Page 88

Her mouth twitches. “I’m guessing that’s the artist.”

I point at the photograph. “Well, no shit.”

Her smile widens and her eyes sparkle with mischief.

“Don’t cuss. It’s beneath you.”

Her imitation of me is terrible. I’d correct her, but I don’t have the energy right now.

“The rapper lives here?”

Mika narrows her eyes. “And how do you know he’s a rapper?”

I open my mouth, close it, and glance at the photograph again.

“Well, he doesn’t exactly look like an opera singer.”

“He could be a pop singer.”

I roll my eyes. “Mika.”

“Artemis.”

I sigh, officially reaching my limit.

“Nobody informed me of this.”

“Nobody informed you of anything,” she points out.

What an ass.

I look toward the ceiling and try to find my center.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

It’s not working.

Mother.

Suddenly, everything makes sense.

The secrecy. The suspicious scheduling. The emotional manipulation. The complete lack of useful information.

Of course she’s behind this.

I turn toward Minho, who’s standing silently with my final suitcase.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

I need to leave.

Immediately.

My mother thinks she’s outsmarted me.