The Past Doesn’t Stay Buried
Three months later, the mansion felt peaceful again.
Too peaceful.
For Serena and Grant, the quiet was a gift.
For Addie, the quiet sounded like danger.
She woke at night with her heart racing, reaching for habits that didn’t belong in silk sheets.
At her new private school, classmates stared at her like she was a rumor made real.
One morning, when Addie opened her locker, something fell out that didn’t belong there.
A battered doll missing one eye.
Addie’s breath caught.
She knew that doll.
It was the only thing she’d kept when she slept near downtown—and it had been stolen years ago.
Pinned to it was a note made from cut-out letters:
Pretty houses don’t change where you came from. You owe what you owe.
That afternoon, Grant found Addie sitting stiffly in the garden, clutching the doll like it was a threat.
Serena stood beside her, face pale, eyes alert.
“Who is this?” Grant asked quietly. “Who would send that?”
Addie swallowed. “A guy from where I used to work corners,” she whispered. “People called him Wrench. He took money from everyone. Even kids.”
Grant’s jaw tightened. “I’ll handle it.”
Addie snapped her head up. “No. You don’t understand. If you hit him straight, it gets loud. It spreads. It doesn’t end clean.”
Serena stepped between them, her voice steady in a way Grant recognized from survival.
“We don’t answer old problems with ego,” Serena said. “We answer them with strategy.”
Grant let out a sharp breath. “Then tell me what we do.”
Serena’s eyes narrowed. “We set the rules.”
