Renna Rose Lancaster is the girl people stare at like she belongs in a glass case, carved with angel-soft beauty, a life airbrushed into unattainable perfection. But Renna knows perfection is nothing but a golden prison, coated in pretty lies that k...
♪ Moon, tell me if I could Send up my heart to you? So when I die, which I must do Could it shine down here with you?
My baby here on Earth Showed me what my heart was worth So when it comes to be my turn Could you shine it down here for her?
'Cause my love is mine, all mine My love mine, mine, mine Nothing in the world belongs to me But my love, mine, all mine. ♪
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The driveway always messed with my sense of scale. It wasn't new. I'd walked it more times than I could count, at stupid hours, half-asleep, half-smug, carrying flowers like a romantic cliché who hadn't read the memo about self-respect. Still, every time, it felt like the ground stretched itself just to test me.
The gift bag hung from my left hand, swinging just enough to remind me not to grip it like a weapon. I let it do its thing. Casual. Like I hadn't mentally rehearsed every possible version of this day, including the one where I tripped, died, and became a cautionary tale whispered among the mansion staff.
That was when I saw her.
Renna sat on the front steps like she'd been abandoned there by a Renaissance painter who got distracted halfway through finishing the scene. She had her knees drawn in, chin dipped, fingers worrying her nails, staring at nothing and fighting it.
That alone should've worried me more than it did.
Why does she look like the one about to be interrogated? This is my execution, not hers.
I slowed without meaning to, just enough to take her in properly. Renna, who usually treated nerves like a suggestion. Renna, who could walk into bedlam and come out owning it. And there she was, coiled tight, pretending the stone steps weren't cold and the air wasn't thick with expectation.
I climbed the rest of the drive and took the stairs two at a time, shoes scuffing softly. She still hadn't noticed me. That felt illegal somehow. Like I was intruding on a private moment I wasn't meant to see.
When I stopped right in front of her, my shadow cut across the white like ink.
"Planning to gnaw your fingers off," I said lightly, "or is that a new hobby?"
Her head snapped up.
For half a second, her face went blank. Then recognition hit, and the transformation was immediate. She shot to her feet like I'd set off an alarm, eyes bright, relief flashing so fast she didn't even try to hide it.
