Chapter 1 - The Wrong Mansion
Renley tightened both hands around the food container and shouted, "I'm just delivering dinner!"
When Lucian Vale stepped into the doorway, he saw the white meal bag hanging from her shoulder.
Under the delivery name were three handwritten words: "From Evelyn Hart."
This wasn't a wrong address.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Renley Hart was twelve years old, five feet tall on a generous day, and still wearing the faded gray shirt she had worn to seventh-grade math three hours earlier. Her light brown hair had escaped from its ponytail during the bicycle ride across town. There was dust on one knee of her leggings, grease on two fingers from fixing her bicycle chain, and exactly three dollars and nineteen cents in the little zipper pocket of her delivery bag.
The man standing in front of her looked as though three dollars and nineteen cents wouldn't buy the buttons on his shirt.
He was tall enough that Renley had to tilt her head back.
His fitted black shirt was rolled to the elbows, exposing dark tattoos across both forearms. More ink disappeared beneath his collar. Behind him stretched a marble foyer illuminated by a chandelier bigger than Renley's bedroom.
Two guards flanked the entrance.
A third stood several yards behind her near the driveway.
Renley swallowed.
Five minutes earlier, she had believed delivering dinner to 81 Bellmont Crest would be easy.
Ride up.
Knock.
Hand over food.
Ride home before dark.
Instead, the first guard had stepped in front of her before she had even reached the door.
"Private property."
"I know," Renley had replied. "Someone requested a meal."
"No one here requested anything."
She had checked the paper clipped to the container.
81 Bellmont Crest.
No mistake.
"It says this house."
The second guard had looked at the cheap plastic container as if she were trying to smuggle a live snake through the front door.
"Leave."
That was when Renley had begun wondering whether Mrs. Alvarez at the community kitchen had accidentally sent her to the wrong mansion.
She had apologized.
She had turned around.
Then the door opened.
Now the stranger in black was staring at her bag.
Not at the meal.
At the writing.
"Where did you get this?" he asked.
His voice wasn't loud.
That somehow made everyone more nervous.
Renley looked down.
On the cloth side of her delivery bag, above a faded blue logo for HARBOR STREET COMMUNITY KITCHEN, somebody had written a name in black permanent marker.
Evelyn Hart.
Renley had seen it thousands of times.
She had grown up seeing it.
"It was my mom's," she said.
Something changed in the man's face.
Renley couldn't identify it.
Shock, maybe.
Except adults usually showed shock in obvious ways. Raised eyebrows. Open mouths. Questions.
This man did none of those things.
He simply stopped breathing for a second.
One guard glanced at another.
The stranger stepped forward.
"Your mother's name is Evelyn Hart?"
"Was."
The word escaped before Renley could soften it.
His eyes moved to her face.
"Was?"
Renley shifted the container.
"She died."
A muscle tightened along his jaw.
"When?"
Renley hesitated.
She didn't like strangers asking questions about her mother.
Especially armed strangers.
Especially armed strangers who lived in mansions.
"Almost six years ago."
The man stared at her.
Renley wondered if she should run.
Her bicycle waited beside the stone steps. The chain had slipped twice that afternoon, but downhill she could probably make decent speed.
Then his attention dropped to the meal again.
"Who sent this?"
"The kitchen."
"Who specifically?"
"Mrs. Alvarez."
"Who ordered it?"
Renley checked the paper.
"No name. It just says delivery requested for this address."
The stranger extended one hand.
Renley instinctively pulled the container closer.
The guards stiffened.
The man noticed.
His expression softened almost imperceptibly.
"I'm not taking your food," he said. "I want to see the ticket."
"Oh."
Embarrassed, Renley handed him the slip.
His eyes moved across the handwriting.
81 Bellmont Crest.
One vegetarian meal.
No mushrooms.
Deliver after 4:00.
Then he froze again.
"What?"
Renley leaned forward.
He turned the ticket slightly.
At the bottom, almost hidden beneath the fold, someone had written two tiny letters.
E.H.
Renley blinked.
She hadn't noticed them.
Lucian had.
And judging by his face, they mattered.
"Mr. Vale?" one guard asked.
So that was his name.
Vale.
The man didn't answer.
He turned to the guard.
"Who requested the delivery?"
"We're checking."
"Check faster."
"Yes, sir."
The guard stepped away and spoke quietly into an earpiece.
Renley looked toward her bicycle.
"I should probably go."
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
Lucian seemed to realize it.
He lowered his voice.
"Please."
That word surprised everyone.
Especially the guards.
"Wait."
Renley frowned.
"My shift ends at five."
"I'll make sure you get home."
"I have a bike."
"I noticed."
The third guard looked away, perhaps hiding a smile.
Renley tightened her grip on the food.
"You know my mom?"
Again, silence.
Lucian looked at the name on her bag.
Evelyn Hart.
His expression became something Renley recognized immediately.
Because she had seen it in the mirror.
Grief.
"Yes," he said.
Renley's heartbeat quickened.
Nobody ever knew her mother.
Not anymore.
Evelyn had died when Renley was six. Most of Renley's memories were soft fragments: flour on her mother's nose, a yellow sweater, singing badly while washing dishes, the smell of cinnamon.
The adults at Harbor Street remembered her.
Mrs. Alvarez remembered her.
But outside that small neighborhood, Evelyn Hart had vanished from the world.
Yet this man knew her.
"How?"
Lucian didn't answer.
Instead, he looked toward the guards.
"Inside."
Renley stayed where she was.
"I don't go inside houses during deliveries."
A guard coughed.
Lucian looked almost confused.
Apparently children rarely declined invitations into his mansion.
"Then we'll talk here."
That confused the guards even more.
Lucian stepped completely outside.
He left the mansion door open behind him.
Renley could see marble floors, paintings, gold trim, and a staircase splitting in two.
She suddenly became aware of how dirty her shoes were.
Lucian noticed her looking.
"You're not in trouble."
"People usually say that right before explaining why you're in trouble."
For the first time, something close to amusement crossed his face.
It disappeared quickly.
"Fair."
The guard returned.
"Sir."
"What?"
"No one on staff ordered the meal."
Lucian's face hardened.
"Family?"
"No."
"Security?"
"No."
"Then somebody outside this house placed it."
"Apparently."
Renley became uneasy.
"Maybe someone wanted to be nice."
Four adult men looked at her.
She shrugged.
"It happens."
Not in Lucian Vale's world, apparently.
He examined the ticket again.
"Does Harbor Street keep records of meal requests?"
"Mrs. Alvarez does."
"Phone numbers?"
"Usually."
Lucian removed a phone from his pocket.
Renley stepped backward.
"You're calling the police?"
He almost laughed.
"No."
She couldn't tell whether that was comforting.
He pressed a number.
Someone answered immediately.
"Marco. I need everything you can find about Harbor Street Community Kitchen."
Renley frowned.
"Why?"
Lucian glanced at her.
"And don't frighten anyone."
Renley raised an eyebrow.
He looked away.
"Just find out who requested a delivery to my address."
He ended the call.
"You didn't answer."
"Why what?"
"Why do you care?"
Lucian looked again at Evelyn's name.
"Because your mother shouldn't have been using that name."
Renley's stomach dropped.
"What does that mean?"
Lucian seemed to regret the sentence.
"Nothing."
"You just said—"
"I spoke badly."
"No, you spoke very clearly."
His eyes sharpened.
Renley had the distinct feeling that grown men usually stopped arguing when Lucian Vale looked at them that way.
Renley wasn't a grown man.
"My mom's name was Evelyn Hart."
"I know."
"It's on her grave."
Lucian's expression changed.
"Where?"
"The cemetery."
"Which cemetery?"
Renley took another step backward.
"I'm not telling you where my mother is buried."
One guard stared at the ground.
Lucian's jaw tightened.
Then he surprised her again.
"You're right."
Renley blinked.
"I am?"
"I shouldn't have asked."
The afternoon suddenly felt stranger than before.
Lucian Vale was clearly dangerous.
Renley wasn't foolish.
The guards, the mansion, the silence whenever he spoke—all of it told her exactly what kind of man he was.
But he was also looking at her mother's name like it had opened a wound.
Renley held the food toward him.
"Do you want this or not?"
He stared at the container.
"What is it?"
"Chicken, rice, vegetables."
"The ticket says vegetarian."
Renley looked.
He was right.
"Oh."
Another silence.
She opened the plastic lid slightly.
Chicken.
Definitely chicken.
The first guard stepped closer.
"Don't touch it."
Renley jumped.
"It's food."
"We don't know that."
"I packed it myself."
Lucian's gaze moved from the chicken to the ticket.
Vegetarian meal.
No mushrooms.
Another inconsistency.
"Who gave you this container?"
"Mrs. Alvarez."
"Personally?"
Renley thought.
"No."
"Who?"
"Someone put it on the delivery shelf."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
Lucian took the container.
This time Renley let him.
He examined the underside.
Nothing.
Then the bag.
He ran a finger beneath the fabric seam.
Something crackled.
Renley frowned.
"What was that?"
Lucian's eyes met hers.
He pulled gently at the inside lining.
A narrow slit had been cut into it.
Renley's stomach tightened.
"I didn't do that."
"I know."
He reached inside.
The guards stepped closer.
From the lining of Evelyn Hart's old delivery bag, Lucian removed a tiny folded piece of paper.
Renley's heart pounded.
She had carried that bag for two years.
She had never seen the paper.
Lucian unfolded it.
His face went pale.
"What does it say?" Renley whispered.
He turned the paper over.
One line had been written in faded blue ink.
LUC.
IF RENLEY EVER FINDS YOU, KEEP HER AWAY FROM GABRIEL.
Lucian stared at the message.
Renley stared at him.
"Who's Gabriel?"
Nobody answered.
Then a car engine sounded from the far end of the private driveway.
All three guards turned.
A black sedan had passed through the outer gate.
Lucian's expression transformed.
"Get her inside."
Renley looked from him to the approaching vehicle.
"Why?"
The sedan stopped.
The rear door opened.
Lucian whispered one name.
May you like
"Gabriel."
And the man stepping out was smiling directly at Renley.
