Chapter 4

I let go of Jasper's collar, shove him away, and run.

When my father first brought me back to the city, the other families' kids wanted nothing to do with me.

They laughed at my clothes, my round face, and the way my thighs rubbed together when I walked.

Vivian was the only one who'd sit beside me at lunch.

For years, I thought she loved me like a sister.

Now she's betting on how much it takes to break me, and Jasper is helping her collect.

Behind me, her voice carries through the clinic doors.

“Thank God you had that tag. She barely reacted in there.”

“But did you see her run? All that belly fat bouncing around!”

Vivian bursts out laughing.

Buddy didn't bark when I came home this morning.

I stood outside the door listening to them laugh, and he never made a sound.

He didn't come limping to the door when I went inside, either.

I take a cab back to the estate, then run from the gate to the house.

The soup pot is on the dining table, its lid half off, with bones sticking out of the steaming broth.

I stop so suddenly my shoes skid on the floor.

“No.”

Tears blur the pot as I reach for the lid.

A blur of yellow fur shoots out from behind the couch and catches my pant leg.

“Buddy!”

I drop to my knees, pull him against me, and sob into his coat.

He's here, and he's alive.

Then teeth clamp down on my shoulder.

I scream and shove the dog away.

He lands in front of me, snarling, with his teeth bared.

It's Tommy, Vivian's dog. Buddy hasn't moved that fast in years.

Celeste stands by the table, watching me get up with a hand pressed to my shoulder.

“Where's Buddy?”

She looks away.

“Vivian and Jasper are on their way back. They have to get ready for the party at the club. Tommy's staying with us for a few days.”

“Celeste. Where is my dog?”

Her eyes flick toward the pot.

My father walks in from the kitchen.

“Buddy? He went for Tommy the second Vivian brought him over. I had one of my men put him out.”

Buddy has never attacked another dog. He's fifteen, with a bad hip, and he can barely manage the porch steps.

I hold up his tag.

“Then why did you take this off?”

Neither of them answers.

“You dumped him somewhere, didn't you?”

Celeste looks at my father, waiting for him to speak.

“Why?” My voice rises. “You couldn't even let him stay?”

I turn to my father.

“Dad, I'm your daughter. You know what he means to me. How could you do this?”

He slaps me hard enough to turn my head.

The guard by the doorway looks away.

“I feed you, put a roof over your head, keep you safe, and you scream at me over a fucking dog?”

I press my palm to my cheek.

“You knew what Buddy meant to me. Her dog gets to stay, and you throw mine out?”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Picking Vivian over me wasn't enough? Now you have to pick her fucking dog over mine too?”

My father raises his hand again, but Celeste steps between us.

“Richard, enough.”

Then she turns to me.

“Gardi, don't act like none of this is your fault. Vivian treats your father like her own dad. She hugs him, talks to him, makes an effort.”

She glances at him before continuing.

“You spend half your time locked in your room doing God knows what. Then you come out and expect everyone to fuss over you.”

My father looks me over, from my swollen cheek to the blood on my shirt.

“Vivian knows how to talk to people. She's beautiful, she's charming, and she doesn't embarrass me every time I take her somewhere.”

“And look at you,” he adds. “A fat fucking brat throwing a tantrum. You expect my men to take orders from you?”

I stand there with my shoulder bleeding while he tells me how much better his stepdaughter is than his own daughter.

Vivian is charming when she wants something.

Jasper bought every expensive outfit and piece of jewelry Vivian owns, all of it on the card I gave him.

And the little camera hidden inside her jacket is mine.

I taught myself photography in the room Celeste keeps complaining about, and I loved every minute of it.

Vivian saw my photos and asked me to teach her, so I did.

Then she asked to borrow my equipment, and I lent her the whole setup.

Along with my camera and lenses, I gave her a tiny clip-on camera I used for behind-the-scenes footage.

That's the one she hid inside her jacket at the clinic.

Now she's using it to film me at my worst, sobbing and falling apart.

I look at my father, waiting for him to acknowledge even one thing she's done to me.

He says nothing.

I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand.

You wanna see what I can do with a camera? Fine. I'll show you—