The wind whistled through the pine trees around them as Grey spoke. “I didn’t really want to believe it either. All my life this curse has hovered over me. It’s why my dad sent me to St. R’s. My mother died because of me—a storm, a life, a sudden death, herald the end, the last heir.

“The night I was born, Westborough saw the worst storm it had seen in a century. My father was away on business, and he couldn’t get to the estate in time. No one could, actually. My mother had to deliver me herself with the help of our housekeeper.” Grey paused. Jaya could almost see the old story he must’ve been told all his life working its way under his skin, the guilt blossoming in his chest. “She died shortly after I was born.” He swallowed and brushed more snow off the boulder with one hand. “The doctor wasn’t able to come and she didn’t get the medical care she needed. My father knew immediately… it was the curse.”

As Jaya looked at him, at the wretched hopelessness on his face, the truth she’d begun to suspect blinked on in her mind, an old flickering light bulb finally coming to life: Grey Emerson could not have engineered the scandal against Isha. For one, he’d been nakedly, genuinely curious about why she and Isha were here. She’d searched his face for signs of recognition, deception, or gloating, and found none. At the mixer, he’d told her he wasn’t speaking to any member of his family—and now she knew why. And hearing him talk about the curse… Jaya realized her previous half-joking thought in the sushi restaurant, that Grey wasn’t capable of being a criminal mastermind because of his hermitlike tendencies, was probably quite true. He was a recluse because he thought he was damaged, because he’d been told all his life that he was worth nothing.

But if Grey wasn’t behind the scandal, who was? Every certainty she’d had was unraveling.

The cold from the boulder began to seep in through Jaya’s clothes. She brought her mind back to the present. “And you really believe in the curse?” she asked softly.