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T OM’S EYES FLASH TO MINE OVER THE DESSERT. W E DON’T NEED TO speak to have a whole conversation in the glance. He knows we have a problem. I know Knight is our most flawless improviser.

I flit my gaze to Mia, my directions clear. Stay on her.

He nods almost imperceptibly. The next moment, he engages my cousin in conversation, his whisper looking charged with scandalized speculation. Good.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Jackson’s question pulls my focus. I eye him, uncomprehending. No, I’m not okay. I’m now racing against every member of my own family for my grandmother’s fortune. I can’t say that, though, and Jackson should have known not to inquire. “Of course,” I reply, nonchalant with effort. “Why do you ask?”

The edge in my voice says, Don’t . I feel my message is clear, yet Jackson blinks.

“Your grandmother…,” he says.

Is going to be even more reluctant to let us anywhere near the vault, yes. “Her timing is unfortunate,” I reply impatiently.

Jackson frowns. “No, I mean…” He hesitates. “She’s dying.”

Guilt and shame rush into me. He’s right. My grandmother is dying. People are supposed to have an emotional reaction when they receive such news—or emotions outside of heist-related anxiety—right? Even if they haven’t spoken to their grandmother in years?

Jackson is looking at me as if the answer is obviously yes.

And I… feel nothing. Only worry for my plans, and now worry over Jackson’s judgment. I hardly registered Leonie’s revelation outside of what it meant for my heist.

My lack of sadness might horrify Jackson, but I won’t lie to him. Even when it means not pretending I’m the kind of psychologically well, emotionally functional person he probably wants.

“I don’t know her,” I reply. The emotionlessness in my voice says the rest.

Jackson doesn’t recoil. He doesn’t flinch.

He only reaches for my hand under the table, gently clasping my fingers in my lap. Accepting me, as he always does. His caress is impossibly kind.

Impossibly. I feel the word literally. Whenever I show Jackson my worst, he… loves me. How?

“I’m here for you,” he says softly. “Whatever you need.”

I squeeze his hand, sincere in my gratitude.

His promise focuses me. Whatever I need. Evaluating the dining room’s descent into cunning chaos, I decide on my next move.

“I want to introduce you to her,” I say to Jackson.

He nods unhesitatingly.

While we wait for the servers to remove our dishes, I have the opportunity to watch my devious relatives make their plays for Leonie’s favor.

Hammond starts in on interrogating what illness has befallen his mother, promising the finest doctors, I have connections .

Leonie is unmoved. Her cousin, short, pallid Elin, reminisces of the many wonderful memories in their shared childhood.

I nearly laugh when Leonie only raises an eyebrow. “What wonderful memories, dear?” she replies.

Okay, so nostalgia is out.

Elwood comes next with reinforcements. Her children. While she elaborates on their expensive pursuits—Equestrianism! Modern dance! How impressive!—my innocent cousins wait, pressed into service. Only her eldest, the short-haired, unsmiling Sofia, has the savvy to look uncomfortable.

Leonie permits smiles for her youngest relatives but offers nothing else.

Elwood’s husband, Lars, presses more directly, wondering whether the “curse” my grandmother invoked could be ended if the money were used for good.

Charity, he proposes. I have the feeling he means one of the family “foundations” instead of non-vanity ventures.

“I’ll donate my fortune if you donate yours,” Leonie replies.

Others compliment my grandmother’s choice, no doubt giving up on the riches in favor of hopes of inheriting Volenvell. Leonie can’t be buried with a castle, after all.

Everyone is summarily dismissed, each retreating into the castle to regroup. The dining room empties. Mia doesn’t approach Leonie, I notice, instead grabbing a bottle of wine from one of the servers on her way out with Tom and Grace.

Finally, I choose my moment. I don’t want Leonie to leave, in which case my chasing her wouldn’t offer a flattering impression of me. I move to stand, and Jackson pulls my chair out for me. “I want you to be yourself, Jackson. My boyfriend,” I murmur. “You understand?”

“I don’t know how to be anyone else,” he replies.

Crossing the room to the head of the table, I don’t wobble on my heels. My grandmother’s eyes find me at once, our gazes locked as I approach.

The seat on Leonie’s right is vacant, but I do not sit. I’m not the five-year-old girl who first came here, worshipful of her grandmother’s wealth. I want to feel formidable. Powerful.

It’s not easy in Leonie’s presence. She is, unfortunately, even more intimidating closer up. Statuesque. Her diamond-sharp stare piercing.

“Thank you for the invitation, Grandmother,” I say. “I wondered if I’d ever be welcome here again.”

Leonie’s eyes don’t widen. She doesn’t react in any visible way.

“I have no quarrel with you, Olivia,” she replies. “You were always welcome. The fact your father never told you is… unsurprising.”

Her insinuation steals my composure. I falter, startled. Have invitations like this one come… all my life? Hidden and discarded by a jealous Dash?

“You look just like him,” Leonie notes, eyeing me.

I stiffen, hating what is obviously not a compliment. Not because my father isn’t handsome, either. Leonie’s appraisal, I know, has little to do with facial features.

“I don’t have much else in common with him these days,” I remark.

Leonie’s lips quirk. The first emotion she’s shown me.

“We’ll see about that,” she promises.

Her stare shifts expectantly to Jackson.

I follow the cue. “This is my boyfriend, Jackson Roese,” I introduce him. “Jackson, my grandmother.”

Jackson holds his hand out. Leonie’s eyes don’t leave his face as they shake.

“I’m sorry you’re unwell,” Jackson says.

While the short condolence could come off insincere, Jackson’s simplicity only sounds honest. Nonetheless, he receives from Leonie the same cold half smile I did.

“Are you?” she presses him. “You don’t even know me.”

“I love my grandparents very much,” Jackson replies readily. “If anything were to happen to them, I’d be heartbroken.” He pauses. “Olivia deserves to have a grandmother who loves her. I’d hoped that would be you.” His comment holds light judgment.

Now Leonie smiles fully. No one could mistake the expression for warmth.

“I do love my grandchildren. All of them,” she says.

The words clench in my chest. Love isn’t something I like mixed in with my family’s lies.

Like my father said he loved my mother, whose life he shattered with his infidelity.

Like he said he loved me, for whom he never pressed for custody.

My family lying about love messed me up so badly I still can hardly trust Jackson when he says the word.

I’m not here for my grandmother’s endearment , I remind myself. If love is the lie that she wants to employ on me, I can use it.

“I was wondering if, before…” I pause, honestly not knowing how to mention her, well, impending death. “If I could show Jackson the vault,” I finish, rerouting.

I work hard not to let hope flag. We’ve reached the critical point in the conversation, where I’m using what my cheaply cloying relatives didn’t—directness. The vault. It’s why everyone is really here, isn’t it?

Despite myself, I wonder how it feels for Leonie. Even while dying in her Alpine fortress, she knows she’s not the main attraction. She’s only the money’s inconvenient avatar. The lonely, irritating steward of the fortune her family has come for. She’s had seven decades to get used to it, I guess.

Her expression closes off. “No, it won’t be possible,” she replies. “It’ll all be underground soon anyway. Not worth getting attached.”

She looks away, as if closing the conversation. Rejecting us.

I won’t allow it. In the past few years, I’ve earned something Hammond and Elwood and their precocious children haven’t—persistence.

“Is that why I haven’t heard from you in ten years?” I press. “You didn’t want to get attached ?”

I find impatience warring with something else in Leonie’s glance. She’s—I won’t say impressed. Indulging my plight, I guess. “A lesson you’ll one day learn,” she replies.

“That’s bullshit,” Jackson declares.

The gasps rising from my remaining relatives reveal how many eavesdroppers we had.

Jackson instantly looks horrified. His face pales, eyes panicky as if he’s just dropped one of the chef’s porcelain plates crashing to the floor.

I reach for his hand, hoping my gentle grip reminds him of my words.

I want you to be yourself, Jackson. My boyfriend.

In my castle of disingenuous family members, Jackson’s noble forwardness is his strength, not his weakness.

I would trust him with—well, with myself.

I wouldn’t have introduced my loving, noble, good boyfriend to my grandmother if I expected him to get along with her.

He seems like he understands. His composure returning, he regathers his resolve.

“I’m sorry for the language, and I know it’s probably not polite under the circumstances,” he continues to Leonie, whose eyes have locked on him with—I’m equal parts pleased and concerned to find—genuine interest. “But do you even know what Olivia’s been through?

Her father threw her out. She had to get a job after school just to pay rent.

Her mother was in the hospital for days.

She had no one . Except…” He laughs once, incredulous.

“Except that’s not true, is it? Olivia had a whole family—here.

A grandmother who lives in a castle . You could have given her money, sure.

Or you could have just called her when she needed you. ”

He shakes his head. If his words weren’t pushing knives of memory into me, I would find his iron will impossibly impressive.

“And now you’re dying, and you have the chance to connect with your granddaughter before she spends the rest of her life without you. There is no gold in the world worth that chance,” Jackson finishes.

The whole room has gone utterly silent. I’m frozen, unable to speak.

My pride in him is lost under the emotions warring in my heart.

He’s ripped open ragged wounds within me, every hurt I’ve fought not to feel since setting foot in Volenvell Castle.

No—since I received the letter from my grandmother.

When I needed family, I had no one . How could I mourn my grandmother when my grandmother cared nothing for me? I can’t.

Which is the worst part. Every one of them—Dash, Leonie, every Owens in Volenvell—has ruined me. Made me into a monster incapable of grieving her own family.

The remaining relatives in the dining room wait for Leonie’s lead. While Jackson stands straight, proudly indignant, her stare moves from him… to me.

I realize then I’m not the only one who resembles my father. I remember Dash’s response when he learned of my wedding heist. His delight. His ugly respect. He was impressed , which is what I find in the look Leonie gives me now.

“You love this boy?” she inquires.

My honesty has nothing to do with strategy now.

“I do,” I say.

Leonie’s expression hardens.

“Pity, Olivia,” she replies. “I would hope you’d have chosen more wisely.”

The pressure releases from the room. Leonie has given my relatives their social marching orders. The outcast poor girl, with her rude paramour. How dare she? Despite his courage, Jackson’s shoulders slump just slightly.

Panic jolts into me—panic and defiance. She’s wrong. I know she is. There’s no wiser choice than Jackson. If Leonie can’t recognize it, she’s a lonely, pathetic fool. I’d say go to hell , you vicious old woman, except on your mountaintop, I expect you’re already there.

I’m fighting to figure out how I’m going to reply, how I’ll possibly save enough face to not permanently imperil my plans, when Leonie continues.

“I’ll show you the vault, though,” she says.

She’s speaking to Jackson.

Understandably, he straightens, stunned. I do the same.

Leonie smiles daggers, enjoying the upset of her pronouncement. “You shouldn’t encourage my granddaughter to have a relationship with me without knowing who I really am,” she explains. “When you see the vault, you’ll know my real worth .”

Every eavesdropper waits while Leonie’s regard returns to me.

“Nine thirty tomorrow morning. Only Jackson,” she clarifies. “No Owens family member will be permitted inside. You understand, dear granddaughter.”

Now I have no difficulty replying. “I understand perfectly,” I say.

“I thought you might,” my grandmother replies.

I break our eye contact. Not out of intimidation. Of course not. I just don’t want her to have the satisfaction of dismissing me. Feeling her stare like ice on my skin, I head for the doorway out of the dining room.