From the alley of oaks, the house comes into view, a classic albeit mammoth plantation home that my family built and has owned over centuries. It’s mine now. Since the passing of my grandfather, Carlisle Montgomery, half a year ago, I am the sole inheritor.

The mansion is beautiful. Elegant with balconies spanning all three floors supported by grand columns and ornate friezes in the Greek Revival style. The design is simple. Symmetry is the focus of the exterior, with a sweeping stone staircase leading to the front doors and large, evenly spaced windows with decorative shutters. Lights glow warm from within, hinting at the opulence that awaits.

It’s a very different sight from the gothic style of De La Rosa Manor.

Raul, my driver, pulls to a stop. Mercedes turns to me. She can’t hide the anticipation in her eyes. The anxiety of not knowing what comes next.

“Thank you, Raul,” I say as I climb out and walk around to open Mercedes’s door. I extend my hand to help her out, but she ignores it to lumber out on her own. She’s off-balance with her wrists bound and stumbles into my chest. I catch her, then right her. Although perhaps I should let her fall. Begin to teach her that she needs this. Needs me.

She tugs free of me, putting space between us. “You don’t need to keep me bound,” she says, shifting her weight. The stones beneath her feet can’t be comfortable. “I’m not going to run. I have nowhere to go.”

“Perhaps I just like the look of you tied up.”

She opens her mouth, then closes it, uncertain of my meaning.

I clear my throat. I need to be careful with her. Need to remember she’s Santiago’s little sister.

“Shall I carry you?” I ask.

“I’m perfectly capable of walking.”

“Your feet.”

“I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself.”

I gesture for her to go ahead. A shadow moves in the upstairs window. Mercedes sees it too and pauses. She looks over her shoulder at me. It’s late. The staff should be in bed. But there will be one witness to her arrival.

“Go on,” I tell her.

She does, her bare feet quiet on the stone stairs. I open the heavy front door to let her enter ahead of me.

Mercedes hesitates on the threshold. I wonder what she’s thinking. What she’s expecting.

She takes a deep breath and steps inside, studying the grand foyer as if it’s the first time she’s seen it. Mercedes isn’t one to be impressed by money. God knows the De La Rosa family has plenty of it. But she appreciates the white marble floors and walls veined in shades of gray. All three floors are visible from here with a central staircase, also marble, to the second floor and two more modest staircases to the third.