"I thought you said your firm had this locked down." Oren gives Alisa a look. She scowls back at him, makes three phone calls in quick succession—two of them in Spanish—and then turned back to the head of security. "The leak didn't come from us." Her eyes dart toward Libby. "It came from your boyfriend.

Libby's answer comes barely more than a whisper. "My ex."

"I'm sorry." Libby has apologized at least a dozen times. She had told Drake everything—about the will, the conditions on Ave's inheritance, where we were staying. Everything. I knew her well enough to know why. He would have been angry that she'd taken off. She would have tried to pacify him. And the moment she'd told him about the money, he would have demanded to tag along. He would have started making plans to spend the Hawthorne money. And Libby, God bless her, would have told him that it wasn't theirs to spend, that it wasn't his.

He hit her. She left him. He went to the press. And now they were here. A horde descended on us as Oren led us out a side door.

"There she is!" a voice yelled.

"Avery!"

"Avery, over here!"

"Avery, how does it feel to be the richest teenager in America?"

"How does it feel to be the world's youngest billionaire?"

"How did you know Tobias Hawthorne?"

"Is it true that you're Tobias Hawthorne's illegitimate daughter?"

She was shuffled into an SUV. I entered after, the door closes, dulling the roar of the reporters' questions. Exactly halfway through our drive, Ave gets a text, Im surprised when I realise its not from Max. Its from an unknown number.

She opens it, I try to look away but my fomo gets the best of me and I continue watching over her shoulder without her knowing. I see a screenshot of a news headline. 'Avery Grambs: Who Is the Hawthorne Heiress?'

A short message accompanies the picture.

'Hey, Mystery Girl. You're officially famous.'


There are more paparazzi outside the gates of Hawthorne House, but once we pull past them, the rest of the world fades away. Theres no welcome party. No Jameson. No Grayson. No Hawthornes of any kind. Ave reaches for the massive front door—locked. Alisa disappears around the back of the house. When she finally reappeared, theres a pained expression on her face. She hands Avery a large envelope.

"Legally," she says, "the Hawthorne family is required to provide you with keys. Practically speaking..." She narrows her eyes. "The Hawthorne family is a pain in the ass."

"That a legal term?" Oren asks dryly.

Avery rips open the envelope and found that the Hawthorne family had indeed provided her with keys—somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred of them.

"Any idea which one of these goes to the front door?" Ave asks. They aren't normal keys. They are oversized and ornately made. They all looked like antiques, and each key was distinct—different designs, different metals, different lengths and sizes.

"You'll figure it out," someone says.

Both Ave's face and mine jerked upward, and I found myself staring at an intercom.

"Cut the games, Jameson," Alisa orders. "This isn't nearly as cute as you all think it is."

No reply.

"Jameson?" Alisa tried again.

"Listen you prick, I'm fucking freezing and when I get inside you won't want to know the shit I will do to you" I yell at the intercom. "Jesus Pear.. calm" Libby smirks slightly. There is silence in response. "I have faith in you, M.G." He says. "This is bullshit, you'll be here forever I'm finding my own way in" I inform before walking away, I listen to their conversations as I slimy on the half roof above that I got onto after pulling myself up painfully.

"God save me from Hawthornes." Alisa sighs.

"M.G.?" Libby asks, bewildered.

"Mystery Girl," Avery clarifies. "From what I've gathered, that's Jameson Hawthorne's idea of a nickname." I hear Avery say "Kinky" I yell in response jokingly. I hear the keys rattle as I search on the roof.

"Well?" Alisa says abruptly. "Do you want me to make a phone call?"

"No." Avery replies. "Why the hell not, I'm not prepared to freeze to death because of the four fucking musketeers" I yell yet again. "Its 80° F you won't freeze." Avery sighs.

I approach a window that appears to lead to an open hallway, the window is open so I push it as far open as I can and squeeze through. I immediately run down some stairs hoping to let everyone in the front door however it appears Avery bet me to it. "How did you know which key to use?" I hear Libby ask as the door opens.

The answer comes from the intercom. "Sometimes," Jameson Hawthorne says, sounding strangely contemplative, "things that appear very different on the surface are actually exactly the same at their core." I start clapping from the inside of the mansion. "That was fucking inspirational. Next time don't leave the fucking window open." I speak to the intercom. "You mean the upstairs window on the second floor that I left open almost as If I knew you would choose a practical route rather than actually thinking?" He mocks, "Well at least I face things head on instead of hiding behind an intercom" I joke.

"Welcome home, Avery." Alisa steps into the foyer and spins to face my sister. She seems to be in shock which is understandable, this place feels like Buckingham palace. 

"Down that corridor," Alisa says, "we have the theater, the music room, dance studio, conservatory, solarium...." something sparks in me. A smile spreads over my face. "You've seen the Great Room, of course," Alisa continues. "The formal dining is farther down, then the kitchen, the chef's kitchen...."

"There's a chef?" Avery blurts out.

"There are sushi, Italian, Taiwanese, vegetarian, and pastry chefs on retainer." The voice that said those words was male. I turn to see the older couple from the will's reading standing by the entry to the Great Room. The Laughlins, I remember. "But my wife handles the cooking day-to-day," Mr. Laughlin continues gruffly.

"Mr. Hawthorne was a very private man." Mrs. Laughlin eyes me. "He made do with my cooking most days because he didn't like having any more outsiders poking around in the House than necessary."

"There are dozens of staff on retainer," Alisa explains. "They all receive a full-time wage but work on call."

"If something needs doing, there's someone to do it," Mr. Laughlin says plainly, "and I see that it's done in the most discreet fashion possible. More often than not, you won't even know they're here."

"But I will," Oren states. "Movement on and off the estate is strictly tracked, and no one makes it past the gates without a deep background check. Construction crews, the housekeeping and gardening staff, every masseuse, chef, stylist, or sommelier—they are all cleared through my team."

Sommelier. Stylist. Chef. Masseuse. My brain works backward through that list. Its dizzying.

"The gym facilities are down this hall," Alisa says, returning to her tour guide role. "There are full-sized basketball and racquetball courts, a rock climbing wall, bowling alley—"

"A bowling alley?" Avery repeats.

"Only four lanes," Alisa assures her, as if it was perfectly reasonable to have a small bowling alley in one's house.

"Only?!" I ask in shock, turning when the front door opens behind me. The day before, Nash Hawthorne had given the impression of someone who was out of here—yet there he is.

"Motorcycle cowboy," Libby whispered in my ear making me smirk.

Beside me, Alisa stiffens. "If everything's in order here, I should check in with the firm." She reaches into her suit pocket and handed Avery a new phone. "I programmed in my number, Mr. Laughlin's, and Oren's. If you need anything, call."

She left without saying a single word to Nash, and he watches her go.

"You be careful with that one," Mrs. Laughlin advised the eldest Hawthorne brother, once the door had closed. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

Alisa and Nash? Alisa had advised me against losing my heart to a Hawthorne, and when she'd asked Ave if she'd ever had her life ruined by one of them, and she'd said no, her response had been 'lucky you'.

"Don't go convincing yourself Lee-Lee is consortin' with the enemy," Nash tells Mrs. Laughlin. "Avery isn't anyone's enemy. There are no enemies here. This is what he wanted."

He. Tobias Hawthorne. Even dead, he was larger than life.

"None of this is Avery's fault," Libby says beside her. "She's just a kid."

Nash swings his attention to my sister, and I can feel her trying to fade into oblivion. Nash peered through her hair to the black eye underneath. "What happened here?" he murmurs.

"I'm fine," Libby says, sticking her chin out.

"I can see that," Nash replies softly. "But if you decide you'd like to give me a name? I'd take it."

I could see the effect those words had on Libby. She isn't used to having anyone but us in her corner.

"Libby." Oren gets her attention. "If you've got a moment, I'd like to introduce you to Hector, who will be running point on your detail. Avery, I can personally guarantee that Nash will not ax-murder you or allow you to be ax-murdered by anyone else while I'm gone."

That got a snort from Nash. Oren didn't have to advertise how little we trust them! As Libby followed Oren into the bowels of the house, I became keenly aware of the way that the oldest Hawthorne brother watched her go.

"Leave her alone," Avery tells Nash. "Don't even fucking try" i say at the same time as Avery said something similar. "You're protective," Nash comments, "and you seem like you'd fight dirty, you especially," he says gazing at me "and if there's one thing I respect, it's those particular traits in combination."

There is a crash, then a thud in the distance.

"That," Nash says meditatively, "would be the reason I came back and am not living a pleasantly nomadic existence as we speak."

Another thud.

Nash rolled his eyes. "This should be fun." He begins striding toward a nearby hall. He looked back over his shoulder. "You might as well tag along, kids. You know what they say about baptisms and fire."

Nash walks fast and we each follow a little behind him moving in a speed walk. There is a lot of carefully crafted pieces of art that doesn't look like anything in particular yet still manages to look great. At the end of one long hall Nash throws open a door and instead of two elephants brawling -which is what i half expected- i find myself looking at the two equally beautiful boys -Jameson and Grayson Hawthorne- both standing at opposite sides of an even more beautiful library. 

The room is shaped in a circle with shelves crawling as high as twenty feet overhead. The shelves are a deep, rich wood, each is lined perfectly with hardback books. There are also four iron staircases, each spiralling all the way to the upper shelves. In the centre of this beautiful library there is a giant tree stump about ten feet across. I hate reading and this already looks like a luxury.

"So," Nash says, breaking my gaze from the beautiful library. I turn to see him casually eyeing his brothers. "Whose ass do I need to kick first?"

Grayson looks up from the book he is holding. "Must we always resort to fisticuffs?"

"Looks like I have a volunteer for the first ass-kicking," Nash says, then shoots a measuring look at Jameson, who's leaning against one of the wrought-iron staircases. "Do I have a second?"

Jameson smirkes. "Couldn't stay away, could you, big brother?"

"And leave the poor girls here with you knuckleheads?" Until Nash mentioned us, neither of the other two seemed to have registered our presence behind him, but soon I feel my invisibility slip away, just like that.

"I wouldn't worry too much about Ms. Grambs here" Grayson says, sharp silver eyes staring my sister down. "She's clearly capable of taking care of herself." Which basically means he sees right through her soulless gold-digging ways.

"Don't pay any attention to Gray," Jameson tells Avery lazily. "None of us do."

"Jamie," Nash says. "Zip it."

Jameson ignores him. "Grayson is in training for the Insufferable Olympics, and we really think he can go all the way if he can just jam that stick a little farther up his—"

"Enough," Nash grunts, interrupting him just in time.

"What did I miss?" Alexander bounds through the doorway. He wears a private school uniform, complete with a blazer that he sheds in one quick motion.

"You haven't missed anything at all," Grayson tells him. "And Ms. Grambs was just leaving." He completely ignores my presence yet again and focuses on my sister, shooting his eyes back to her. "I'm sure you want to get settled."

"Wait a second." Alexander frowns suddenly, taking in the state of the room. "Were you guys brawling in here without me?" I still see no visible signs of a fight or destruction, but obviously, Xander picked up on something I haven't. "This is what I get for being the one who doesn't skip school," he says mournfully.

Clearly this reminds Nash of something, he turns from Alexander to Jameson, "No uniform" he notes. "Playing hooky, Jamie? Two ass-kickings it is." He confirms.

Alexander hears the phrase "ass-kicking", grins, bounces to the balls of his feet, and pounces with no warning, tackling Nash to the ground. Just some friendly impromptu wrestling between brothers. Completely normal.

"Pinned you!" Alexander declares triumphantly. Nash hooks his ankle around Alexander's leg and flips him in one quick move -that is so quick i can not tell how he did it- and pins him to the ground. "Not today, little brother." Nash grins, then flashes a much darker look at the other two brothers. "Not today."

They are -the four of them- a unit. They are Hawthornes. We're not. I feel that now, in a physical way. They share a bond that is impervious to outsiders.

"We should go," I say, more to Avery than anyone else. We don't belong here, and if we stayed, all I would do is stare awkwardly and observe and Im sure Avery would be the same.

"You shouldn't be here at all," Grayson replies abruptly, finally acknowledging my presence and giving me a stare, if looks could kill, Grayson Hawthorne would be a serial killer.

"Stuff a sock in it, Gray," Nash says. "What's done is done, and you know as well as I do that if the old man did it, there's no undoing it." Nash turns his head toward Jameson. "And as for you: Self-destructive tendencies aren't nearly as adorable as you think they are."

"Avery solved the keys," Jameson says casually. "Faster than any of us." He turns to me, "And her sister jumped into the roof and climbed through a second floor window, which isn't exactly relevant but its worth mentioning" he says sort of sarcastically, giving me a mischievous grin followed by a wink. 

Something strange happens that you would not expect with these brothers, to my understanding all very loud personalities, they all fall silent in an extended silence. It's uncomfortable as all eyes are on my sister.

"You gave her the keys?" Grayson breaks the silence. "We were legally obligated to hand over—" Jameson starts before being interrupted. "A key." Grayson says as he starts stalking slowly towards Jameson, he then snaps the book in his hand closed. "We were legally obligated to give her a key, Jameson, not the keys."

By the way they're talking it seems to not have been test, rather a tradition or rite of passage."I was curious how she'd do." Jameson arches an eyebrow. "Do you want to hear her time?"

"No," Nash booms. Im not even sure if he was answering Jameson's question or telling Grayson to stop advancing on their brother. "Can I get up now?" Alexander interjects, he is still pinned beneath Nash and seemingly in a better humor than the other three combined.

"Nope," Nash replies. "I told you she was special," Jameson murmurs as Grayson continued closing in on him. "And I told you to stay away from her." Grayson stops, just out of Jameson's reach. "So I see that you two are talking again!" Alexander comments jollily. "Excellent."

Not excellent, I think, unable to draw my eyes away from the storm brewing just feet away. Jameson is taller, Grayson broader through the shoulders. The smirk on the former's face is matched by steel on the latter's.

"Welcome to Hawthorne House, Mystery Girl, Mystery girls sister." Jameson's welcome seemed to be more for Grayson's benefit than for ours. Of course I'm still just Avery's sister but whatever, bigger picture. Whatever this fight is about, it isn't just a difference of opinion on recent events.

"Stop calling me Mystery Girl." Avery replies for the first time since entering. "I would also appreciate not being referred to as Mystery Girl's sister" I say in a sarcastic manor however I am being deadly serious. "My name is Avery." Ave continues.

"I'd also be willing to call you Heiress," Jameson offers. He steps forward into a beam of light shining down from a skylight above. He is toe-to-toe with Grayson now. "What do you think, Gray? Got a nickname preference for our new landlord?"

Landlord. Jameson's rubbing it in, like he could handle being disinherited if it meant that the heir apparent had lost everything, too.

"I'm trying to protect you," Grayson says lowly. "I think we both know," Jameson replies, "that the only person you've ever protected is yourself."

Grayson goes completely, deadly still.

"Xander." Nash stands, pulling the youngest brother to his feet. "Why don't you show Avery and Paris to their wings?"

That is either Nash's attempt to prevent a line from being crossed or an indication that one already had been.

"Come on." Alexander bumps his shoulder lightly against mine then does the same to Avery. "We'll stop for cookies on the way."

If that statement was meant to dissipate the tension in the room, it didn't work, but it did draw Grayson's attention away from Jameson—for the moment.

"No cookies." Grayson's voice comes out strangled, like his throat is closing down around the words, like Jameson's last shot cut off his air completely.

"Fine," Xander replies cheerily. "You drive a hard bargain, Grayson Hawthorne. No cookies." Alexander winks at me. "We'll stop for scones."