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I found her in her room, surrounded by case files and notepads filled with her neat, precise handwriting. She looked up when I entered, surprise quickly replaced by wariness.

“Tempest. What are you doing here?”

I closed the door behind me. “We need to talk.”

“I’m studying.” She gestured to her books. “Can it wait?”

“No.” I pulled out a printout of the door cam footage showing Rosalind holding the book out to Mrs. Henderson. “It can’t.”

Her eyes flickered to the photo, then back to my face. “What’s that?”

“Are you the one who leaked my identity to the press?”

Rosalind didn’t immediately deny it. And that bile rose up the back of my throat. Instead, she carefully closed her notebook and set it aside.

“How did you find out?” she asked, her voice controlled.

I sat on the edge of her bed, studying this sister I thought I knew. “Why, Ros? Why would you do this to me?”

She was quiet for a long moment, as if choosing her words carefully. “Ophelia left a copy of your dumb book here last year, and I picked it up for something mindless to read.” Her mouth twisted. “I didn’t know it was yours, of course.”

“Until you recognized Catalina in the heroine.”

A flicker of surprise. “Yes. The way she could never be wrong, that oh, so Catalina way of lauding her superiority around because she’s the oldest. It was too specific. Too familiar.” She shrugged. “So I started looking into Miranda Milan.”

“And exposing me, without warning, without giving me any chance to prepare was a better choice than just talking to me about it?”

“You should have told us,” she snapped back, her voice hardened.

“You kept this whole secret life, this whole career, hidden from your family for years. Writing... that kind of content. It needed to be nipped in the bud. And I’m not the only one who thinks so.

Mrs. Henderson always did like me better than you. ”

The anger I’d been holding at bay began to surface. “She’s the one who let you into my room? No wonder we had so many random room checks this year. That was your fault, wasn’t it? I was protecting myself and my work, and you were spying on me?”

“And never thought about how it might affect the rest of us?” She stood, pacing to her window. “I have a bright political career ahead of me, Tempest. Everyone says so. What do you think happens when the senator finds out? Or when I run for office and have to explain that my sister writes porn?”

“So this was about your career? Your reputation?”

“It’s about all of our reputations.” She spun to face me. “You think Mamá’s medical colleagues aren’t gossiping about this? That Papá’s academic friends aren’t whispering behind his back?”

“My books are successful and they’re not something shameful,” I countered .

“Maybe not to you.” Rosalind crossed her arms. “But some of us had to work our entire lives to build respectable careers. Some of us don’t get to follow our passions and do whatever makes us happy.”

The bitterness in her voice caught me off guard. “What are you talking about?”

She laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. “You did what you wanted, you pursued this... this writing thing that everyone told you was frivolous. While the rest of us towed the line and did what we were supposed to.”

“I worked hard for my degree and the success I’m having in my career,” I said, my voice quieter now as understanding dawned.

“So am I,” Rosalind’s composure cracked. “I’ve done everything right. Everything that was expected of me. I stayed at home and went to DSU for law school because that’s the path to politics, which is what everyone has told me I should do since I was ten. Ten, Tempest.”

“And is that what you want?”

She hesitated just a fraction of a second too long. “Of course.”

That tiny pause told me everything. “Ros... if you don’t want to be a lawyer or go into politics, you don’t have to.”

“Don’t I?” She turned away. “Not everyone gets to buck the system. Not everyone gets to be the rebellious middle child.”

The anger I’d carried into this room began to shift, making space for something unexpected...understanding.

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” I said gently. “To do something that actually makes you happy.”

“Easy for you to say. You’ve already built your secret career even if you don’t seem to care what anyone else has to say about it.”

By anyone else, we both knew she meant Mamá.

“Better than spending your life doing something that makes you miserable. To thine own self be true.”

Rosalind turned to face me, her expression suddenly fierce. “Don’t ruin my chances with your trashy romance novel scandal. That would be a real betrayal, little sister.”

The attack stung, but I recognized it for what it was. Fear. Fear of disappointment. Been there, done that, got the scars.

“I hope someday you grow up and figure out you have to live your own life,” I said quietly, “being true to yourself instead of living up to others’ expectations. I spent too many years hiding who I was, and it was exhausting. I don’t want that for you, Ros.”

She stared at me for a long moment, something unreadable in her eyes. “I think you should go now.”

I nodded. There was nothing more to say.

I made it all the way to my car before the emotional weight of the confrontation hit me. Tears burned in my eyes as I fumbled with my keys.

On the way back to the sorority house, I dialed Flynn’s number. I needed to hear his voice. Tell him what happened.

Instead I blurted out, “We can’t go to KATman.”

“What do you mean we can’t go?”

I just couldn’t bring myself to tell him my own sister had betrayed me. His family was so damn perfect, and mine...just wasn’t. So I’d said the only other thing I could think of .

“Tempest.” Flynn’s voice softened. “What’s really going on? And don’t tell me ‘nothing’. I can hear it in your tone.”

I sighed, relenting. “It’s Rosalind. She’s been spying on me, reading my emails, even had Mrs. Henderson searching through my things. She’s the one who leaked my identity.”

“What?” Flynn’s expression darkened. “Your own sister did that?”

“To protect her future political career, she said,” I confirmed, the bitter taste of betrayal still fresh.

“I’m going over there and Burrito and I are going to... well, we don’t hit girls, but we will give her a very stern talking to.”

“I’d love to see that,” I whispered. “But honestly, I think she’s hurting just as much as I am. She can’t handle seeing me live authentically. I think I forced her to look at her own life, her choices. And sometimes that’s too painful.”

“You deserve to celebrate who you are, Tempest. All of who you are. The brilliant student, the best-selling author, the woman I love. Which is why we’re absolutely going to KATman.”

“But I don’t have a dress,” I sighed. “And I’m not sure I’m in a celebrating mood anymore.”

“That’s exactly when you should celebrate,” he insisted. “When the world tries to make you feel small or wrong or not enough. That’s when you put on something gorgeous and dance anyway.”

His quiet determination warmed something inside me. “That’s a lovely sentiment, but KATman is three days away, and I’ve tried every store in Denver. ”

“Trust me?” His voice shifted to something determined, almost secretive.

“I do,” I said automatically.

Two days later, I returned to my room after class to find a large white box sitting on my bed, a gold ribbon tied around it. Parker sat cross-legged on her own bed, practically vibrating with excitement.

“It came about an hour ago,” she said before I could ask. “With very specific instructions not to peek.”

I approached the box cautiously. A small card tucked under the ribbon read “For my queen. For KATman and beyond. All my love, Flynn.”

My hands trembled slightly as I untied the ribbon and lifted the lid.

Inside, nestled in layers of tissue paper, was a dress that took my breath away.

It was deepest black, trimmed with silver.

The colors of the LA Bandits. The dress shimmered with subtle constellations when the fabric moved.

The design was elegantly cut to flatter curves rather than hide them, with a neckline that would show just enough skin to be alluring.

“Oh my god,” Parker breathed, peering over my shoulder. “That’s a Rose Vond original. She makes clothes for royalty and pop stars and stuff. They’re, like, impossible to get.”

I lifted the dress carefully from the box, finding a smaller box beneath. Inside was a delicate silver necklace with a pendant in the shape of a crown that would nestle perfectly above my cleavage.

Tears blurred my vision as I clutched the dress to my chest .

“You have to try it on,” Parker urged, already clearing space in front of our full-length mirror.

The dress fit perfectly, as if Rose Vond had somehow slipped into our room in the dark of night and measured me herself.

The fabric flowed over my curves like water, the color making my skin glow.

For perhaps the first time in my life, I looked at my reflection and saw not the girl who took up too much space, who didn’t quite fit, but a woman who filled her space exactly as she was meant to.