The house looked just the same.
Rain slicked the sidewalk as I stared at the iron gates I'd bolted through two years before, suitcase digging into my hand. The gray stone house with its dark windows stood there, every little thing exactly how I remembered: the widow's walk where I used to hide out, the tower where Adrian had his study, the gardens where I learned that love and control can look a lot alike.
Nothing had changed, but everything had.
My phone had been buzzing for ten minutes straight. I knew it was him calling. He knew the instant my plane landed at JFK. He always did. After two years of being free, that shouldn't have spooked me as much, but my hands were shaking as I pulled my coat tighter in the October wind.
*You don't have to go in there,* I thought. *Turn around. Vanish again.*
But the lawyer's words kept running through my head: Miss Winters, we need you here for the will reading and some... things about your birth.
Things.
That word had been bugging me for three days straight, all during the rush flight from Prague, going through customs, and the taxi ride back to the Upper East Side to this house, to him.
The gate swung wide before I even touched it.
He stood in the doorway, light from the chandelier behind him. Time looped back on itself. Adrian Winters, thirty-two, tall, dark hair cut just right, wearing a black suit that probably cost more than my rent. My brother. My keeper. The shadow that had been there for every choice I'd ever made.
Natalie.
Just my name. The way he said it was like he owned me, like a prayer, like a threat. Hearing his voice after two years of nothing made something inside me twist – fear, anger, and something way more dangerous that I didn't want to think about.
Adrian. I made myself move, walk through the gate, up the stone steps. Each step felt like giving in.
His eyes followed me, like he was burning holes in me. You look different.
It's been two years.
Seven hundred and forty-three days. He moved so I could come inside, and I felt hot from him as I passed, smelled the cedar and bergamot cologne that always stuck to my clothes when he'd hug me too tight. But who's counting?
The entrance was just as I remembered: marble floors, big staircase, the huge painting of our parents watching from above. Parents who died when I was eight, leaving Adrian, barely eighteen, to raise me. To own me.
Your room's ready, he said, quietly closing the door. It sounded like a lock clicking shut. Mrs. Chen kept it just as you left it.
I'm not staying.
We have to talk. The lawyers will be here tomorrow. He got closer, and I took a step back, hitting the wall. Something flashed across his face – maybe he was happy that I moved back. Where will you go tonight, Natalie? A hotel? You haven't touched your trust fund. Your bank accounts are almost empty. Did you really think I wasn't watching?
Of course he was. Adrian watched everything. Every little thing I did, every friend, every breath I took in this house. The guys who asked me to prom got visits from his lawyers. The college boyfriend who asked me to marry him took a job in Singapore in a week. The professor who liked my thesis too much got accused of copying and lost his job.
I slowly caught on, and the even slower I realized the truth: Adrian didn't want me to have anyone but him.
I have money, I told him.
He smiled, like he knew better. Sure. He reached past me, his arm against the wall, not touching me, and pressed the elevator button. At least stay for dinner. Mrs. Chen's been cooking all day. She missed you.
The elevator doors opened. I could smell pot roast, the comfort food from when we were kids. My stomach growled.
One dinner, I said. Then I'm getting a hotel.
Sure, he said, but we both knew that wasn't true.
---
The dining room felt huge with just the two of us at the long table. Mrs. Chen served dinner quietly, her eyes kind but careful, then disappeared back to the kitchen. She'd been with the family since before I was born. She'd seen Adrian go from my guardian to my warden.
She never said anything.
Tell me about Prague, Adrian said, cutting his beef perfectly.
No.
His knife stopped. No?
That's none of your business. I looked at him across the table, trying to sound tough. I'm just here for the lawyers. Whatever they need to tell me about Mom and Dad's will—
It's not the will.
Something in his voice made my heart beat faster. Then what is it?
He slowly put down his silverware, like he was in total control. Everything about Adrian was in control – how he moved, what he said, his temper. Except about me. Except when someone tried to take me away.
There was a mix-up, he said quietly. At the hospital. When you were born.
The room seemed to tilt a little. What kind of mix-up?
You were switched with another baby. His eyes were dark. You're not a Winters, Natalie. Not really.
The words hung there like smoke. Not a Winters. Not his sister. Not—
It all made sense, then I felt a little relieved, then I was embarrassed for being relieved, then I was scared because of the way he looked.
So I don't get anything, I said, my voice sounding empty. That's why the lawyers—
No.
No?
Adrian stood up, moving like a hunter. He walked to the end of the table, each step echoing. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move, stuck where I was.
He stopped next to me. Too close. Always too close.
I've known for six months, he said softly. I hired people after you left. I had to know everything about you, understand why you ran. His hand reached out, touching my face, tilting it up to him. It burned. Do you know what I felt when I saw that report?
I couldn't talk. His thumb touched my lip, and I could smell cedar and bergamot.
Like I was free, he whispered. I was so relieved. Because all the messed-up things I'd been thinking about you for the last ten years weren't wrong. You weren't my sister. You were just... mine.
Adrian— I could barely say his name.
You're not leaving again, Natalie. Not to Prague, not anywhere. His other hand was on my neck, like he owned me, like I couldn't escape. I've been in hell for two years, holding back, trying to stay away from you. Do you get what I'm saying?
I got it. God help me, I got it.
And I didn't pull away.