“They wouldn’t care,” I lied. I didn’t know why I said it. I just wanted to sound grown up and sophisticated.

“You sure?”

“Yup. Who are you, anyway?” I narrowed my eyes at him.

“I own this gallery. And you, my little friend, are in big trouble.” His tone turned frosty as he grabbed the statue of Tutankhamun and threw it on the floor. The statue broke into three pieces.

I stared at it, wide-eyed, my mouth slacking.

What. The. Fuck?

“This statue is being auctioned off for six million dollars upstairs,” the man said in the same monotone tenor one would use to discuss the weather. “My cousin’s most sought-after piece. And you just broke it.”

“I didn’t!” I gasped.

For the first time in my life, I felt something foreign, powerful, and pungent. Hatred. It was so thick I could feel it bursting on my tongue. He was going to pin it on me, and people were going to believe him, because he was older and wore a suit, even if it was a funny one. I was just a kid who couldn’t help himself and had bailed on his nanny—and not for the first time. I had trouble written all over me.

“Yes, you did. I saw you.”

“That’s a lie!” I kicked the air in frustration, my throat burning. I was so angry I wanted to hit him, but I knew I couldn’t.

I heard Maggie’s voice calling my name desperately. The man heard her, too. He smiled.

“They left you with the au pair. How bloody cliché.” He shook his head, chuckling to himself.

At the time, I didn’t know what he meant. I knew now. He’d thought my parents had little to no interest in my life. That I was easy prey—a decoration they plucked out of the wet nurse’s arms once in a full moon, to show their friends and colleagues they had an heir.

“Is your father going to hit you when he finds out?” he asked me.

“What?” I spat, surprised by the idea. “No. No, he won’t.”

“But he’ll be livid that you broke it. Does he even have the money to pay for it?” He eyed me.

Maggie’s voice grew closer. She was coming. Fuck. She was going to tell on me, and my parents were going to give me so much shit. If Dad would need to pay for this, I was guessing he’d fire her, too. Maggie was someone’s grandma. That someone was sick. I didn’t know what the kid had, but I knew his name was Johnny and that Maggie needed this job. My mom sent flowers to his hospital when he was going through treatments and visited them often, but she never took me, because she said she didn’t want me to see certain things.

Everything became so complicated in one, catastrophic moment. I had no idea life could take such a sharp turn in a fraction of a second.

“You’re a liar!” I roared in his face, shoving him with all of my nonexistent strength. My noodle-arms bounced back comically, hitting my sides. Not only was I eight, I was also on the skinny side.

He grabbed my wrists and brought them to his stomach, laughing in a low, gravelly voice.

“How about we strike a deal, little man?”

“No!” I tried to resist, kicking his nuts, but he was faster, dodging my advance. I was delirious with anger, kicking without aim.

“I can make this all go away. Take the fall. Forget it ever happened and talk to my cousin. On one condition.”

I stopped struggling, frozen. Every bone in my body told me not to take whatever he had to offer, but Maggie’s voice grew even closer and more unsteady. She was in tears now, sniffling my name in panic.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“All I need you to do to make it go away is…” he trailed off, taking one of my wrists and putting my palm against his groin. “Slide your little hand into my trousers and squeeze my penis. That’s all. Just a bit.”

I’d touched myself thousands of times. Obviously not to jerk off, but me and my wiener were on good terms. Then again, my parents had told me my privates were mine, for no one else to touch.

They never said anything about me touching someone else’s, though.

“No. That’s gross,” I said on impact, pulling away. “You’re old. Besides, I only like my own penis.”

“You’ll like mine more for six million dollars, little one.” He laughed, unzipping his cigar pants but leaving them on.

Maggie was directly outside the room now, and I was wild with adrenaline. Everything could go so wrong. My mother would be crushed that I’d snuck away again, my dad furious when he had to foot the bill for this. I didn’t want them to feel that way.

And Maggie—what if they fired her? Mom wouldn’t. But Dad could and would. Even Mom wouldn’t be able to convince him otherwise. It wasn’t the first, third, or even fifth time that I’d run away when Maggie was in charge.

“Okay, okay,” I breathed out, shoving my hand into his pants. His penis was thick and big. It felt weird and unnatural. The wooden pastry made its way up my throat. I needed to puke.

“Now squeeze,” he instructed with his breezy English accent.

I did. I squeezed again and again and again, pumping it like a stress ball, wanting to hurt him badly. But the more I tried to make it painful for him, the more he seemed to like it. It all happened really fast. Ten seconds flat. His eyes rolled in their sockets, dropping shut, and he shuddered.

He pushed me away all of a sudden, a jerky reaction. I fell on the floor and watched as he took a multicolored handkerchief from his breast pocket and shoved his hand into his opened zipper. When the handkerchief reappeared, it was wet and sticky.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed heavily, wiping his brow. The look on his face when he saw me on the floor, staring at him, was confused, then angry.

“On your feet, now.” He clapped twice.

I shot up the minute Maggie walked into the room. She wasn’t alone. Mom and Dad were with her, too. One look at the three of them, and any regret I might’ve had for doing what I did with this man vanished. Mom and Maggie had tears in their eyes. Maggie’s brow was dripping with sweat. Dad looked like he was about to kill someone. If they thought I’d snuck away to break a six-million-dollar piece of art, I’d be grounded well into my mid-forties.

“Vaughn!” Mom cried with relief. She ran to me, scooped me up, and held me tight, like I was a baby. My limbs flailed helplessly. I felt her heart pounding violently against my own, and the trace of something gluey in my left palm.

“God, I was so worried. What am I going to do with you, Little Houdini?”

“Chain him by the ankles and throw him in the basement until he hits eighteen, by the looks of it,” Dad commented, striding toward us and plucking me from her arms. He put me down and crouched to my eye level, his face full of thunder.

“Who is this guy?” He tilted his head sideways, motioning toward the guy who’d asked me to touch his penis, but still staring at me.

I’d just opened my mouth when the man cooed, “Emilia LeBlanc-Spencer! We finally meet. Huge fan over here.”

“Harry Fairhurst. Same could be said about you. I just bought one of your paintings.” Mom had recovered from her earlier hysteria, but still gave him a suspicious look.

She glanced at me, waiting for cues. Dad stood up, frowning. He didn’t like something about this scene, either, but couldn’t place what it was.