Chapter 4

It had taken me five days to reach that small town. The flight home took five hours.

I arrived at the house just in time for the welcome-home party my parents had apparently organized in my honor.

Connor stood in the middle of it all in a perfectly tailored suit, looking every bit the groom ！ every bit the man of the house.

My father gave a contemptuous grunt. "So the prodigal son deigns to return."

My mother sighed. "At least the boy has no blood connection to you. Otherwise, even his career prospects would be ruined."

"Step over the fire pit before you come in. Don't bring your bad luck and misfortune into this house."

The neighbors and relatives, seeing me with my mask and my crutch, whispered to one another:

"Why did they even bother bringing him back? Isn't there enough shame already?"

"I heard that while he was with Vivienne, he was sleeping with some Mafia woman on the side. Had surgery to look like the woman¨s first love, even pressured Vivienne into terminating their baby."

"If you ask me, having his fingers cut off, his legs taken, his face carved up, his kidney harvested, and five years in prison ！ he brought every bit of it on himself."

Connor stepped in and cut the neighbor off. "Ethan made serious mistakes, but he's served five years. Not every dog is beyond redemption. We believe Ethan won't make the same mistakes twice."

I watched this kangaroo court, tailor-made for me, and felt nothing but cold, nauseating contempt.

Then Connor carried over a fire pit.

He added fresh charcoal to it. "The bigger the fire, the brighter the future."

The new coals popped and spat sparks. You could feel the heat from ten feet away.

He gave me a challenging look, a mean little smile. "Step over it. Start your life over."

Before I could react, he grabbed me and dragged me toward it.

Then someone shoved me hard in the small of my back.

I had no balance. I pitched straight forward.

I managed to knock the pit aside, but the tipping coals scattered across my body and ignited my synthetic clothing.

"Help ！ please！"

I screamed, but no one moved to help.

In the end, it was Vivienne who tore the burning fabric from me. Connor followed with a bucket of cold water poured over my head.

The mask came off.

Hair matted, clothes destroyed, knife scars crossing every inch of my back.

The crowd recoiled, breath hissing through teeth, from the wreckage of my face.

My father pointed at my half-naked body and swore at me.

"How long are you going to keep humiliating this family? Get back to your room!"

Connor, seeing Vivienne move to go find me fresh clothes, flashed me a cold smile.

He reached into the dog kennel, pulled out the blanket from under the old retriever, and draped it over me.

"Use this to cover yourself for now."

I tried to pull free. Connor held me down, hard.

I smiled. Let go of the struggle.

This whole spectacle had been designed for me. All they wanted was to see me broken enough.

Only when I'd been broken enough would they finally leave me alone.

I looked at Vivienne. "Satisfied?"

Vivienne glanced at Connor, something flickering in her eyes. "A dog blanket is better than being completely exposed."

Connor's eyes lit with quiet triumph. He made a show of offering to help me up.

I shook him off. "Keep your filthy hands off me."

Without looking at my parents' curses or the neighbors' stares, I hauled myself on my crutch toward the house.

Connor's voice drifted after me:

"Mom and Dad said the good rooms will be tainted by your bad luck. You're in the attic."

I made the slow, agonizing climb up the stairs.

When the door closed behind me, my eyes burned against my will.

I pulled away the dog blanket. In the mirror: a body mapped in scars, and fresh burn blisters rising in patches across my skin.

These wounds ！ some from the Mafia woman's knife, some from prison ！ cut deep enough to show bone.

I hadn't forgotten a single one.

I was waiting for the right moment to return every last one of them.

That night, Vivienne knocked on my door. I didn't open it.

Sometime after midnight, sounds drifted up from the balcony below:

"You bastard ！ you said tonight was our wedding night."

"It is. Did you like what I wore today?"

"I loved it. The moment I saw you, I wanted you to！"

What followed were the low, intimate sounds of a man and a woman.

Only then did I understand. The red balloons plastered across every room and across the yard ！ they weren't for my homecoming.

They were for a wedding. Theirs.