Chapter 3

I clutched the handle of the case, my knuckles whitening one by one.

"Ferran. There's nothing from Rosa Manor inside."

He stepped closer. There was no warmth in his eyes.

"Serafina. How much of what you say is still worth believing?"

"You once swore you'd never leave me. And what happened then? When I was ruined, you ran faster than anyone."

I didn't explain.

Ferran didn't want my explanations.

He flicked a look at the bodyguards.

The next second, the suitcase was wrenched from my hand and slammed onto the floor.

The zipper tore open. Clothes, brushes, document folders spilled out.

I reached instinctively for my mother's sketchbook, but a bodyguard blocked my arm.

The little book, with its grey-blue cover, rolled to a stop at Nina's feet.

She bent, picked it up, flipped through a page or two—and her eyes lit.

"Ferran, these are beautiful. Could I have it?"

The color drained from my face. I lunged forward and shoved her back.

"Don't touch it!"

Nina jerked, as if frightened. Her fingers trembled. The sketchbook tumbled, thunk, into the rainwater outside the doorway.

A buzzing filled my head.

Inside that book were the last sketches my mother had ever made.

I rushed forward to grab it.

But Nina's heel came down first—pressed firmly onto the cover.

I looked up at her.

Her eyes were full of venom, even as she affected innocence.

"Sera, don't look at me like that. You're scaring me."

Ferran was at her side in an instant, sweeping her behind him.

"It's just a worthless book."

"I'll replace it."

"Ferran. You can't."

His face darkened.

"Serafina. Don't push your luck."

I didn't look at him again. I bent down and reached for the sketchbook.

The moment my fingers touched the cover, Nina let out a small cry and stumbled backward.

"Ferran, she pushed me—"

Before she finished, Ferran's eyes had gone cold. He seized my wrist with a grip that felt as if it would crush bone.

"Serafina. Are you done losing your mind?"

I winced, but didn't let go of the soaked book.

"Let go."

He didn't. He yanked.

I lost my footing. My shoulder slammed into the glass cabinet beside the door.

The cabinet shattered. Glass exploded across the floor.

Instinctively, I caught myself with my right hand.

Pain detonated from my wrist outward. Blood pulsed down my arm.

The world went silent.

The anger froze on Ferran's face.

He stared at my right hand, at the blood dripping between my fingers, vivid and red.

For the first time, panic flickered behind his eyes. He moved to speak.

I only looked at him.

"Ferran. Are you satisfied now?"