Chapter 5

Giana pushed open the heavy oak door of the Caldwell mansion in Long Island. The hinges groaned, echoing through the massive foyer.

She stepped inside. Delilah was sitting on the Victorian sofa, holding a bone china teacup.

Delilah's eyes darted to Giana's messy hair and the oversized men's coat. A spark of malicious joy flashed in Delilah's eyes.

"Oh my god, Giana!" Delilah slammed the teacup down on the saucer. She jumped up and ran forward, her voice pitched loud enough to wake the dead. "Where have you been all night?"

The noise worked. Angele Caldwell hurried out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. Her face was tight with worry.

Delilah reached out, trying to grab Giana's arm to pull her into the light, wanting Angele to see the state she was in.

Giana's eyes went cold. She shifted her weight and stepped back. Delilah's hands grabbed empty air, and she stumbled forward awkwardly.

"Why are you screaming, Delilah?" Giana asked. Her voice was flat and steady. "Are you trying to make sure the neighbors know I wasn't home?"

Delilah froze. Her face flushed. She quickly put her hand over her chest and widened her eyes.

"I... I was just so worried! You drank so much at the party last night and then you vanished..." Delilah looked at Angele, making sure the word 'drank' landed.

Angele's expression hardened. "Giana, where exactly were you?"

In her past life, Giana would have screamed and thrown a tantrum. But screaming had gotten her absolutely nothing. She clenched her fists at her sides, digging her nails so deeply into her palms that the skin nearly broke. The sharp, grounding pain cleared the lingering fog in her head. It was time to play an entirely different game. She thought of every betrayal she had suffered, letting the genuine agony morph into a mask of vulnerability. She took a deep, shuddering breath, forced tears to well up in her eyes, and walked straight to Angele.

She threw her arms around her mother's neck and buried her face in her shoulder.

"Mom, I'm so sorry. I was so scared," Giana whispered. Her voice shook perfectly.

Angele stiffened. She wasn't used to Giana hugging her. The anger melted out of her posture. She awkwardly patted Giana's back.

"I went outside to get some air," Giana lied, her voice muffled against Angele's sweater. "Some drunk guys started following me. They cornered me."

"What? !" Angele gasped, pulling Giana back to inspect her face. "Did they hurt you?"

"No. A nice man saw what was happening and chased them off. He let me sleep in his guest room because I was too shaken up to drive. He lent me his coat." Giana pulled the oversized lapels tighter around her neck.

Delilah stared at Giana, her mouth slightly open. She had personally spiked Giana's drink. She had paid the waiter to take her to that old man's room. Hero? Guest room?

"Are you sure he was just being nice?" Delilah stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. "That coat..."

Giana snapped her head toward Delilah. Her eyes were like daggers. "You sound disappointed that I didn't get hurt, Delilah."

Delilah physically recoiled. Her face went pale. "No! I just..."

Angele frowned at Delilah. "That's enough, Delilah. Giana is safe. Stop asking questions."

Delilah bit her lip. Her fingernails dug into her palms. "Yes, Aunt Angele."

Giana leaned her head against Angele's shoulder. "Mom, I'm so tired. Can I just take a hot shower?"

"Of course, sweetie. Go upstairs. I'll have the kitchen make you some soup." Angele kissed her forehead.

Giana turned and walked toward the grand staircase. As she passed Delilah, she let a slow, mocking smirk spread across her face.

Delilah's stomach twisted with rage. She watched Giana walk up the stairs. She needed to know what actually happened last night.

She waited until Angele went back into the kitchen. Then, she slipped off her heels and crept silently up the stairs, following Giana's shadow.