Chapter 1

The music was too loud. The lights were too bright. Another Blackwood Foundation gala. Another night I had to pretend. For eight years, I pretended. Eight years since my sister, Eleanor, died. Eight years I’d lived in this house, Richard Blackwood’s house. An agreement. That’s what Richard called it. I called it a cage. He needed a caretaker for his son, Ethan. A companion for himself, though he rarely spoke to me unless it was an order. I was Eleanor’s younger sister. That was my qualification. Tonight, the agreement was almost over. One more week. I wore a simple blue dress. My mother had sent it. She said it was elegant. I felt like a fraud among the glittering crowd. I saw Ethan across the room. He was ten now, no longer the small boy I’d first met. His eyes, so like Eleanor’s, found mine. They were cold. He started walking towards me, a strange look on his face. Then, he was at my feet. I stumbled. My drink, a glass of water, went flying. It splashed onto Mrs. Vanderbilt’s silk gown. A gasp went through the nearby guests. Ethan pointed at me. His voice, high and sharp, cut through the murmur. “She’s doing it on purpose! Look at her dress! She’s trying to be my mother!” He was crying now, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. “She’s always trying to replace Mommy!” Heat rushed to my face. All eyes were on me. Whispers followed. Richard appeared at my side. His face was a mask of polite apology to Mrs. Vanderbilt, then stone when he looked at me. “Clean this up,” he said, his voice low and sharp. He didn't even look at me. He put an arm around Ethan, comforting him. “It’s alright, son. She didn’t mean it.” But his eyes, when they flicked to me, said I did. Later, when the guests were thinning, I found Richard in his study. He was staring at a large portrait of Eleanor. She looked beautiful, smiling, forever young. “Richard,” I said. He didn’t turn. “What is it, Sarah? More drama?” My hands were steady. My voice was calm. “My eight-year agreement ends next Tuesday. I will be leaving then.” He finally turned, an eyebrow raised. “Leaving?” he said, as if the word was foreign. “Don’t be ridiculous.” “I’m not being ridiculous, Richard. The contract is fulfilled. I’m leaving.” He scoffed. “And go where? Back to that dirt farm in Montana?” “Yes,” I said. “Back home.” A flicker of something I couldn’t name crossed his face. Annoyance? Disbelief? “We’ll discuss this later. Ethan is upset.” “There’s nothing to discuss,” I said. “I’m leaving.”