It felt like pieces of a puzzle were falling together—but not into place. I couldn’t get a clear picture of what was happening.

Arabella was here for a reason.

Vaughn, too.

Neither of them was here because of art.

I slid the paper back on the desk, straightened my spine, and walked out the door just as my father came out of his office. He shut the door behind him, holding a paper bag with colorful things inside. When he noticed me, he shoved it back into his room, smiling apologetically.

No need to keep my party a secret. You already gave me one bloody surprise.

“Blimey, that’s some coincidence. I was just about to head over to your room to wish you a happy birthday, Lenny.”

That, after avoiding me for weeks. Yeah. Screw him. Without sparing him a look, I moved past him, my shoulder brushing his side as I advanced toward the stairway.

He called my name, confused, but all I could think about was Papa with his hands on Arabella.

Arabella’s mouth around Vaughn’s cock.

How they’d both chosen her over me—Papa knowing it’d break my heart that he romanced my schoolmate, and Vaughn proving a stupid point with his stupid dick.

She was ruining every relationship I had with the men in my life.

And I was done sitting back and watching it happen.

“They were supposed to be here almost two hours ago. I’m getting worried.” Poppy poked out her lower lip, sitting at a black-mapped table in front of a tray of watermelon-Jolly Rancher-infused margaritas.

Fancy-ass drinks for the most unpretentious girl I’d ever met. Len was a vodka-straight-outta-the-bottle chick, and she was surrounded by extravagant people who didn’t get her. Just like me.

Arabella plopped beside Poppy, drawing faces on a black balloon with a silver Sharpie, pouting.

“Could’ve taken the train to London and got some shopping done. What a dud.”

“Zip it,” Poppy barked, grabbing a margarita and downing it in one go.

Edgar scratched his beard, mulling the situation. He’d decorated the room all afternoon with Poppy. Saying he didn’t look happy would be the understatement of the fucking millennium. I was surprised smoke didn’t blow out of his ears.

The party was to take place in the second, smaller kitchen of the castle—the deserted one the staff never used. Poppy and Edgar had done a good job cleaning it up. There were black balloons everywhere, a Happy Birthday Lenny sign hanging in front of the door, and a crap ton of food and alcohol. I made it a point to be late, deliberately taking my sweet-ass time after I finished working, but even though I showed up an hour after the text said, Lenora still wasn’t here.

“Did you try ringing her again?” Edgar frowned at his older daughter, running his paws through his wild silver hair.

“Every five minutes.” Poppy stood up, plucking a second drink from the tray and raising it in mock salute before downing it on her way to the sink, where she disposed of the plastic cup. “Texted her loads, too. Should we inform the police?”

“Inform them of what? She’s probably getting snogged under a tree by Rafferty Pope. That’s who she left with this morning.” A steel voice came from the door as Fairhurst strolled in, holding a boutique bag that looked in itself more expensive than some prime property in my neighborhood.

Good Girl’s present, no doubt. I looked around. There was a small mountain of presents in the corner of the room.

Of fucking course.

“We know she’s with Raff. That was the plan, but he would never whisk her off like that.” Poppy shook her head.

“He’d better not,” Edgar muttered under his breath, motioning for both Poppy and Arabella to come to him, perhaps to come up with a plan B.

Fairhurst grabbed two of the girly, pink margaritas and made his way toward me, propping a shoulder against the wall I was leaning on. He handed me one of the drinks, and I took it, keeping my eyes on the door.

“A quid for your thoughts?” he asked hoarsely.

Your taxidermied head hanging above my fireplace.

“You can’t afford my thoughts,” I deadpanned, swirling my drink in its cup.

“Don’t be so sure. Everyone has a price.”

“Spoken like a true whore. No wonder your career is going down the shitter.”

“Always so thorny.” He chuckled. “Truce?” He tipped his margarita in my periphery, his eyes clinging to the side of my face.

“Eat shit.”

“Already am, every day we postpone our inevitable negotiation. May I present to you an opening offer?” he asked.

“What do you think you’re bargaining on?”

I watched Edgar raising his voice to the girls, losing his shit. Good. I wanted him to be pissed enough to have Rafferty by the balls when they got back. I’d be happy to finish the job—and the douchebag.

“Vaughn?” Harry poked.

Right. Asshole was still here.

I had all my ducks in a row, not that he knew that. I knew exactly where he kept all the incriminating information about my mother, which meant that really, it was just a matter of breaking in and deleting it. He could’ve sent it to other people, but his email records didn’t show any deleted items in need of recovery, which meant fucker had it saved on a cloud with an auto-email ready. Easy to delete without a trace.

Basic, asshole.

“My freedom,” he said. Simply. Humbly.

“According to you, it was never in question.” I finally turned around, wearing a cocky smirk I’d borrowed from my dad—the kind he used before crushing his opponents. “I’m just a fucking kid. Don’t let a teenager cramp your style.”

“You seem calm.” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“I am.”

I was, five minutes ago. Before it became apparent that Pope didn’t give a fuck about my warning, and Len might be snogging him.

It wasn’t that I cared so much what Lenora Astalis did with her lips—both pairs. I had no sentiments toward her. But we had a deal, and I’d kept my end of it by not touching anyone else.

“The facts, such as they are, deem you dangerous and capable, Vaughn, and I’d be daft to pretend otherwise. I think I may have been a bit harsh the first time we met here. I wanted you to get the full picture. Now that we both have leverage, I feel we could negotiate and walk away from this happily.”

“Nobody leaves the negotiation table happy,” I said.

The end game was never to be happy, but to be smart. Plan ahead.

I tsked, shaking my head like he was a rookie. Harry took a step closer, giving me a please look. He smelled of desperation. My mouth watered for his blood. I could practically fucking taste it.

“This could go very right, or very wrong. Time to reveal our cards, Spencer.”

I opened my mouth just as the door burst open and in walked Pope, Len’s arm thrown over his shoulder. Her feet shuffled along the floor, and she dragged like a rag doll. Her eyes were half-shut, out of focus. I could smell the alcohol on her breath from across the fucking room.

Called it. Vodka chick.

“Oy, we seem to have a bit of a problem here.” Pope stopped by the table, trying to steady Good Girl on her feet. She collapsed into his arms, slithering down his body like smeared Jell-O. He held her upright, letting out a nervous chuckle and looking sideways.