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“We’re not leaving,” I decide. It’s kind of like when I chose medicine. It wasn’t some grand epiphany where the heavens parted and granted me clarity. It justis.

The gleam in Wicker’s eyes slowly melts away. “So that’s how it is,” he says, face hardening. “We made a deal to get out of here, and you’re just—”

“Like we’re the only ones breaking deals,” Pace says, pushing into the room to stand beside me.

Wicker’s eyes ping back and forth. “What does that mean?”

“Did you honestly think you could tamper with my footage and I wouldn't notice?”

I chuck the socks toward the dresser. “Yeah, we know what you did to her.”

He wants to deny it. I can tell by the way he tightens his posture and drops his eyebrows. This is Wicker Ashby preparing for one of his signature slick talks. “I don’t know what you—” Maybe it’s the fight itself, or maybe he just knows we’re not easy enough marks, but either way, he deflates like a sack of bricks. “That fucking narc.”

“Oh, she lied,” I grit out, “and tried to cover for your ass. Just not very well.”

He runs his fingers through his hair, grimacing. “It was an accident. I was half asleep, and she wasright there.”

Pace scoffs. “So you lied to us like a pussy.”

“I knew you’d blow it out of proportion,” Wick bursts, throwing his hands in the air. “It’s not like it hurt the baby. God forbid!”

I gape at him. “That’s not the point!”

Wicker gives a humorless laugh. “The point is that you have arealfamily now, is that right?” He storms out, leaving Pace and me in the aftermath. For a house so tightly controlled, why does it always feel like we’re in the eye of a storm?

“Wick,” I try calling out, but he’s long gone.

“He’ll be back,” Pace says, flopping down onto my bed. “Where would he go?”

I grunt, picking up my clothes and putting them back in the dresser in a twisted heap. I’ll arrange them later. Right now, I have other things to attend to.

“Are you going to fuck her?”

When I look up, I realize Pace is staring intently at his phone. I don’t need to see the screen to know he’s watching her. I suspect he’s doing that most of the time now; his evening reports growing more and more eerily detailed. How many times she brushed her teeth. If she flossed after. The precise material classification of the new underwear she’s bought online. The amount of money spent on hot cocoa that morning. The shape and color of the blemish on her shoulder.

It’s the unfortunate thing about being an Ashby—that we all absorb aspects of our father like a contagious sickness. Pace and his watching, Wicker and his attempt at locking down our dicks.

I guess that makes me the one who inflicts.

“Keep watching,” I say, snagging up my blanket and pillow. “We’re both about to find out.”

* * *

By the timeI get to her room, my muscles are coiled so tightly that I end up flinging the door open hard, the girl inside jumping in surprise at the suddenbang. She’s perched on the edge of the bed facing me, her thighs parted. The little cream-colored nightgown she’s wearing drapes into the space between her legs, and she immediately tugs it down.

Clearing the distance, I toss my pillow on the bed. “This is my side.”

“Not you, too,” she whines, flinging a hand toward the bathroom. “It takes me a century to get to the toilet from the other side of the bed!”

“I don’t care,” I snap, throwing my blanket down. “This side is the most vulnerable to entry attacks.”

But Verity is staring in awe at the comforter I’m spreading out. “What’s that? Did you seriously bringyour blankie?”

I’m still fuming as I straighten it out, yanking hard at the corner. “You might be able to sleep on this slip-and-slide disguised as bedding, but I prefer to sleep on something comfortable.”

“You slept just fine before,” she mutters, rounding the massive bed toherside, closer to the windows. In an ideal arrangement, she’d have at least one Prince on either side of her. But nothing about this is ideal.

“Get ready for bed,” I command, tugging off my socks.