CHAPTER ONE — The Speech That Was Never Mine (2)

The room erupted in applause.

Elowen's father rose from his seat at the front table, beaming. He had not smiled at Elowen once tonight. He had not smiled at her in months.

She felt something in her chest begin to make a sound, like ice cracking under a glacier.

The dean beckoned Lila to stay for photos. The orchestra struck up. The champagne resumed its duty. And Elowen Voss, valedictorian of a class that had been stolen from her, walked toward the exit with her head high and her hands steady and her heart somewhere far below freezing.

"Elowen."

Her father's voice. She turned.

Mr. Voss was there, Margaret behind him in a cloud of Chanel, her arm linked through Lila's, Lila's cheeks still damp in a way that somehow made her look more beautiful rather than less.

"That was unnecessary," her father said.

Elowen blinked. "What was?"

"The look. The energy you brought." He said it quietly, because he was a man who believed in appearances above all else, and a scene in the lobby would not photograph well. "Your sister worked hard for this. You could have been gracious."

"Half-sister," Elowen said. "And she's not my half-sister either. She's my stepfather's wife's daughter. She's nobody to me."

"Elowen." The name came out like a warning.

"She wore my mother's dress," Elowen said, and she was surprised to hear her own voice stay level, because inside, the ice was fracturing along fault lines she'd spent three years sealing. "She gave a speech about clawing her way up from nothing, standing in a dress that cost more than her entire childhood. And you want me to be gracious."

Margaret's hand fluttered to her chest. "Elowen, darling, we thought you knew—the stylist said—Lila, did you not tell her—"

"I tried!" Lila's eyes filled again, instant and perfect. "I sent her a text. Maybe it didn't deliver?" She pulled out her phone, frowning. "I'm so sorry, El. I really thought you knew."

"You didn't send a text," Elowen said.

The air froze.

Lila's eyes went wide. "What?"

"You didn't send me a text. You didn't tell me about the speaker slot. You didn't tell me about the dress. And you didn't get the valedictorian spot by clawing your way up from nothing—you got it because three anonymous complaints and a story about a dead father got you a pity vote from a dean who was too scared of bad press to check the facts."

The words came out quiet and even, and they landed in the lobby like grenades with their pins intact.

Lila blinked. And for a single, beautiful second, Elowen saw something flicker behind those wide, innocent eyes: something cold and furious and utterly unprepared to be challenged.

Then it was gone, replaced by trembling lips. "I—I don't understand why you hate me so much. I've only ever tried to—"

"Lila." Margaret stepped forward, a protective hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Elowen, that's enough. Your father is right. You need to apologize."

"Do I?" Elowen asked. "For what, exactly? For existing? For being born into the family you married into? For being the daughter whose inheritance you've been carving up for three years?"

Her father's face went tight and red. "Elowen Voss, you will apologize to your sister and your mother right now, or you will not come home tonight."

It was the oldest trick in the book, and it had worked every time for three years. Go to your room. Stop being dramatic. Apologize to keep the peace. Swallow it down like medicine, because the alternative—being alone in the world—was worse.

But Elowen had been alone in the world for three years, standing in a house full of people who'd slowly, carefully, learned to love the intruder more than the heiress.

She was already not at home.

So she smiled—a real smile, the first one in months, and it scared her more than anything else that night.

"I'll be happy to go," she said. "Enjoy the gala, Dad."

She turned and walked down the marble corridor toward the exit, and that was when she heard the footsteps—light, quick, deliberate—and the voice, pitched in a perfect imitation of concern.

"Elowen. Elowen, wait."

Lila caught up with her in the side corridor, out of sight of the ballroom, and for a moment she just stood there, chest heaving, eyes wide, the picture of a girl who had run after her sister to make things right.

Then she glanced left. Right. Checked the corner. And the mask came off.

"What a performance," Lila said, and her voice was entirely different—cool, amused, needle-sharp. "The wounded heiress. The wronged princess. You almost made me feel bad." She laughed, a low, private sound. "Almost."

Elowen looked at her. The transformation was so complete, so effortless, that it was almost impressive. Gone was the trembling lip, the glistening eye. In its place was the real Lila Voss: smug, watchful, delighted with herself.

"You know what your problem is, El?" Lila stepped closer, voice dropping to a confiding whisper. "You think the world owes you something because your mother died and your father's rich. But the world doesn't owe anyone anything. It takes. And I—" she smiled, sweet and venomous—"I take beautifully."

The words hung in the air between them.

Elowen said nothing. She was too busy watching, cataloguing, filing. This was the face she'd known was under there. This was the face no one else had ever seen.

"Three years," Lila continued, circling her like a shark. "Three years, and you still haven't figured it out. Every time you complain, you just make yourself look worse. Every time you fight back, you just prove what a jealous bitch you are." She tilted her head. "You should thank me, really. I'm doing you a favor. By the time I'm done, no one will even remember you existed."

She waited, clearly expecting tears. Expecting a plea. Expecting the same collapse that had always come, eventually, when Elowen realized there was no one on her side.

Elowen smiled.

It wasn't her real smile. It was a small, cold, polite thing, and it made Lila's own smile flicker.

"I'll remember," Elowen said quietly. "That's enough."

Lila blinked. "What?"

"You heard me." Elowen stepped past her, and her voice was light, almost pleasant. "I don't hold grudges, Lila. I only settle accounts."

She walked away, leaving Lila standing in the corridor with her mouth open, and if she'd turned around, she would have seen something she'd never seen before: confusion. Genuine, unscripted confusion on the face of the girl who always knew how the scene went.

But Elowen didn't turn around.