My Stepbrother Destroyed Me, So I Came Back for Revenge

The First Reunion

The driver opened the door on a wall of cameras.

Autumn air bit the bare line of my back. I let it. Pain that belonged to weather was easy.

"They are everywhere," Julian said.

"They like a blank space. No one here has a name for me yet."

"They will."

He offered his arm. I took it because the steps were wet, not because I needed the picture.

"Chin," he murmured.

"My chin is fine."

"Your shoulders are up. Put them down."

I did. The black dress left my back open to the air. Silk at the waist. Hair heavy against my spine. I had chosen it because it did not look like hiding.

Julian's tuxedo did the rest. Tall. Still. The kind of man rooms made space for without being asked. People would call him cold and mean it as a compliment. I knew the temperature was just concentration.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yes."

The Met doors opened on champagne and borrowed culture. Strings fought the talk. The nearest conversations died when we stepped in.

Eyes. Too many of them.

"They are staring," I said.

"Let them. You paid for that face in a hospital, not a salon."

"I did not come to be looked at."

"You came to be seen. That is different."

A waiter stopped with a tray. Julian took two flutes and put one in my hand.

"Do not drink it."

"I know."

"You are holding the stem like you want it to snap."

I loosened my fingers. Old habit. Old need to have something to break that was not me.

"Leave her at the door," Julian said. "She does not get tonight."

"Tell that to my pulse."

"He feeds on it. Do not feed him."

I found the room in pieces. Diamonds. A mayor. Money talking to money.

"Where?"

"Egyptian wing. He is with the mayor."

"Is he looking?"

"Not yet."

I watched a marble angel cover her face with both hands. I understood the pose.

"He turned," Julian said.

I did not.

"Did he see me?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"He stopped talking."

I looked then.

Liam stood across the floor in midnight blue. The CEO face slipped. Panic is a posture. He had it. He stared. His head tipped a fraction, as if a better angle might make me someone else.

She looks like Evelyn.

I did not need him to say it.

"He thinks I am a copy," I said.

"Watch his hands."

The glass in his fingers went tight. He shook his head once, hard, and stepped back into the mayor.

Impossible. She died. I put her in the water.

"Not enough," I said. "He has to be sure."

I turned into the light so it hit the new line of my jaw. I let him have my eyes.

He left the mayor without an apology. A woman made a sound when his shoulder hit hers. He did not hear it. He came through the center of the room as if the crowd were furniture.

His chest moved too fast. His pupils were wrong.

It is her. His mind still refused the sentence.

"He is coming."

"I know."

"Do we stop him?"

"No."

He halted ten feet away. No words. He took my face apart the way a man takes apart a lock he used to own. He was hunting the old girl. The surgeons had not left him much to find.

The museum walls pulled in. I felt his hands on my shoulders from a room that was not this one.

Say it louder.

My right hand lifted. My index finger found my left wrist.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I could not stop it. Switzerland had not killed that.

His gaze dropped to my hands.

He stopped breathing.

"He saw it," Julian said.

"I know."

"Only you do that."

I put the hand in the silk and left it there.

Liam's mouth opened. Champagne ran over the rim of his glass and onto his shoes. He did not look down.

"Walk," I told Julian.

"Past him?"

"Through him."

Julian's fingers closed on my elbow. "If he puts a hand on you, I break the arm."

"He will not. Not with this many phones out."

"He looks like he forgot the phones."

"Then he can remember them."

I gave the flute to a waiter and did not wait. I cut a line at the stairs.

Liam was in it.

"Move," I said.

The voice was not the Boston one. It had no shake left.

He did not move. He looked at my mouth, then my eyes.

"Excuse me."

I did not wait for manners. I went past his right shoulder. Cloth hissed. Cedar and cold smoke hit the back of my throat. My stomach tried to fold. I did not let it. Spine straight. Pace even.

"Evelyn?"

It came out of him broken. Not an order. A question he did not have the right to ask.

Julian matched me.

"Do not stop," he said.

"I was not going to."

I did not look back.

The sound of my name followed me anyway. It always had. The difference was I kept walking.

The staircase took us up into a quieter tier of the party, where the air was cooler and the talk had less to prove. My wrist still hummed where the three taps had lived. I hid both hands in the silk and made them behave.

"You did well," Julian said.

"I almost did not."

"Almost is the part no one here saw."

A woman in emeralds smiled at him and then at me, hunting a name. I gave her nothing. The city had taught me that a blank face is a kind of wall.

Below us the strings went on. Liam would be standing in the wreck of a sentence he had not finished. He would tell the mayor it was a trick of the light. He would not believe himself.

I wanted a terrace. I wanted weather that did not smell like champagne.

"Doors," I said.

Julian already knew which ones.