Chapter 3

Harper POV

The diamond weighed down my hand like a shackle.

It was heavy. Cold.

And it was far too big.

Bennet had sized the ring for the woman I was three years ago, before the stress of living under a sociopath's thumb whittled me down to the bone.

Gravity took the loose band. The ring slipped off my finger and hit the polished concrete floor with a sharp, mocking clatter.

I bent down to pick it up.

On the underside of the band, near the tracker, my thumb brushed against a tiny, almost invisible indentation.

A button.

A strange instinct took over. Curiosity pricked at me.

I pressed it.

A tiny speaker, embedded in the setting, crackled to life.

"...so demanding, Bennet. You just got there."

It was Gianna's voice.

Crystal clear.

The ring wasn't just a tracker.

It was a two-way bug.

Bennet must have activated the receiver on his end, probably to listen to me, to monitor his property.

But he had forgotten to mute his own end.

Or maybe he simply didn't care. Maybe he was just that arrogant.

"I told you I would come," Bennet's voice came through the tiny speaker. "Stop crying."

"I hate that you gave her a house," Gianna sobbed. "You built her a castle."

"It is a prison, Gianna. Not a castle. A place to keep her out of sight so I can be with you."

The air left my lungs.

I walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the living room.

I looked out into the darkness.

About a mile away, across a small valley, lights flickered on.

Another estate.

It looked identical to this one.

A mirror image.

I pressed the ring to my ear.

"Look," Bennet said. "I am landing now. Look at your paradise, Gianna."

I watched the blinking red lights of the helicopter descend toward the twin estate.

He had built two houses.

One for the wife he broke.

One for the mistress he rewarded.

"It is exactly like hers?" Gianna asked.

"Better," Bennet said. "Yours has the master suite facing the sunrise. Hers faces the cliffs. She likes the dramatic view. You like the light."

I felt a chill settle deep in my marrow.

He knew me.

He knew exactly what I liked, and he had weaponized it to isolate me.

My phone pinged.

A text from Bennet: Meeting with the Commission is running late. Don't wait up. I love you.

I looked at the text.

Then I listened to the ring.

I heard the sound of a zipper.

"Make me a promise," Gianna whispered. "Make us public. I am tired of being a secret. I want to be Mrs. Crosby in the daylight."

There was a silence.

I held my breath.

"Yes," Bennet said. "Soon."

"How soon?"

"After the Gala. I will phase her out. I will say she is mentally unstable. The hand injury drove her mad. We will institutionalize her."

My knees gave out.

I sank to the floor.

Institutionalize.

He wasn't just going to keep me as a pet.

He was going to lock me in a padded room so he could play house with the woman who had shattered my bones.

Terror gripped me for a second. But then, something else replaced it. Something cold and hard.

I stood up.

I walked to the drafting studio Bennet had stocked with expensive supplies I couldn't use.

I picked up a charcoal stick with my left hand.

I didn't draw a building.

I drew a line.

A hard, black line across a fresh sheet of paper.

This was the line.

He had crossed it.

I put the ring back on my finger.

I needed to keep listening.

I needed to know their every move.

Because in ten days, Harper Cline was going to die.

And Aria Reed was going to rise from the ashes.