favourite doll back," My golden eyes glinted in the setting sun. I've played these games before. "Such a shame..." Every syllable leaving my lips feigns woe, every tap of my finger; a lazy beat.
"Dear Annabelle was shot by the feral Russians."

"A shame indeed." Val hit the gas, taking away my breath with the speed, and I didn't show a thing. "Well, fortunately for him, Arlene is alive."

"Oh yes." Yes, she is. "Can we talk about how you not only lied about caring for me but also me killing my own mother? Because Arlene Nikto Ivanova seems far from dead in those model magazines."

The clench of her fingers around the steering wheel told me more than any words she could've said. "You know we had no choice, Bella-"

"No choice but to give yourself hostage with full consent and knowledge of consequences?" A bitter arch formed by my eyebrow. "Is kidnapping still kidnapping if the child consented with knowing the consequences, Vallerine?"

Silence spoke a thousand words and none of them makes sense to me.

"Let's go back to the 'my murdered mother modelling' issue, hm?" My elbows turn into the perfect stands to hold up my chin, my window of eyes absorbing the world outside, every leaf, stone and person around. "What the hell is up with that?"

"More like who," The car turns into a dimly lit tunnel, "Russians. Your mother was adopted by the very people who shot you dead. You memory of killing her hand been altered."

The breaks hit hard.
"It was actually her who tried to kill you."

As if all the air in the world got sucked into a vacuum. "What?" I hated the way my voice cracked saying such a simple word. But it happened, just like the sentence Vallerine uttered.

"A long long story," Vallerine's voice took an apprehensive tone that did little to calm my nerves, "Part of the reason for this consensual abduction."

The bone running down my back stiffened and straightened. "Why are you here, Vallerine?"

"Employment." Never expect a direct answer from a Performer. "I'm going to be your assistant. I'm going to help you out in your daily, uh, domestic-ness and also monitor your company, per se. All while giving you backstory and information related to the Stage in exchange."

"You're going stalk me." I summed up with a flat stare.

"Pretty much as kind and legal stalking can get."

An exasperated breath leaves me. I don't know what I was expecting from Val, but normalcy was already far from it. "Too bad, you're not needed. I have my lawyer who's practically my mom more than my assistant. I won't bother through the trouble explaining to Libby why I need another lady to do what's already being done."

"A lady who used you and your precious Avie as bait?"

Now that arrow hit the mark. "Face it, Bella, you can't trust that woman or the black hottie. Who knows what ridiculous-and quite possibly dangerous-things she'd make you or your family do for the perfect PR image?"

"Isn't that what lawyers are supposed to do?" The very distant silhouette of the Hawthorne House peaked behind the hills. We were getting close.

"A lawyer does whatever needed to prove a client innocent or keep them well kept." Val opened her hair, letting the slipping blonde locks cascade down her shoulders, held back by a pair of black Ray Ban glasses. "A good lawyer does all that, without having the client lift a finger, much less in a compromising situation."

The gates of the Hawthorne mansion creaked open and for some odd reason I found myself feeling an odd sense of comfort, driving in. "I'll think about it. We're already home."

"Oh, Bella," the car came to a stop, "God help you, you really think you'll ever have one."

·······•✦•······

"Get away from her."

I practically stormed into the conversation between Ave, Thea, Oren and Alisa. "I don't want to hear a word from you, I want another lawyer, you used us as bait, you lying-"

"Leena, listen." Oren placed a hand on my tensed shoulder. I wished Salvatore was in my life longer, I wished that month lasted for few more months. That way I wouldn't get attached to every father figure in my life. And yet I did.

"Yes," he told me apologetically, "we used you-and ourselves-as bait."

"Your way could have killed us!" I could feel the reminiscence of panic and fear in Avery with the way she took in quick breaths and clenched her fingers into fists.

"We had backup," Oren assured her and mostly me. "My people, as well as the police. I won't tell you that you weren't in danger, but the situation being what it was, danger was not a possibility that could be eliminated. There were no good options. You had to continue living in that house. Instead of waiting for another attack, Alisa and I engineered what looked like a prime opportunity. Now, maybe we can get some answers."

First, they'd told me that the Hawthornes weren't a threat. Then they'd used me to flush out the threat. "You could have told me," I said roughly.

"It was better," Alisa told me, "that you didn't know. That no one knew." Better for whom?

"Oren." Alisa ignored everyone's chatter. "Did they apprehend the driver?"

Instead of Oren, I replied, "They did. Though, we won't be seeing Drake Sanders anytime soon." You don't want to know more.

"There was also another," Oren said, my ears straining for his words, "Someone named Kei Denzou was involved as well. He's currently being held at the station."

Kei Denzou. Now where have I heard that before?

"They found a rifle in his trunk that, at least preliminarily, matches the bullets. The police will be wanting to talk to your sister."

"Avery?" I blink.
"Me?" Avery blink.

"Your other sister?"

"Libby?!"

"If Drake was the shooter, someone would have had to sneak him onto the estate," Alisa said, her voice uncharacteristically gentle.
Not Libby, I thought. "Libby wouldn't-"

"Arlene." Alisa put a hand on my shoulder. "If something happens to you-even without a will-your sister and your father are your heirs."

·······•✦•······

These were the facts: Drake had tried to run my car off the road. He had a weapon that was a likely match for the bullets Oren had recovered. He had a felony record.

The police took statements and what not. We were back and Val was beside me in a second. But before her existence could even be acknowledged by the others, the door flew open.

Nash stormed out of the house, then slowed when he saw us. "You want to tell me why I'm just now getting word that the police hauled Libby out of here?" he asked Alisa.

"I'm sorry, Libby got what?" Maybe I should hire Val after all.

Alisa lifted her chin. "If she's not under arrest, she had no obligation to go with them."

"She doesn't know that!" Nash and I boomed. Then he lowered his voice and looked her in the eye. "If you'd wanted to protect her, you could have."

There were so many layers to that sentence, I couldn't begin to untangle them, not with my brain focused on other things. Libby. The police have Libby.

"I'm not in the business of protecting every sad story that comes along," Alisa told Nash. I knew she wasn't just talking about Libby, but that didn't matter. "She's not a sad story," Avery gritted out. "She's our sister!"

"And, more likely than not, an accessory to attempted murder." Alisa reached out to touch my shoulder. I slapped her hand away. Vallerine was so getting hired.

"Say another word about my sister, Alisa," I let every word hit, "And I think your services for us will not required anymore."

Now that made everyone quiet. The only maniac smiling was Val. Alisa didn't expect me to put forward such a threat. I guess I didn't give a shit when it came to my family. I always wondered what a good lawyer Mr. Ortega was, anyway.

"Libby. Hurt. No. One." And that was final.

I thought about Libby, alone in a cell. She probably wasn't even in a cell, but I couldn't shake the image. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Don't worry now, Ms. Grambs," Vallerine's voice was as smooth and silky as her straightened blonde hair. "I can assure, Miss Libby is far away from any police or cells, safely on her way home."

Assurance from a Performer was worth a guarantee from the President of the country. Consider thyself hired. Almost.

"Thank you," Avery smiled. She looked at her, her honey eyes shining with curiosity and admiration. If only she knew... "Who are you?"

"I'm-"

"Valeria." I smiled, my lips tight, "My new assistant." My eyes locked with my lawyer, "To get some load of Ms. Ortega."

Avery ignored the tension that single sentence created and nodded sternly, "Looking forward to seeing you around, Valeria. I'll be in my room," She said, her voice taking a bitter edge as she casted a sharp look towards Oren and Alisa who had played us like fools, "And leave me alone. All of you."

All of you? I caught her eyes just as she was about to enter. It was fleeting, but it was there. That flickering light of unease. Hesitation. Guilt. And, dare say, envy. Why was the sister whom my world revolved around so persistently, envious? Of ME?

Gears clicked.

Hawthorne.

It was like all problems in the world had a crush on the Hawthornes.

Nash cleared his throat. "You want to tell her about the media consultant waiting in the sitting room, Lee-Lee, or should I?"

See? Problematic Hawthornes.

·······•✦•······

[ GRAYSON ]

Grayson stood a man alone in a crowd. Surrounded, but not accompanied.

That little flash bang from the past from Avery hadn't left him be. Emily never left him be. He knew it wasn't the Grambs' fault that she looked so much like her in that green dress and that braid. A braid he once spent good moments tangling his hand in, threading each strand, piece by piece, breathing in the scent of saffron and sandalwood.

Sarina's scent.

That was the thing about Grayson's life. Dare his stupid heart fall for someone normal. Eternal. It would keep life boring but himself sane. He never could be after her.

Darkness girdled him in its cold embrace as his eyelids slid shut, capturing him in solace, even if but a second of. The fabric of the black, stiff and luxurious velvet tuxedo hugging his torso did nothing but suffocate him. He wanted to breathe. He couldn't.

The image was blazed into his brain. A never ending brand that would forever define him as the naive, foolish, boy he had always been. A boy that dared capture a dove and hope it would never leave him. Even if it died.

Ridiculous.

His eyes drank in every man, woman, child and person in the halls. His jaw was set, and his grey eyes wished they could drown himself under.

The memory of her was old. And yet old scars hurt the longest.

He was a kid when it happened.

He was a kid that trusted. His old man taught him a 'valuable lesson'.
His old man killed his dove.
He held her without touch. Felt her without physical connection.
Their palms ached to touch each other through the barren wood of the door.

"Raven?" His heart shattered into a thousand shards, piercing into his soul.
She was scared.
"Are you going to go away?"

"Never." He idiotically promised."I'm never going to leave you, dove."

His perfectly combed blonde hair flattened from its usual voluminous locks as he pressed his forehead against the barrier wood. His old man had promised her a spectacle. This was going to be her gift. He was assured that she would always remember this night. The day of their births.

"Don't go." She said, her voice warm but a hint of pleading peaked through.

"I'm right here, Rina," His little, soft lips curled up into a watery smile, knowing she couldn't see a thing. What did her face look like? Why couldn't he remember? Was she smiling? Crying? Were those puffed up, round cheeks, scrunched nose sniffling as she tried her very best to hold back the wetness in her eyes? Just the imaginary sight brough ease to his chained chest. "It's gonna be amazing." His voice soft and dreamy.

"There's going to be fireworks, lights, blazing skies!" His palm pressed firmer, as if calling her from the other side, "Music, dance, and chocolate cake." It was indescribable; the relief flooding his being as he heard the gentle, charming ringing of her giggles. "Lots and lots of chocolate."

"Promise?"

"Always."

The night's gentle breeze filled in the longing in the air. Oh if only the nine year old could rip that door apart. He would run into that tree house, wrap his arms around the tiny girl and kidnap her. Hide her away from the mean world. Save her from any harm that came her way. Be her's as much as she was his. The most innocent form ever, keep her safe. Never let go. Never ever let go. Because something in him told him he was going to have to soon. And he wasn't ready for it.

"Grayson?" Her little voice called. Somebody tell his heart to shut it. Please, god dammit, he wanted to tear himself apart. "I just want you to know..." she paused. Even if he couldn't see it with her own eyes, he knew damn well that she was tapping her fingers against her thighs. That she looking around, trying to find words. She always did.
"Don't blame yourself for this."

What?

"I've known about it for a while now. I know what the old man is planning," So she did catch onto the surprise party they were going to throw her, before. So why was she so restless sounding? "I know it's going to be dangerous-" Dangerous? "-but I promise, Raven, I'm going to be okay. So please. Please don't blame yourself for what's about to happen."

Grayson Hawthorne was a smart kid. And he knew that this wasn't normal. That a birthday girl should not sound so worried. That a birthday boy should not lie. That a surprise firework show should not be so dangerous as her words made him feel.

That a tree house should not reek of gasoline.

It was there, that stinging smell. That grease in his palms, against the door.

He didn't want to leave her. He didn't want to leave her. He didn't get to have wants. He didn't get to have her.

"Gray!" His brothers called, their faces spilt with wide, happy grins. Their eyes lit with excitement, fondness, love and anticipation. They couldn't smell the fuel stench from afar. "Come on, it's almost time!" Jamie bounced on the balls of his feet. It was almost august twenty third.

Grey eyes went back to the ragged old wooden door. That very structure, whose roof they spend countless nights under, the five of them, huddled up together in the blankets, the chilly wind kissing their apple cheeks as they would gaze at stars together. That very structure, something in Grayson feared, that was about to go in flames.

He had the common sense not to want to go. But the old man was watching. Observing. This was another test. A game. One specifically for him, to see if he'd fail again. He was having his trust tested.

So one step back he went.

Then two.
Then three.

"Ray?"

He couldn't move again.

"Just, one last thing before you go." She smiled. The finality in her voice, unbeknownst to the nine year old, would haunt his dreams for years to come. "Thought I'd let you boys know that-"

"I love you."
"I love you."

God, if only doors could be torn like paper. Hawthorne's don't cry. They don't break. This one wished he could. Right in her arms. He wanted to savour the moment. He wanted to breathe in it all. But they called for him. They needed him. So he turned his back. So he steeled his nerves and he walked. Walked away.

Not knowing that those would be the final words he'd say to his sweetheart.

"You meditating or something?"

Grayson's eyes fly open. And oh god, he's never cursed his light irises more than he did that moment, because he could practically feel his pupil dilate to the point it might as well have gone black at the sight.

She was so short without her heels. Or maybe it was his fault for being an inch over six feet, but holy... The height difference made every little detail of hers stick out to him in the best way possible. Her dress was red, royal and flourishing. The fabric flowing down like a fountain of rubies, pooling softly into gentle tuffs on the floor. Those modest full arm sleeves covered the countless scars littered on her arm, though much wasn't done to veil her defined, toned collar bones, shoulders and skin. Her hair was wild and loose, as if the stylist gave up trying to tame the mad thing and just let nature and wind do it's magnificent work. Her lashes were curled and little tear stains lingered on the corner of her eyes, resisting the eyeliner till their final moments. Her beautiful, red stained lips. Oh, those lips.

It took a phantom ox and bull with chains to keep himself for reaching out, cupping her face and-

"Earth to Pretty Boy," Arlene waved her hand before his eyes, "What aliens live in planet Hawthorne? Do tell."

"Psychotic, unwell, and highly sophisticated species, my darling."

Grayson did the unthinkable. He cupped her face in his larger, smoother hands. Her defined features, squishing softly into round cheeks in his palms. Now, he would never admit to it, but he slightly altered the greeting gesture. His lips pressed against her cheeks.

He kissed her right cheek. Then left.
Then right again.

Fucking insects in his gut.

Arlene blinked. Those gold eyes trying to process what the fuck just happened and then she looked at him with a singular raised brow. A beat of silence was enough for her to be sure that behind that cool, indifferent facade Grayson upheld with most pride...

The man was a blushing, flustered and sort of self hating wreck.

"Well," She cleared her throat into her fists, "Uh... friendly, huh?"

Oh I regret saying that. "A fraternizing greeting, love."

"Real friendly."

"You should see the Europeans."

That made her crack a grin. And that made him melt into a puddle from inside.

"Shall we?" He held out an arm for her to hook onto, ignoring the way the insects in his stomach fluttered even more at the gentle pressure of her hold. 

Grayson knew exactly what he was doing and he absolutely hated himself for it. 

He dared not let himself feel for Arlene Amira Grambs and he failed miserably. He wasn't sure what to coin the effect she had on him as just yet. But he knew well enough that she was nowhere near a stranger, much less a mere friend.

From the day he held her wrists to the dance to this very moment and more, the girl held such power upon him that he wouldn't wish upon his enemies in the most terrifying of his nightmares. No one—but one—made Grayson Davenport Hawthorne bend and bend the world for them as much as Arlene did. He was both horrified and thrilled to offer her such control over him and his beating heart. 

He was a beast. An insatiable, greedy, selfish beast for her affection, her smile, her sarcasm, her eye-rolls, her chaos and simply, utterly her.

And yet