julian lifted his voice. “So please—help me welcome my future bride to the front. Genevieve Kingsley.” Everything in me went still. The name hit like a blow, and the room erupted into overlapping voices. “Who did he say?” “Wait—isn’t that the daughter from the woman who almost broke up their family?” “How could she do that to her sister?” “She’s just like her mother.” The sound spun around me until I could barely breathe. Did he… did he just say Genevieve? As in—me? Chapter 5 — Julian Sterling (Julian) I walked into the Kingsley estate and immediately regretted having eyes. Everything screamed expensive—too expensive—and somehow still managed to look tasteless. Dad had really dragged me into this. Caroline Kingsley was a parasite. To her, I wasn’t a person; I was a balance sheet with a pulse, a prize she planned to claim. I was twenty-six, and in my father’s mind that meant it was time to “settle down” and “start a family.” Not that he’d suggested it politely. Richard Sterling had barked it at me and topped it off with a threat: marry, produce an heir, or he’d yank Sterling Industries out from under me. Sterling Industries was my whole life. I’d been born into it—practically on a conference table—and when my parents split soon after, I became the only heir by default. Dad never took another wife. Neither did my mother, which still felt like his final, unnecessary victory. Richard Sterling was the kind of man who wore a suit the way other people wore skin. Phone always in hand, jaw always set. Business was his oxygen. He also clung to tradition like it was law, which made pitching anything “future-forward” a fight. And yet, somehow, we’d built the biggest tech company on the planet, with investors spread across every continent. I didn’t dislike Jonathan Kingsley. Unlike my father, Jonathan had started at the bottom and climbed his way into relevance with his own hands. It was almost painful watching his empire crumble now. If he’d managed his money with half the discipline he managed his image, he could’ve stayed on top. My dad had seen the fractures early. He’d known Jonathan was close to losing everything, and that’s when he’d offered a solution. A merger. Not just corporate. Family, too. Jonathan, decent. His daughters? A disaster. Spoiled. Sharp-tongued. Entitled like it was a birthright. Every time Caroline and I ended up in the same space, it turned into a new kind of misery—either she was tearing into staff because her champagne wasn’t chilled to her personal preference, or she was trying to climb into my lap. I’d kept dodging her, claiming I had “principles,” that I “preferred to wait until marriage.” Meanwhile, rumors painted Caroline as generous with her attention—especially toward men who already had rings. Quietly, I’d been begging the universe for an exit. Some loophole. Some mercy. My father waking up sane. Instead, I’d shown up to what felt like my own funeral. I’d even considered whether the other sister might be tolerable. She wasn’t. Just a different flavor of awful. Worse, she made everything uncomfortable—barely looked up from her phone the entire time, snapping selfies like the rest of the world was just background lighting. At least Caroline carried the conversation; all I had to do was nod at the right beats. One year. That was the deal I’d made with myself. Give Dad one year of marriage. And, apparently, give him an heir. That part made my stomach turn. The image of Caroline as the mother of my child made my skin revolt. Still, there was a chance she wouldn’t want the baby beyond the leverage. Maybe I could pay her enough to disappear. Unless, somehow, against every law of nature—by some ridiculous miracle—I actually fell in love with her. I shoved my hands into my pockets and moved through the crowd, late enough to draw attention but not late enough to escape. Heads turned. Eyes tracked me. I kept my expression neutral and my pace steady. “Nice of you to finally show up,” my father muttered when I reached him. His hand clamped onto my shoulder, fingers digging in with that familiar pressure—the same old intimidation trick he’d used when I was a kid. I forced a tight smile. “You know me. I like making an entrance without being seen.” Dad lived for gatherings like this. He’d spend the whole night boasting about deals he’d closed or some overpaid trip he’d taken. Maybe that was why he wanted me tied to Caroline so badly. They had the same hunger. “You’ve got twenty minutes before the announcement,” he said. “Go greet Caroline and her family. She’s been hunting for you.” Before I could respond, a gray-haired man approached and drew Dad into a handshake and a conversation that looked expensive. I slipped away the second my shoulder was free. I needed a drink. Or a way out. Preferably both. Women started angling toward me as I passed; I ignored them the way I always did—polite distance, blank charm, keep moving. The stares followed anyway. Then I caught a flicker of pale blue. It wasn’t even deliberate. Something in my chest lifted, sharp and sudden, like a sound I couldn’t quite place. A man shifted in front of me, blocking the view, and I leaned just enough to see around him. And there they were. Eyes—blue in a way that didn’t look real. The kind of blue you see on a clear day when you tilt your face up and watch clouds drift like slow thoughts. I inhaled, deeper than I meant to. Those blue eyes snapped away from mine, and the girl—short, almost delicate—threaded through the crowd again. My pulse sped up like it was responding to a threat. Except it didn’t feel like fear. She was stunning. Black hair, glossy as ink. Skin so pale it almost glowed under the lights. Yes, it was the kind of contrast people wrote in bad poetry, but standing there, it was just…true. Pink lips. A slender frame that still curved in exactly the right places. And there was something else, too. Recognition. Not enough to place, but enough to make my mind keep circling her. When the bodies between us shifted, the crowd finally opened. We ended up facing each other with no buffer. Up close, she was worse—in the best way. Those eyes widened, startled, and color rose into her cheeks. I wasn’t ready for how hard it hit me. Beautiful didn’t even cover it. I asked her if she wanted a drink. She nodded, quick and sweet, like the motion was a secret she was sharing with me. What was happening to me? I reached for her hand. The second my fingers closed around hers, my whole body felt awake, like someone had flipped a switch under my skin. The room blurred into noise. People, music, money—none of it mattered. She mattered. And that was a problem. She hadn’t even spoken, and I was standing there like an idiot, almost…giddy. Was this the thing people talked about? Love at first sight? Then I learned who she was. A Kingsley. Not just any Kingsley—Jonathan Kingsley’s daughter. I remembered hearing something years ago: whispers about an affair, about a child that wasn’t supposed to exist, about an illegitimate daughter tucked away like a scandal someone forgot to bury properly. I hadn’t expected her to be here. I definitely hadn’t expected her to look like this. It wasn’t only her face, either. She moved with a quiet softness, careful and graceful, like she didn’t want to disturb the air around her. Even one of the servers seemed to know her. When she smiled at him, warm and familiar, jealousy sparked in me before I could stop it. I wanted to be the one she smiled at like that. I wanted to know her—really know her. The small details. The preferences. The things people never bothered to learn. Then the mood shifted. Georgina Harrison—every bit the villain she looked like—marched over with purpose. Her hands landed on the girl’s arms. The girl—Genevieve, I realized—went rigid. Her eyes widened, fear flashing across her face. Something hot and violent rolled through me. I’d just grabbed a glass of wine, and my grip tightened until I honestly thought it might crack. Then the shock landed: Genevieve didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The realization stunned me into stillness. Was she born mute? Was that why Jonathan had hidden her, why no one spoke her name out loud? Georgina’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Why don’t you run and get Kimmy’s purse for me, dear,” she said, dismissive, already turning away. Then she leaned toward me as if we were sharing a joke. “Forgive her if she seemed impolite,” Georgina whispered. “She’s…a bit slow. Mute and all. I don’t know why Rosalind allowed her to come.” Something inside me snapped. I stepped in, voice cutting clean. “No. The only rude person standing here is you.” Her expression faltered. I didn’t let up. “Is that how you speak about your son-in-law’s daughter? Maybe she’s not directly related to you, Mrs. Harrison, but she shares blood with your grandchildren. I’d expect someone your age to know better, but apparently that’s too much to ask.” The server nearby choked mid-inhale, trying not to react. I turned the knife with the truth. “Does Jonathan know you talk about his child like that?” Georgina stared at me, mouth opening and closing like she couldn’t find the words. I couldn’t stand to be near her another second—not after what she’d said about Genevieve. I pivoted and walked away, leaving her behind in her own silence. And as I moved, the answer dropped into place so neatly it felt inevitable. Fine. I would get engaged to a Kingsley. Just not the one anyone had planned for. And I needed Genevieve to say yes—needed it more than I should—because after tonight, after seeing her, I didn’t think I could force myself through the other version of this life. Not anymore. Not after her. Chapter 6—How Could You?! (Genevieve) I dragged in a shaky breath. All around me, voices swelled into a low roar, and the weight of everyone’s attention pressed against my skin. “How could she, Mother?!” Caroline’s scream cut clean through the murmuring. My feet drifted backward on instinct. I didn’t do anything. I barely met him tonight. One conversation—one brief, strange moment—couldn’t possibly turn into… this. Could it? A microphone shrieked, the sound so sharp I clapped my palms over my ears. “Everyone, please proceed to the dining room. The first course is ready to be served.” Brenda’s voice snapped out through the speaker system. I lowered my hands and hugged myself, eyes fixed on the floor as if the carpet could swallow me. It didn’t matter where I looked. I could still feel them staring. Fingers hooked around my arm—hard. Nails bit through the dress fabric and pinched skin. “You little slut,” Rosalind hissed by my ear. “What did you do?” My father was already pushing through the crowd, Julian right behind him. The instant Rosalind noticed Dad, her hand slipped away and her posture smoothed into something composed. “This must be some kind of misunderstanding,” she told him, voice sweet as syrup. Julian shoved past the last bodies and reached me. “Are you alright?” he asked quickly, panic threading his words. “W-Why are you crying?” I stared at him, stunned. Did he actually care? Those brown eyes held mine, and for a second nothing felt real. Someone like him… choosing someone like me? Does he even know I can’t speak? “Sweetheart,” Dad said, tired in a way that sank into the room, “we’re going to the study. We’ll sort this out.” He stepped between Julian and me and took my arm—not rough, but firm. The look he sent Julian wasn’t friendly. As we moved down the hall, Caroline’s sobbing followed us, bouncing off the walls. Julian kept turning his head to check on me, worry written all over his face. I dropped my gaze and tried not to come apart. Everything had spun into chaos in seconds. Inside the study, Dad leaned close, voice low. “Bunny… have you met Julian before? Was there something between you two?” My eyes widened. I shook my head fast—too fast. “No, Daddy,” I signed. He exhaled, nodding once. “I didn’t think so…” His gaze flicked toward Julian again, his mouth tightening into a line. Was he angry with me? I kept my head down, already dreading Caroline’s fury—and Grandma Georgina’s, and Kimberly’s. Footsteps thundered toward me. I looked up in time to see Caroline’s hand swing. The slap cracked across my face. Dad gasped. Caroline raised her hand again— —but someone caught her wrist midair. “How dare you,” a deep voice said, vibrating with menace. “Apologize.” My heart jumped as I lifted my eyes. Julian stood there, towering, his glare locked on Caroline like she’d crossed a line she couldn’t uncross. “B-But she—she took you from me,” Caroline cried. “That stupid bitch—” Dad moved in front of me, shoulders squared. “Caroline Gwyneth,” he snapped, voice ringing. “You will not lay hands on your sister, and you will not speak like that. Have we not raised you better? Get ahold of yourself. This is humiliating.” His tone shifted, pointed. “And you will listen to what Julian has to say first. Your sister knew nothing about this.” That did it. Tears spilled as I touched my burning cheek. Julian stepped closer, putting himself between me and everyone else. He reached up and tilted my chin gently, forcing me to face him. “Let me see,” he murmured. My lashes fluttered. He turned my face slightly, studying the mark like it mattered. “Someone get her ice,” he ordered. Dad’s eyes went to Kimberly. He nodded. Kimberly scoffed at the command, glared at me like I’d committed a crime, and left the room. I would pay for that later. I knew it. “Son,” Mr. Sterling boomed, a sharp edge to every syllable, “you will explain what’s happening. You were meant to propose to Caroline tonight—not this… girl.” His finger jabbed in my direction. My throat tightened. Julian didn’t flinch. “Father, you told me I could marry any of the Kingsley sisters as part of our agreement,” he said steadily. “I made my decision. I choose Genevieve Kingsley.” His hand fell from my chin and started for mine. Dad stepped in again, cutting the space between us. “I don’t believe this is wise,” he said, choosing each word carefully. “Genevieve is… different. She doesn’t speak, and she hasn’t been in public much.” I bit my lip until it hurt. “Can she have children?” Richard Sterling asked, loud and blunt. My head snapped up. “W-What?” Dad stammered, stunned. “Is she infertile,” Mr. Sterling pressed, even cruder now, “or can she carry a child to term?” I blinked rapidly, trying to understand why my body had suddenly become the topic of negotiation. “Well—” Dad’s face flushed. “I’m sure she can. She’s no different from my other daughters. She simply doesn’t speak.” I had a normal cycle. No doctor had ever said anything was wrong. So why did it feel like the air had been sucked from the room? “We’ll have a physician verify,” Mr. Sterling decided, as if he were discussing livestock. “If there are no issues, I approve. She’s a Kingsley, and my son is clearly eager. Then we won’t have a problem.” He stepped forward. “B-But, Mr. Sterling,” Caroline shrieked, clinging to his arm, “we agreed it would be me! This isn’t fair!” He looked down at her with open disgust. “My dear, it isn’t personal,” he said coolly. “My son has chosen. As long as he...

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