Miles looked positively relieved to empty that basin.

Pearl had only been pretending to faint. The ice water hit her, and she screamed on instinct.

Her soaked silk dress clung even more closely to her body.

Lucian showed no pity.

He looked at her as though she were meat on a butcher’s block.

“You’ve misunderstood,” she whispered, huddling on the floor with tears in her eyes. “I only came because I was worried about Stella. I wanted your help. If I’ve upset you, I’ll leave.”

She scrambled up, snatched her coat, and headed for the door.

As she turned away, I saw the fear and resentment on her face.

She couldn’t wait to escape.

But two men stood outside the open door.

Neither moved.

Behind her, Lucian spoke quietly.

“Pearl Whitmore. Born with a rare skin disorder and malformed corneas. Raised in Aldoria. Your mother spent a month vacationing there every year. Visiting you, I assume.”

Every word struck her.

She stood rigid, the color draining from her face.

Her nails dug into her palms as she forced herself to turn.

“I don’t know where you heard those rumors. I—”

“If you’ve forgotten what you looked like three months ago, let me remind you.”

Miles emptied an envelope onto the table.

Photographs.

Medical records from a hospital in Aldoria.

Pearl’s name was clear on the patient file.

Vivian had signed as her next of kin.

The photographs showed Pearl before she took my skin and eyes.

Dark patches covered her face. Her eyes were malformed.

Ugly wasn’t the word.

The sight was frightening.

I hadn’t realized Lucian’s investigation had gone this far.

Perhaps he had suspected something the first time he saw that red beauty mark, exactly where mine had been.

Every moment he stared at her, every hesitation, might have been because he saw traces of me.

He hadn’t been indulging Pearl.

He had been indulging my face.

A sharp ache spread through my chest.

I moved toward him.

His long, pale fingers passed over the damaged face in the photograph.

His gaze seemed empty.

As though he were looking through the image at something else.

Something broke in those gray-blue eyes.

He hid his feelings so carefully.

This time, even his fingertips trembled.

He knew.

Pearl had my skin.

My eyes.

He closed his eyes hard.

“No. That isn’t me.”

Pearl finally lost control.

“They’re fake! Someone’s trying to ruin me!”

She lunged toward the photographs as though she could destroy them.

Apparently, whatever traces she thought had been erased were still there.

A guard caught her before she had taken two steps.

She struggled like a chick caught in a hawk’s claws.

“Let go! Mr. Blackwood, believe me. I’m Pearl. The artist!”

Her voice rose desperately.

“After you bought all my paintings, people were jealous. They want to destroy the way you see me. That must be it!”

She sounded increasingly convinced by her own invention.

“Give me time. I’ll find the bitch who did this.”

Miles looked at her as though she were an idiot.

As if someone could fabricate all this and slip it past Lucian’s people.

Lucian didn’t answer.

He took a compact silver revolver from behind his waist.

His expression was perfectly calm.

His pale fingers closed around the cold metal. There was something horribly beautiful about the violence gathering around him.

“One last time. Did your face and eyes come from Stella?”

Pearl stared at the gun as he approached.

“No. Someone’s framing me.”

She began to cry harder.

“Please. I’m Pearl. You love my paintings. I don’t believe you could really shoot—”

He fired into the floor in front of her.

That answered her question.

She shook.

“Murder is illegal.”

“Is it?” He tilted his head, a calm madness in his eyes. “Complain to the devil when you get there.”

This was Rosehaven.

His territory.

If he killed her and cleaned up afterward, there might be nothing left to find.

Now she was truly afraid.

When the guard released her, her legs folded.

She couldn’t even crawl away.

“Don’t kill me.”

I felt no sympathy.

This frightened her?

Julian had strapped me to an operating table and cut me open without anesthetic.

I had died in pain.

He had even taken my tongue so I couldn’t scream.

The Whitmores deserved to know fear.

Lucian cocked the revolver and raised it.

The muzzle settled between her eyes.

A pampered girl, sheltered all her life and given everything she wanted, had never faced anything like this.

Tears poured down her face.

His finger rested on the trigger.

At last, the nearness of death broke her.

“I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you.”

A guard was already recording her on his phone.

Hope surged through me.

If she admitted taking my skin and eyes, they could follow that evidence straight to the truth.

I went right up to her.

“Say it. Tell him. They’re mine. Tell him what happened.”

“My face and eyes came from Stella Whit—”

A phone rang.

Lucian’s.

One more syllable.

And the call came then.