Inside, a black card identical to yesterday's:
The past always catches up, Penelope. You can return willingly, or we can collect you. Your choice.
The threat is no longer veiled. I tuck the card into my pocket just as Sandra arrives, forcing a smile as she greets me.
Throughout the day, I find myself watching the door, jumping at every customer entrance. The black SUV remains parked across the street, a constant reminder of unseen eyes.
By evening, determination has replaced fear. I will attend Violet's engagement party, confront my father and I will reclaim control of my life.
As I lock up, my phone buzzes with a text from my sister:
Be careful coming to the party. Some guests are dangerous.
I stare at the message, then at the black SUV still watching from across the street. Whoever is inside raises a hand in a mocking wave.
I raise my middle finger in response, then turn and walk away, spine straight, head high. Let them come. I've built my life once from nothing; I can do it again if necessary.
But I won't go quietly. A game has begun. I just wish someone would tell me the rules.
CHAPTER 3
Ispend more time than I should selecting what to wear to Violet's engagement party. After trying on and discarding four different outfits, I settle on a forest green silk dress that brings out my eyes but isn't flashy enough to draw unnecessary attention. The goal is to blend in, gather information, and leave as quickly as possible.
My copper hair falls in loose waves around my shoulders, and I apply just enough makeup to look polished. The woman staring back at me from the mirror looks composed, controlled—nothing like the churning anxiety I feel inside. I practice my neutral expression, the one I perfected during countless society functions as a teenager. Reveal nothing. Feel nothing. Escape as soon as possible.
The black SUV remains stationed across the street as I leave my apartment building. I ignore it pointedly, getting into my rideshare once it arrives. The driver makes casual conversation about the weather as we head toward the wealthy enclave where my parents' sprawling estate occupies two manicured acres.
As we approach the iron gates, memories flood back—the countless parties where I stood beside my father like an ornament, the stifling expectations, the day I finally walkedaway. I push these thoughts aside as the car slows to join the line of luxury vehicles waiting to enter.
A security guard with a clipboard approaches. "Name?"
"Penelope Everett," I reply, the formal name feeling strange on my tongue after years of being Poppy Knight professionally.
He checks his list, nods, and waves us through. I pay the driver and step out, immediately aware of eyes tracking my movement. The mansion looms ahead, windows ablaze with light, classical music drifting across the immaculate lawn.
A staff member checks invitations at the entrance. I hand him the red envelope from my purse.
"Miss Everett," he says with a slight bow. "Welcome home."
The grand foyer gleams with polished marble and crystal chandeliers. Chicago's elite mill about in designer finery, champagne flutes in hand, fake laughter reverberating off high ceilings. I accept a glass from a passing waiter, using it more as a shield than a beverage.
"Poppy!"
My sister appears from the crowd, resplendent in a pale blue gown that complements her blonde hair and fair complexion. She's always been the delicate one, the perfect princess. Even now, there's something fragile about her smile as she embraces me.
"You came," she whispers, genuine surprise in her voice. "I wasn't sure you would."
"Your text made it sound important," I reply, stepping back to study her face. "You look beautiful, Vi."
"Thank you." Her eyes dart around the room nervously. "We can't talk here. Not now. Too many eyes." She squeezes my hand. "Just... be careful tonight. Some of the guests aren't what they seem."
Before I can ask what she means, she's pulled away by her fiancé, Charles Montgomery III—tall, generically handsome,with old money written in every line of his posture. Exactly the kind of man our father would approve of for his youngest daughter.
I weave through the crowd, nodding at familiar faces but avoiding lengthy conversations. My mother finds me near the bar, her practiced smile never reaching her eyes.
"Penelope, darling. What a surprise." She air-kisses my cheek, her perfume expensive and understated. "I'm so glad you could join us for your sister's special night."
"Wouldn't miss it," I lie smoothly. "Violet looks radiant."
