Page 26

S HE KNOWS.

She knows where the ring is, and she’s going to devise a way to distract Jackson and me. Possibly Tom as well, depending on how much she trusts him. Why else would Mia propose playing a game with one of her least favorite people in the castle? Perhaps even her very least , I flatter myself.

Well, if it’s amusement Mia wants, I’ll have to outplay her. “What did you have in mind?” I ask, my voice conspiratorial.

Mia circles the room, grazing her fingertips along the back of Leonie’s loveseat. “Tom and I have been playing truth or dare,” she says idly. “You can’t conceive of a dare this boy won’t do. Maybe tonight I’ll finally find his limit.”

“I doubt it,” Tom replies, his expression wary.

“I’ll play,” I say confidently. Jackson fidgets beside me. Play along , I try to silently communicate to him. He controls his expression with some uncertainty.

“Very good, cousin,” Mia welcomes me, her grin sharp. Her eyes move—homing in on weakness, hungry for opportunity—to Jackson. “Why don’t you go first, lover boy?”

Jackson stiffens momentarily, and then his composure returns. Honestly, I get it. The sharp delight in my cousin’s eyes is terrifying. “Dare,” Jackson announces with commendable courage.

I’m surprised by his choice. Admittedly, Jackson never was a good liar.

Mia purses her lips, eyeing Jackson. Then her gaze lowers to Leonie’s unfinished libations. “I dare you to finish off my grandmother’s wine,” she challenges Jackson.

He hesitates. Everyone looks to the half-finished bottle.

“It’s 1996 Domaine Leroy,” Mia notes gleefully. “Ten thousand dollars a sip. It’s like drinking gold.” She smiles.

Jackson looks uncomfortable, yet undaunted. “No,” he replies.

Now every eye rises to him.

“No?” Mia repeats.

“Not really how you play this game, Jasper,” Tom murmurs.

“No. Sorry,” Jackson says. “I don’t drink. Even… 1996 Domaine Leroy or whatever.”

He really doesn’t. No matter how many of his teammates do, no matter what victory their house parties celebrate. I usher the moment past. “Don’t worry,” I assure Mia. I stride calmly to Leonie’s unfinished wine. “If Jackson won’t meet your dare, I will.”

On closer inspection, not much of the heavy glass bottle’s precious contents remains. While everyone watches, I finish off the potent red, then wipe my lips. I round on Mia.

“Very well, cousin,” I drawl in unhidden imitation of her pompous phrasing. “Truth? Or dare?”

Mia shrugs. “I doubt you have the imagination to come up with dares like Thomas here does,” she jeers. “Truth.”

I don’t reach for the obvious opportunity. While Mia likely understands my motive in coming to Volenvell isn’t innocent, she knows nothing of my plans or the information I’ve gathered. If I use truth or dare to work her over for heist information, I’m practically revealing my intentions.

Instead, I reach for something more compelling. Something I expect will destabilize Mia—and what’s more, something I really want to know.

“Why,” I ask sternly, “did you lock me in the West Tower dungeon when we were kids?”

As I hoped, Mia falters. She’s a far sight from the grinning, victorious girl closing me into the dark. I remember her, crowing her admonition as if she’d heard it somewhere. If you cry, you’ve lost. If you’ve lost, you’ll never be one of us.

I suppose I’m petty in my vengeance, like my cousin herself. I want her to say it in front of Tom. In front of Jackson. Say she was jealous of me, or just cruel.

The vision steals away from me when regret flickers in Mia’s eyes.

“Leonie told us to,” she says.

I feel my mouth drop open. Mia holds my gaze. She isn’t joking.

“She gave us the idea. Suggested exactly how to do it,” Mia explains slowly. “Said she didn’t like how… comfortable you’d gotten in the castle. I—it’s funny,” she says, chuckling without warmth. “I remember what she said. You needed to sharpen up .”

My lungs feel suddenly shallow, my mouth sour. I knew Leonie Owens was unsentimental, but this is something else. Knowing not even she could just lock a five-year-old in a dungeon, she had manipulated her young charges into wreaking fear on her granddaughter.

Dying or not, my grandmother is most definitely sick.

The next moment, as if nothing’s happened, Mia’s polished, mischievous smile returns. She looks to Tom. “Your turn, Thomas.”

“I—” Tom starts to say.

Mia laughs. “Oh, no. You’ll have a dare,” she informs him. “I wouldn’t trust a word of truth you say.”

The remark, playful though Mia’s tone is, pulls me out of the past. I’m wary of hidden meanings in everything Mia says. Probably, I reassure myself, she’s just commenting on Thomas Pham’s well-known debonair demeanor, his playboyish charm, his zealous ease in performing the role of himself.

If she’s not, though…

“Fine with me,” Tom replies, projecting nonchalance. “What did you have in mind?”

“Kiss her,” Mia says.

Suffocating silence descends over the room.

Jackson stiffens while the firelight dances in Mia’s eager eyes.

Of course , I recognize ruefully. It’s just like Mia to raise the stakes in retaliation for the truth I extracted from her.

Whatever jealousy she’ll feel watching Tom is nothing compared to the pleasure of ruining my night.

Jackson says nothing. His restraint is… immeasurable. Following my lead, recognizing what my game of strategy might demand. I’ve kissed Tom before. It didn’t mean anything then and it won’t now. If we have to keep this game going—

“Well,” Tom says. “I guess you’ve found my limit.”

I meet his gaze, surprised. The rogue need I usually find in them is nowhere to be seen. Tom holds my stare, his impassive features guarding something like care.

Mia’s face falls grandly. “What?”

“I’m sorry, darling,” Tom replies. “I suppose I’ve lost our game.”

Imperceptibly, Jackson relaxes. I… feel myself do the same.

I didn’t want to kiss Tom, of course, especially not as part of some twisted game to hurt Jackson.

But I’m surprised Tom didn’t jump at the chance.

Did he refrain out of care for Jackson? Unlikely.

Perhaps he simply doesn’t want to kiss me, even if for the heist.

Mia shakes her head, real fury straining under her mocking frown. “Shame,” she says, casting me a glance. “We Owens girls choose such disappointing men.”

I say nothing.

Mia flips her hair as if she’s shaking off her frustration. “It’s only us now, Olivia,” she informs me. “Honestly unsurprising. It’s always going to come down to us, isn’t it?”

I hold her stare. “Dare.”

I prepare myself, sharpening up , like my grandmother said.

When I complete whatever challenge she offers me, it’ll be Mia’s turn.

How far is she willing to go to win this game?

I can’t dare her to steal the ring, but maybe I can dare her to do something that might cause Otto Karlson to throw her out.

If she’s removed from Volenvell, I won’t have to worry about her getting the combination or ruining my plans. …

“Pick the lock on Leonie’s jewelry box,” Mia says, her gaze focused and dark.

I furrow my brows as if I’m confused. As if my heart isn’t at all pounding with how close I am to what I came here for.

As if Mia hasn’t just outdone whatever devious dare I was going to give her. Leonie’s jewelry box. The ring.

Of course it would have a lock. Mia wants inside, but she doesn’t have the key. She needs… me. Her cousin who picked the West Tower lock as a child.

Clearly, she doesn’t know I know about the ring engraving or she wouldn’t risk giving me this access. Which means I can’t betray what she’s handing me.

“Where is it?” I ask, putting trepidation into my voice.

Mia smirks, buying my nerves. “Follow me.” She turns to the boys. “Watch the hallway. If you see anyone coming, call for us like you’re lost.”

Jackson nods, his features stony. Tom drops into Leonie’s loveseat, crossing his legs at the ankles.

With a final glance at my allies, I follow my cousin back into the hall. She locked me in a dungeon once because my grandmother asked her to. What trick might she be leading me to now? I swallow down my nerves and remind myself that I have the upper hand here. At least, I hope I do.

Instead of dungeons or danger, Mia leads me only several doors down. “Grandmother’s bedroom,” she informs me, a hint of pride in her voice. Flaunting her familial knowledge. Revenge for my Sacher torte posturing. “The jewelry box,” she continues, “is just inside.”

Leonie’s room is empty and perfectly maintained. The four-poster’s sheets remain crisply made. Nothing is out of place or in the midst of use. We continue into the enormous darkened room, where moonlight paints patterns onto the hardwood and the handsome leather furniture.

Our objective is unhidden. On the vanity nearest the wide, curtained window farthest from the door waits a wooden jewelry box. The craftsmanship is simple yet exquisite—I have no doubt the price of the container itself equals the value of some of the gems inside.

Exquisite though it is, however, it’s Leonie’s. Which means no code keypads or fingerprint readers protect the contents. The keyhole is formidable, wide-mouthed and waiting.

I move to the vanity. While I sit, Mia hovers. I consider her next move. She doesn’t know I know about the ring, which means she doesn’t have to rush. She can simply pluck it out to admire. I need to make sure I get the ring first.

Sharpen up, cousin.

Reaching up, I pluck a bobby pin out of her slicked-back ponytail. “You don’t mind, right?” I say when she yelps in surprise.

I insert the pin into the keyhole. Notwithstanding the dare’s proximity to the precious ring, I appreciate the chance to practice my craft. While I’ve picked plenty of locks in the past few months in preparation for this week, I welcome the challenge of one more.

In the silence of the room, I probe the lock. Finding the contours. Learning the mechanisms with the point of my pin.

Mia fidgets. Conscious of every passing second, I continue my patient work. With every lock I’ve practiced, I never let myself lose sight of time. Instead, I let it focus me, hone me, and finally…

I work the pin one last push to the side. The lock disengages. The lid pops slightly.

With careful, gentle hands, I open the jewelry box. Instantly, I see it—a circlet of metal, shining in the moonlight.

Mia sees it, too. I know she does. Time for me to make my move. I reach to pick up the whole box, but I fumble it, sending the contents spilling across the floor. Mia gasps, shocked. I use her surprise to my advantage, plunging to the rug to begin cleaning up. Starting with my grandmother’s ring.

In the pale light, I locate the numbers inscribed inside immediately—

I blink, stunned.

I’ve done my research on Leonie and Andrew Owens. I wouldn’t come to Volenvell to steal hundreds of millions of dollars without dedicating to memory every piece of family information I might need. I know where they honeymooned, how long they were married… when they were married.

The numbers engraved in the ring I’m holding really are my grandparents’ wedding anniversary.

But that… can’t be right. Would she really make the combination to her vault so simple? Is this some test of her children’s knowledge? If anyone merely knew their anniversary, they would have the family fortune?

No. Something is wrong.

“Olivia? Mia?” Tom’s voice cuts through my confusion.

Mia’s eyes widen. She jumps away from the scene of our crime—leaving me alone, knee-deep in Leonie’s jewels—right as the door flies open.

Leonie’s instantly sharp gaze sweeps over the scene. “What are you doing in here?” she demands with her usual dispassionate half interest. She hits the lights, casting glaring illumination over the room. “Stealing from me? In my house?”

I will say, I love how she gets to the point. “Hi, Grandmother,” I reply. You have no idea , I want to say. “No, we were… playing truth or dare,” I explain.

Leonie glares, obviously not convinced.

“It was her idea,” Mia says. “She dared me to go into your jewelry box.”

Admittedly, I should have seen that one coming. Leonie studies her other granddaughter. Mia’s hands tremble. Disappointment flickers in Leonie’s expression, as if she knows Mia’s being a coward, letting me take the fall. She turns away from Mia, uninterested in her.

“And I think I know what you hoped to find. Just like poor Ernest Hensson,” she says. The way she says poor does not exactly convey sympathy. “Of course, like you, he only found my engagement ring.”

I purse my lips. Mia, I notice, pales. She’s only just realized what I did earlier. The ring in the jewelry box is useless.

“Surprising, mm?” Leonie continues. “The wealthy Andrew Owens didn’t offer me a diamond when he asked me to marry him. This was his mother’s ring, you see. His parents couldn’t afford diamonds. It was a reminder of where he came from. And, of course, I had plenty diamonds of my own already.”

Leonie raises her hand to her chest. She pulls out a slim silver chain from the collar of her dress. The pendant glints in the moonlight. Except it’s not a pendant. It’s—

“I keep my wedding ring,” she says, “right here.”

Of course. It’s damningly perfect, I recognize. Under the cover of sentimentality—the widow, wearing the reminder of her husband over her heart—Leonie keeps the precious vault combination where it’s hardest to steal.

“I didn’t know your wedding ring for your failed marriage was so precious to you,” I comment, my heart pounding.

Leonie’s gaze narrows. “Andrew engraved it for me,” she continues, quiet hurt entering her voice. “It was very romantic. He’s the only other person who ever knew the combination, and now he’s gone. It’s why I keep it close,” she continues, hand pressed to her collarbone.

There’s one other reason , I want to interject.

I don’t, though. None of us needs to say it. She knows we know. Sweat slickens my palms—Ernest Hensson was expelled from Volenvell for doing exactly this.

She hasn’t thrown us out yet, though. Why not? While she paces forward slowly, I hold my breath.

“To think,” she chastises, “I’d leave something so precious under simple lock and key.” She shakes her head.

She comes closer. Finding her full height surpassing mine, I stiffen in surprise.

“This isn’t as simple as a safe in your father’s house,” she concludes.

She glides past me, leaving me in the mess I orchestrated with no ring, no combination—and one final revelation.

Leonie knows about the wedding heist.

“One more thing, dear,” my grandmother says over her shoulder. She doesn’t even look at me now. “If you’re apprehended in my quarters ever again, I will have you expelled from Volenvell. Forever.”