“My mom trusted this woman—Celeste Harlowe. Called herself a financial advisor. Told my mom the best way to protect the money, to make it last forever, was to invest it. Said we’d never have to worry again.”
I already know where this is going. My stomach knots anyway.
“She disappeared,” Cybil says, voice flat now. “Took everything. Every last cent. It was a scam.Shewas a scam.”
She turns to me then, not angry, just matter-of-fact. “Do you know what people with money have that people without money don’t?”
I hold her gaze, already bracing for the answer.
“Security. Stability. A permanent address that anchors them in an unpredictable world.”
And just like that, I see her—really see her. Not just the beautiful woman in the black dress. Not the assistant with a sharp mouth and a sharper mind. But the girl who showed up every summer, shoulders pulled in like armor.
I never knew what to say back then. I still don’t.
“Is that why you work so hard for Mr. Edmond?”
Her throat bobs as she swallows. She meets my eyes for a second, then looks away toward the lake. “Working for Mr. Edmond allows me to make sure I’m never taken advantage of again.”
There’s a bite in her voice. An edge that wasn’t there a second ago. And I hate that it’s real. That someone hurt her family like that. That my alias is a reminder of the pain.
I open my mouth to say something, but a throat clears behind us, and I turn.
Edmond stands a few feet away. His eyes land on me, sharp and assessing, before softening when they shift to Cybil.
“Are you ready, Cybil?”
She nods and follows him back into the villa without another word.
I stay where I am, gripping the balcony railing, frustrated. Ruby warned me to be careful. To keep my distance. Stick to the mission. But it’s not just my mission anymore. If we take Ramirez down, and if Edmond’s part of it—even on the fringe—we take him down too.
Cybil will lose everything. Again. And this time, I’ll be the one responsible for breaking her.
Chapter 17
Cybil
Lagoverde, Italy
Friday, late afternoon
“There will be no delays!”
Ramirez’s voice slices through the tension that’s been building since the start of the meeting. I tighten my grip on the pen in my hand and force myself to stay still as he picks up a gold letter opener and drives the tip into the desk he’s sitting behind.
Across from him sits a man named Giancarlo. His English is clipped and a little broken, but the gist of his explanation is clear—there’s been a delay in the build-out of a new manufacturing facility.
It feels like everyone in the room is holding their breath.
Or maybe it’s just me?
I’m still a little shaken from my conversation with Ben on the veranda. The dress, simple but beautiful, and perfectly my size, might not have seemed like a big deal to him, but to me it is more thanjust a gift.
Ben doesn’t owe me kindness. He doesn’t owe me anything. Not after the words I overheard all those years ago—words that shaped the very foundation of insecurities I apparently still carry.
I run my fingers across the hem of the fabric—so different from the blue monstrosity of the tracksuit currently crumpled in a sad heap on my bathroom floor. This dress feels... safe.
So safe, in fact, I told Ben about my dad. About Celeste Harlowe. Things I never talk about. But the words just slipped out like some kind of accidental confession.
