I took Octavia this morning because my sister's dealing with her abusive ex; the divorce is getting nastier by the day, and she needs time. But technically, I work on my investment portfolio on Saturday mornings. I cancelled most of my appointments, but there were some time-sensitive decisions I needed to make. So yeah, I took a couple of calls. And yeah, Vivi is the kind of high-energy, mischievous, spoiled brat we can't leave alone for a second. I say that lovingly, and fully aware that I am the first to spoil her. We should have stayed in the house, really. It would have been safer. But I can't regret my niece's little adventure when it ended so well.

"First time I saw her," I reply, accepting the beer Lisa slides across the counter, taking a swig. "She seems nice."

"My daughter certainly thinks so," my sister muses, shaking her head in disbelief. "And she hates everyone."

I roll my eyes. "She doesn't hate everyone. She loves me, doesn't she?"

Lisa snorts.

She's thirty-three, eight years my senior. Our mother had her when she was in her early twenties, and penniless. I can't imagine what it must have been like to grow up with Laura Prince as a single mother—particularly a poor one.

I was raised by my father, an ex-model, part owner of a multi-million-dollar fashion brand, and honestly, I had it easy. He might not have been present much, but I had my cousin, and the Goltzes—the sons of dad's business partners—not to mention their parents, as an extended family. My understanding is, Lisa didn't have anyone other than our pretty, flighty mom.

Laura flew in and out of my life, mostly showing up when she needed something. Lisa might be my half-sister, but I only saw her a couple of times until a little over six years ago.

Arlo, my father, always told her she could reach out if he could ever help her, like he would to any extended family, and she smiled, nodded, and never asked for anything. But one day, she showed up at our door, heavily pregnant, needing "a place to crash for a bit." One look at her bruises, and we had her safe inside, with a security team around her twenty-four seven. She's been at the main house since. I can't imagine her anywhere else now.

I was there from the moment Octavia was born. I even picked her name. She might go by Prince, but she's a Keller to us. She even calls my father Dada, at his insistence. We want Lisa's ex nowhere near the two of them—something the lawyers are working through at the moment—so he's her father figure. Frankly, he's doing a better job at it than he did with me, likely because he's now old enough to understand kids.