Chapter 3

Adrian's words hit like a slap. And the other three? They pile right on.

"You've been useless since we were kids, Sof. Everything's gotta be handed to you."

"Eight years old and you wouldn't sleep alone. Fifteen and still scared of the school bus. Landa waited years for a graduation trip abroad and even that had to revolve around babysitting you 24/7."

"Come *on*, Sofia. You're twenty-three, not three. Grow the hell up."

I can't breathe. I want to defend myself. But where do I even start?

Because I am slow. Everybody says so.

I wasn't always like this though.

When I was eight, the four of them got snatched. Kidnapping ring. My parents didn't wait for the cops. They went in themselves. Guns, everything.

The boys came home alive. My parents didn't. The men killed them right in front of me. Made me watch.

After that, something inside me just… broke. Couldn't be alone. Couldn't talk to strangers. Any new room, any new face, and my body would seize up until I wet myself.

The four of them stuck with me through every second of the therapy. Held my hand through years of rehab. Once, some kid at school called me a spoiled freak. They got him expelled by the end of the week.

Their favorite line: "Sof's parents died saving us. This is what we owe her."

"Even if she stays a mess her whole life, we've got her."

People used to say I was the luckiest girl on the East Coast. That most princesses only get one knight, and I had four.

I believed it too.

Until senior year of high school. When Yolanda Cruz — an orphan, same as me on paper — transferred into my class.

Her story broke my heart. I took her under my wing.

But the boys? They dug into her background and couldn't find a thing. No records. Nothing. "Stay away from her, Sof. Something's off."

So when did that change? When did their suspicion turn into her being the sun?

Was it when they hacked my college applications and switched my top choice — so Yolanda could take my spot in the design program?

Was it when they threatened to walk out of Moretti and Co. en masse unless I made her a full partner?

Or was it Paris? When they staged a crash to give her a solo photo op and left me bleeding to the French police?

I don't know anymore.

I take a breath. Steady my voice.

"Fine. Let's say the bracelet really was a gift from you four."

"You were already at the station, Adrian. Why didn't you tell the cops the truth? That the driver wasn't me — it was Yolanda?"

His answer comes without a second's hesitation.

"French law. Unlicensed hit-and-run is six years, minimum. Landa just graduated. A conviction would destroy her."

Everything inside me goes ice-cold.

I thought he didn't know the law. I thought this was some misguided tough-love stunt.

He knew. He knew everything.

"And me?" I rasp. "Did it ever cross your mind what happens to *me*?"

Luca laughs. Actually laughs.

"Relax, drama queen. You weren't driving. You'll be fine."

"And if not — hey, you're already slow. A couple years in a French cell isn't gonna change much."

I swallow the burn in my throat and try Adrian one more time.

"Do you feel the same way?"

He doesn't answer. Just sighs.

"Enough, Sof. You're fine, aren't you? Gala's tonight. We're taking Landa dress shopping. We don't have time for a tantrum."

I open my mouth to remind him it's my graduation gala too.

He hangs up.

Ethan is watching me with something too close to pity. "Ms. Moretti. Want me to book you a flight home?"

New York's over three thousand miles away. Even the fastest flight is eight hours. By the time I land, the ceremony will be long over.

I sniff hard. Wipe my face.

"No. Draft me a lawsuit instead."