Chapter 2

The next morning, I came downstairs to the living room in total chaos.

“Careful! That’s extremely expensive—don’t let it get bumped!”

Margaret, teetering in high heels, barked orders with excitement she could barely hide.

Several movers in uniform were easing a massive, padded wooden crate toward the door. It was wrapped tight, but I still recognized the glossy curve of a piano leg sticking out.

A nineteenth-century antique Steinway.

Margaret turned and saw me standing at the foot of the stairs with my coffee. The smile on her face froze, and a flicker of panic crossed her eyes.

“Evelyn… you—you didn’t go out to take photos today?” She rubbed her hands awkwardly, her voice turning dry.

I did not answer. My eyes stayed on the piano.

Before I turned seven, I had been Richard’s darling. My favorite thing in the world had been sitting on his knee and playing. I used to daydream that when I grew up, I would have a Steinway of my own.

But in the third year after I was taken, I fought back when the farm owner tried to beat me. He snapped the pinky on my right hand. No anesthesia—someone set it however they felt like. When it healed, it healed wrong.

After that, I could not play a full octave ever again.

I walked over, almost without thinking, and reached out, wanting to touch those familiar keys.

“Don’t.”

Richard strode in and slapped my hand away.

The crack of it rang through the empty living room. My right hand froze midair, the crooked little finger trembling.

Richard wore an expensive silk tie, and his gaze looked oddly uncomfortable. “That piano is being sent out for a full restoration. It’s valuable. Your hand… isn’t convenient. Don’t damage it.”

Damage it.

So in their eyes, I was not just a stain. I was a liability—someone who might ruin anything precious.

I silently pulled my hand back and shoved it into the pocket of my hoodie.

Margaret hurried over to smooth things over. She wore couture, but guilt sat plainly on her face.

“Evelyn, Mom has to go out of town today for a charity auction, and your dad has several important meetings he can’t reschedule.” She forced a laugh and pressed a card into my hand. “It’s your birthday. Go buy something you like. Have fun.”

The excuse matched the one Lucas had made up on the phone the night before.

And then, as if they were afraid I might ask even one more question, they rushed out the door.

The enormous house fell quiet in minutes.

The movers were still securing the piano’s base. I walked over and handed the foreman a bottle of ice water.

“Which shop are you taking it to for maintenance?” I asked lightly. “Must be a long drive.”

He wiped his sweat and answered without a second thought. “Not a shop. Mr. Richard said to take it straight to Rose Manor on Long Island. There’s a huge birthday party there tonight. They need the piano for the opening.”

Long Island. Rose Manor.

I closed my eyes for a beat and thanked him.

Last year, when I turned eighteen—my first birthday after they found me—I had waited, foolishly, for a hug.

Instead, Richard had his secretary hand me a cold packet of trust paperwork.

“Your expenses are high. Money will be deposited on schedule every month. Don’t go running around outside.”

It was not that they did not know how to love me.

It was that they spent all their effort on someone else.

I turned and went back upstairs without looking at the piano again.

In my room, I reached into the very back of my closet and pulled out a violently eye-catching red evening gown.

If they were so busy tonight—

Then I would go in person and give them the kind of “support” they deserved.