I stiffened, my hands clenched. I turned, making sure that she'd see the anger which had been etched onto my face. "You're kidding."

Her perfect lipstick smiled into something that was almost a grin. "No. He's part of the family now, and I'd like you to meet him properly."

A harsh laugh tore from my lungs. "Welcome him in with open arms? I'd sooner eat with pigs than sit down to a meal at a table by a sister who had sex with my boyfriend and a mother who embarrassed this family with the man who helped her to it."

Her smile faltered, to be overtaken by a burning glare. "You're doing it again. You are making this all about you. Observe your sister, she is behaving like a mature adult."

"No, I am telling the truth," I replied. "And you do not enjoy it. And sienna, she's probably thinking of how she can put Liam's dick in her mouth because his tongue last night wasn't enough!

Her tone increased. "Don't you dare use your sister's name in that tone! Know what? You're selfish, Elena. Just because you are my daughter doesn't mean the whole world is about you."

I looked at her. "You're blaming this on me?"

"Me too?" she snapped. "Do you really believe I did all that I've done for kicks? I gave up on half of my career, half of my dreams, because I got pregnant with you early in my career as a model."

I flinched at the venom in her words.

"I attempted,' she continued, 'to raise a family with your dad, despite the fact that he was smitten with his first wife — Sienna's mom. And she was deceased! Do you know what it is like to be with a man who still loves his dead wife? I sacrificed years of my life to you, Elena." And now, all I'm asking — all I'm begging — is that you just attend this dinner and be on your best behavior."

The words were like acid, every word burning hot inside my chest. I wanted to yell back, but the lump in my throat was too tight. Instead, I turned away and climbed upstairs in silence.

I closed the door of my room and leaned my back against the door, my breathing unstable. My hands had already extended to my phone before my head caught up. I scrolled to Dad's name and dialed.

He picked up on the third ring, his calm voice surrounding me like a cozy blanket. "Elena? Honey, what's wrong?"

The sobs erupted before I could force them to stop. "Dad… " My voice shattered. "Sienna—she—she ended up in Liam's arms. And Mom… She treated me horribly. She didn't even care. She's forcing me to sit at dinner with that kid from the video. The one who—" My words were lost in sobs.

"Breathe, Ellie," he whispered. "One step at a time."

"I don't want to live here," I told him, my voice cracking. "Please, can I come live with you. Please."

There was a pause, long enough for hope to have become fear.

"Sweetheart," he whispered, "I can’t do that at this time. You need your mother."

"No, I don't!" I lashed out, but my voice trembled. "She doesn't love me, Dad. She loves her image. Loves him."

"I know it's hard," he breathed. "I know you're hurting. But running isn't going to make a difference."

His words made me cry tears down my face. "You don't understand—"

"I do," he interrupted. "I'm your father, Elena. And I'm telling you this, this will pass. I swear, I'll be there in a minute with you the moment I get back into the country. We'll figure it out then. Just hold on for me, all right?"

I bit down on my lower lip hard enough to bleed. "Okay."

I spoke with him on the phone until finally the crying began to slow, his deep rumble of a voice warding off the cold of the mansion. He only hung up after my sobs reduced and I collapsed onto my bed, exhausted. Sleep had caught me before I could stop it from doing so.

There was a hand shaking my shoulder as I came to. I opened my eyes to find Sienna leaning over me, her perfume already strangling the air.

Get up," she barked, her tone obnoxiously cheerful. "Our new stepfather will be here at any minute."

I spat at her. "You just—"

"Yes," she said, smiling. "Stepfather. At least try to clean up at least somewhat."

"I'd rather die," I snarled, yanking off the blanket.

"Your funeral," she tossed back over her shoulder as she stormed out of my bedroom.

I dragged my feet to the bathroom, getting the quickest shower of my life. The hot water only served to banish the fear roiling in my belly. Before I could dress — black pants, silk blouse, damp hair — my mood hadn't improved.

The smells of roasted meat and garlic wafted through the air as I went down the stairs.

Mom was down at the other end of the table arranging a vase of white roses. She glanced up at me as I entered, her smile hopeful but also a bit nervous.

"Good," she said to me. "You tried it."

I said nothing. I just sat down in a chair at the other end of the table, my gaze fixed on the still-empty plate in front of me.

Then the front door creaked open, muffling the rumble of noise created by the kitchen staff. The heavy footfalls walked across the marble.

Mom's eyes sparkled. "He's here!"

I was able to turn and glance in the direction of the doorway.

The man who walked in stood me stiff in my chair. Tall, broad-shouldered, bespoke suit that clung to him like it had been made to his measurements. Dark eyes locked with mine for a moment of recognition and sent a heat rush to the top of my cheeks.

My stomach dropped so hard it was painful.

It was him.

The man from last night.

The man whose fingers had touched me, whose voice lingered in the back of my head.

My mother's fiancé.