Chapter 5 5

The Peck mansion in D.C. smelled of lilies and old polish. Evita dragged her suitcase across the marble foyer, the wheels clicking loudly in the silence. Two maids dusted a vase nearby, watching her with open contempt.

In the drawing room, Eleanora was lounging on a velvet chaise, a martini glass dangling from her fingers. Cherry sat on the floor, scrolling through her phone, looking bored.

"Look who decided to grace us with her presence," Eleanora said, her voice slurring slightly. "Who was he? Some waiter? A busboy?"

Evita lowered her head, clasping her hands in front of her. She twisted her fingers together, mimicking anxiety.

"Mom, stop asking," Cherry giggled without looking up. "She probably just got lost in the garden. She's too damaged to hook up with anyone. O'Connell definitely didn't want her."

Eleanora set her glass down with a sharp clink. She stood up and walked over to Evita. The smell of gin was overpowering.

Without warning, Eleanora's hand lashed out.

Crack.

The slap echoed in the high-ceilinged room. Evita saw it coming. She could have blocked it, could have broken Eleanora's wrist in two moves. Instead, she turned her head into the blow, letting it snap her neck to the side.

She tasted copper. Her lip was cut.

"Because of you," Eleanora hissed, "O'Connell pulled his donation! You useless little parasite!"

Evita touched her lip, staring at the blood on her finger. She kept her face blank.

"But it doesn't matter," Eleanora said, smoothing her skirt. "I found a new use for you. You're getting married next week."

Evita's head snapped up. Her eyes widened. This wasn't acting.

"It's the Stones," Cherry said, finally looking up with a malicious grin. "Grandma says they need a 'clean' wife. Someone quiet."

Evita's blood ran cold. Stone. Jedidiah.

"Not Jedidiah," Eleanora waved her hand dismissively. "Who would want that cripple? It's his cousin. Simon."

Evita let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Simon Stone. The playboy. The one with the rumors about hurting women. It was bad, but it wasn't Jedidiah.

"Go unpack," Eleanora commanded. "The attic."

Evita grabbed her suitcase and hurried up the stairs.

Meanwhile, in the Stone Estate conservatory, Victoria Stone sat in a wicker chair, listening to the rain hit the glass roof.

"The report, ma'am," Ursula, the head housekeeper, whispered, handing over a file.

Victoria opened it. It was the lab analysis of the bedsheet.

"Unidentified female DNA," Victoria murmured, reading the summary. "No match in any criminal, civil, or medical database. A ghost. And the blood itself... high concentrations of Flunitrazepam mixed with a military-grade stimulant. She was drugged, but she was also fighting it." A slow, terrifying smile spread across her face. "Jedidiah finally broke his fast."

"Master Jedidiah is looking for her, but he doesn't know who she is," Ursula said.

Victoria tapped her cane on the floor. "Help him. I want to meet the woman who managed to climb into his bed and walk out alive."

Back in the Peck attic, Evita opened her suitcase. She reached for the hidden compartment. The jacket was there, safe.

If she married Simon, she would be in the Stone family. She would be inside their perimeter. It was dangerous, yes. But it was also the closest she had ever been to the truth about her mother's death. The clues all pointed to the Stone patriarch.

She pulled out her burner phone. Text to Harper: Get me dirt on Simon Stone. Everything.

The door to the attic burst open.

Evita jumped, shoving the phone under her thigh.

Cherry stood there, eyes gleaming. "Mom said I should check your bag. Make sure you didn't steal any silver."

"No," Evita signed.

Cherry ignored her. She grabbed the suitcase and dumped it upside down. Clothes spilled everywhere. She kicked through the pile.

"Ugly. Ugly. Trash," Cherry muttered. Then she saw the zippered lining at the bottom of the case. "What's this?"

Evita lunged.

She couldn't help it. If Cherry found the jacket with the J.S. monogram, it was over.

She grabbed the suitcase, her fingers digging into the fabric. For a split second, the mask slipped. Evita glared at Cherry with the eyes of a killer-cold, dead, and promising violence.

Cherry gasped, recoiling as if she'd been burned. She stumbled back.

"You... you freak!" Cherry shrieked. "Get away from me!"

She kicked the suitcase one last time and ran out of the room, slamming the door.

Evita collapsed onto the floor, clutching the bag to her chest. Her heart was hammering. That was too close.