Chapter 13

• Clara stomped down the stairs, trying to shake off the warm spot Dante’s touch had left on her skin. She didn’t want to think about it—didn’t want to feel it still tingling where his arm had been around her. She shoved the thought away hard, focusing on the quiet around her instead. The Costa estate was calm in the early morning, the big house waking up slow. The air smelled like fresh coffee brewing somewhere and that sharp, pricey cologne that seemed to cling to everything here. The place was all about power—shiny marble floors stretching out forever, ceilings so high they made her feel small, and huge windows letting in soft sunlight that glowed gold on the walls.
• It was fancy—fancier than anything she’d ever lived in. But to Clara, it wasn’t a home. It was a jail, all dressed up in pretty gold bars. She was stuck here, trapped in a life she didn’t pick, and every perfect corner of this place just reminded her of that.
• She hit the bottom of the big staircase, her sneakers squeaking a little on the polished floor. A voice she knew called out, stopping her short.