“You have the biggest heart of anyone I know, so why do you keep acting like you don’t?” Story yelled.

“Because everyone I’ve ever known just wants to rip it out.” I spun, yelling so my voice echoed across the halls and towering ceilings. “Until you,” I added quietly.

Her eyes grew.

“Grayson?” my mother’s voice called out from the sunroom. “Is that you?”

Fuck.

Not a great spot to have this conversation.

I closed the distance, dragging Story by the wrist into Gemma’s wing. Last I heard, she was out getting her hair fixed.

“Gemma’s wing?” she whispered. “Won’t we get in trouble?”

Gemma had fewer security measures than me. Her hallways weren’t guarded, but her bedroom was watched like the fucking White House. She always whined and said it was because Grandfather didn’t care about who came in—he cared about if she got out.

I slammed my arm above Story’s head, caging her.

“I don’t have a heart. Stop looking at me like I do, stop expecting it. Do you want to know what I was doing while you were in the clinic with your sick uncle? I was meeting with the dog that broke Abby’s heart, getting bribed by the last of his money, so I could throw her birthday party.”

“But that’s nice—” she started before I interrupted.

“And I only did it so I could burn that twenty grand.”

She sucked in a sharp inhale.

So many sins that were nothing in the grand scheme of things but weighed like an anchor, because Story won’t stop fucking looking at me like I’m decent.

I’m not fucking decent.

I wonder what it would feel like to apologize to my sisters. Weird. Just the thought made my stomach twist. They’d think I had a tumor. If they apologized to me…I’d think the same.

Some cracks are too wide to fix.

Her brows pinched. “Why?”

“Why do you think I’m capable of anything else?” I growled.

I ripped her palm away, but she grabbed me, dragged me back. “You must have a reason for it all.”

Maybe it was revenge for him breaking my sister’s heart.

Maybe I knew my mother wouldn’t throw any kind of decent party for Abby.

I ran a knuckle down her face. “No, little nun, I don’t.”

“You’re not going to scare me away,” she said. “I’m here. Even after she was in your room. Even after you slept with her.”

Anger choked her words.

I knew I should let her believe I had. Prop up some kind of distance. Story didn’t want me. She didn’t even want my money. I was getting sucked into someone who wouldn’t just take a piece of me—they could take all of me.

“I didn’t sleep with her,” I said, hoarse. “I didn’t fuck her.”