Chapter 4

"She' s pathetic, isn' t she?"

Chloe' s voice, sharp and carrying, cut through the murmur of The Seraphim' s Wing.

The Thornes' exclusive club.

She was talking to a group of other young women, her new court.

"Still hanging around him like a lost puppy, even after he treats her like dirt."

Laughter followed.

I was nearby, at the bar, ostensibly waiting for Marcus.

I heard every word.

I showed nothing.

My face remained a mask of cool indifference.

Let her mock.

Let them all underestimate me.

Later, in my apartment, the mask came off.

It was a stark place, functional, devoid of warmth.

Like me, some might say.

I poured a glass of cheap whiskey, the burn familiar.

Sarah.

Her face swam in my vision.

Not the face Marcus saw, the one I wore.

But the real Sarah.

Kind eyes, a gentle smile.

The older sister who believed in me.

Who sent money scraped from her own earnings.

Who wrote letters filled with dreams of a better life for us both.

Letters from Las Vegas.

Her excitement about this city, about a new love.

A love that turned out to be Marcus Thorne.

A love that led her to a ritual altar.

My childhood was a bitter pill.

A resentful mother, a father who chose another family.

Sarah was the only good thing.

Her money paid for food, for small comforts.

Her letters were a lifeline.

I had dreamed of joining her here, in this glittering, dangerous city.

Then the news came.

An accident.

Suspicious circumstances.

The Thorne name, whispered in connection.

The grief was a hollow, aching thing.

Then the rage came.

Cold.

Precise.

It had fueled me for seven years.

Chloe' s taunts were nothing.

Russo' s slime was nothing.

Marcus' s cruelty was a tool I used.

Only Sarah mattered.

Only the justice she was denied.

I took another sip of whiskey.

The plan was moving forward.

Slowly, patiently.

Each humiliation, each act of feigned devotion, was a step closer.

They thought they were in control.

They had no idea.