I must have walked in a daze back to Crowne Hall. I hadn’t wanted to leave him, but they didn’t have any clothes for him to come home in. I guess he’d soiled the ones he’d come to the hospital in.

He still hadn’t woken up when I left.

I read and reread my hospice options, each more expensive than the last. All the while my brain spitting out the same thing: Does. Not. Compute.

When Uncle died, who would I have left? No one. Officially, no one. It was such a selfish thing to think after someone gives you that news. What happens to me? Not, oh that must be horrifying, scary, terrible, for them. But What happens to me?

I went through Crowne Hall’s servants’ entrance, passing by rushing servants, until I found Uncle’s room. His clothing consisted of suits and slacks and the occasional turtleneck. I grabbed a bundle of the most comfortable clothes I could find, still dazed.

I ascended the stairs, taking all the winding lefts and rights, heading back for the exit.

It wasn’t like he can die here. He would like that, though. This was his home.

All he knows.

Like me.

“Story?”

I stopped short. Grayson stood before me, dressed to kill in a dark tux that fit every sinful muscle. I looked around me in a daze. The world glittered and gleamed—piano music rushed into my ears.

I was crashing a party. Oh shit. I’d taken a wrong turn.

“You weren’t there when I got back.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I realize, I don’t even have your number or anything. I guess…I guess I never needed it.”

I’d always been at his beck and call. I’d barely even used my phone the past few months.

Like a good little mistress.

“Wait—what’s going on? Are you leaving?” His voice lowered a dangerous octave.

I stared bemused at the lump of clothes in my arms.

“What’s this party about?”

“Some bullshit foundation we’re using to launder our reputation after Abigail. Story, what’s wrong?” He gripped my chin, dragging my gaze to his earnest blue ones.

“Was I invited?” I wondered aloud, and like that, he dropped me.

He scratched the back of his neck harder, and that was when I spotted Lottie.

“I wasn’t invited,” I said.

We were gaining an audience. It looked like everyone had come to this party. Lottie and her friends, Aundi and Pipa. Grayson’s friends Geoff and Alaric. People I didn’t know were watching. All wondering why Grayson Crowne was talking to the servant with a pile of clothes in her hands.

“They probably don’t invite mistresses to these things, right?” I stared into his blue eyes, numbness creeping into my veins, slowing my heart.

His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ll go,” I whispered.