I drove to my fiancé's villa ready to surprise him, but saw him tangled in bed with his own sister.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and giggled. "Doing this with your little sister... isn't that too wicked?"

He answered in a low voice. "A big brother has to take care of his little sister."

---

Two hours earlier, I'd been grinning at my laptop like an idiot.

Two first-class tickets to Cancún. Five days. White sand, no phones, no board meetings. Just me and Adrian Vale, the man I was marrying in June.

I let myself in with the spare key he'd given me last spring. The foyer was quiet, but his car sat in the driveway.

"Adrian?"

No answer.

Then a laugh drifted down the staircase. High and breathy. I knew that laugh.

Sloane.

Adrian's younger sister. Sweet, bubbly Sloane, who called me every week to ask about lipstick shades and boyfriends.

I smiled and started up the stairs. Maybe she'd dropped by to help him plan something for me.

The laugh came again. Then a moan.

My hand froze on the railing.

The bedroom door at the end of the hall stood open a few inches. I moved toward it. Through the gap, I saw them.

Adrian lay on top of her, his bare back slick with sweat, hips driving hard between her spread thighs. Sloane's legs locked around his waist. Her nails dragged down his shoulders.

"Adrian," she gasped. "God, how can you do this to your own sister?"

He shoved into her harder. The headboard banged the wall.

"Because," he panted, "big brothers are supposed to take care of their little sisters."

She laughed against his neck. "Say it again. Call me your sister."

"My sister." He kissed her jaw. "My sweet, filthy little sister."

The tickets in my purse felt like they weighed fifty pounds.

"Mm, Big Brother." Sloane dragged the words out like candy. "Tell me the truth. Is it hotter because you're engaged? Fucking your sister behind your fiancée's back?"

"You know it is."

"And Vivienne has no idea."

"She never will." Adrian rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him. "Why would she? We're siblings. Nobody suspects siblings."

My fingers dug into the doorframe. The wood bit into my skin.

Sloane straddled him, rocking slowly. "Siblings." She snorted. "We don't share one drop of blood."

"Doesn't matter. Everyone thinks we do."

"Your parents only took me in because Emma died." Her voice turned flat for a second. "I was the replacement. Funny how that worked out."

"Best replacement they ever got." Adrian gripped her hips. "Mom gave you Emma's room, Emma's piano lessons, Emma's spot in the family photos. Nobody's ever going to see you as anything but my sister."

"Exactly. Perfect cover."

She bent down and kissed him, long and wet.

Three years. Three years of Sunday brunches at the Vale estate. Three years of Sloane curling up next to Adrian on the couch.

I'd thought it was cute. I'd thought they were close.

"Remember last summer?" Sloane purred. "When she walked in on us in the wine cellar?"

Adrian chuckled. The sound turned my stomach.

"How could I forget? Her face went completely white."

"I thought we were done for."

"Please." He tucked her hair behind her ear. "All I said was, 'Viv, we're siblings. We've always been affectionate.' And what did she do?"

Sloane burst out laughing. "She apologized! She actually said sorry to us!"

"She hugged you, too."

"She said she felt terrible for thinking something so ugly." Sloane clutched his chest, shaking with giggles. "Oh my God. She's so trusting it's almost sad."

"That's why I picked her." Adrian's hand slid up her stomach. "Old money, good name, and she believes every word I say."

My throat burned. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper.

Every instinct screamed at me to kick the door open. To grab the lamp off the dresser. To make them feel even a fraction of this.

But what would that get me?

Tears. A scene. Adrian would wrap his arms around me and whisper that I'd misunderstood. Sloane would cry. His mother would call me hysterical. By Monday, the story would be that poor Vivienne had a breakdown.

No.

I pulled out my phone. My hands trembled so badly I nearly dropped it.

I opened the camera, switched to video, and angled the lens through the gap.

Red dot. Recording.

Sloane arched her back and moaned his name. Adrian growled hers. Their faces were perfectly clear in the afternoon light pouring through the window.

Enough.

I stopped recording, backed away from the door, and walked down the stairs without making a sound.

My chest felt hollow. Like someone had scooped everything out and left the shell behind.

I'd just reached the front door when my phone buzzed.

A text. From Sloane.

I stared at the screen.

**Sloane:** Viv!! Emergency!! I have a Valentine's date and I'm torn 😭 red silk or black lace??

A second message popped up before I could breathe.

**Sloane:** You have the BEST taste, future sister-in-law 💕 help me!!

Upstairs, she was still in his bed. Probably still naked. Typing with one hand while Adrian kissed her shoulder.

A laugh slipped out of me. Short and ugly. Then I typed back, the same way I always did.

**Me:** Red silk, obviously. You'll look stunning. 😘

**Me:** Oh, and I'm throwing a party on Valentine's night. You and Adrian HAVE to come. I've got a big surprise planned.

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

**Sloane:** OMG yes!! We wouldn't miss it! ❤️

*We.*

I slipped out the door and locked it behind me.

In my car, I sat with both hands on the steering wheel for a long time. The villa loomed in the windshield. White columns. Ivy on the walls. The house where I'd pictured raising our kids.

I reached into my purse and pulled out the printed itinerary. Cancún. Two passengers. Mr. Adrian Vale and Ms. Vivienne Marlowe.

I tore it straight down the middle.

Then again. And again, until the pieces fluttered into my lap like confetti.

"You want a Valentine's surprise, Adrian?" I whispered. "I'll give you one."

On Valentine's night, every family that mattered in this city would be standing in my ballroom, every one of them was going to watch.

Elena opened the front door before I reached the top step. She'd run my house for eleven years.

"Miss Vivienne. You're back early."

"I need the gallery room."

Her brows rose. "The art room? The one your father had built?"

"That one."

My father had designed it for private showings. One whole wall was smart glass. From the corridor, you could see every inch of the room. From inside, the glass looked like a plain mirror.

Elena followed me down the hall. "It hasn't been used since the Rothko sale. Is something being displayed?"

I pressed my palm flat against the cool glass. Our reflections stared back at us.

"Something very special."

"May I ask what?"

"You'll see it on Valentine's night."

She studied me for a long beat. Then she gave one small nod, the way she used to when I was twelve and had decided something she couldn't talk me out of.

"Tell me what you need."

"A party. Valentine's night. I want every heir and heiress in the city on the guest list. The Kerrigans, the Delacroix twins, the Osbournes. All of them."

"That's very short notice."

"Mark it 'Vivienne Marlowe's Valentine Surprise.' They'll come."

Nobody in our circle ever skipped a party with the word *surprise* on it. Gossip was the only currency they spent faster than money.

"And for this room?"

"Make it look like a lounge. Velvet couch. Soft lights. Roses." I tapped the side table by the door. "And put a bucket of Krug Clos d'Ambonnay right here. Two glasses."

Elena paused. "That's Miss Sloane's favorite."

"I know."

"Miss Vivienne..." She lowered her voice. "Has something happened with the Vale family?"

I turned away from the glass. "Nothing that wasn't already happening, Elena. I just finally noticed."

---

By evening, the invitations were out. My phone lit up every few minutes.

*Wouldn't miss it, babe!*

*A surprise from Vivienne Marlowe? I'm clearing my calendar.*

*Is it an engagement thing? Are you two moving the wedding up??*

I left that one on read.

I carried an armful of red roses into the gallery and started trimming the stems myself. Snip. Snip. The sound filled the quiet room.

It reminded me of the theater two years ago.

---

"Adrian, I saved you a seat." I'd patted the chair next to mine, popcorn in my lap.

Sloane slid right into it. "Ooh, perfect, thanks, Viv!"

"Actually, that's for—"

"Sit across the aisle, babe," Adrian said, already settling in beside her. "Sloane gets scared during horror movies. You know how she is."

I sat across the aisle. Alone. For two hours, I watched her bury her face in his shoulder every time the music swelled.

I'd thought it was sweet.

---

Snip. A thorn pricked my thumb. A bead of red welled up. I stared at it and kept going.

The memories kept coming, faster now. Like they'd been waiting behind a door I'd finally unlocked.

---

Fifth Avenue. Last spring. Sloane walking between us, her arm hooked through Adrian's.

She'd slapped his butt right outside Cartier. Hard enough to make a woman turn around.

"Sloane!" I'd laughed, a little uneasy.

Adrian grinned and shrugged. "She likes to mess around. Always has."

"He's got a cute butt, Viv," Sloane said, winking at me. "You're a lucky girl."

And I'd laughed again. Because what else did a good fiancée do?

---

I set the scissors down. My hands had started to shake.

The next memory didn't arrive softly. It hit.

---

Thanksgiving at the Vale estate. I'd stepped out to the terrace for air and found them against the stone railing. Sloane's hands in his hair. His mouth on hers. Tongues. No mistaking it.

"Adrian?"

They broke apart. Sloane wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

Adrian didn't even look startled. He looked annoyed.

"What, Viv?"

"You were... you were kissing her."

"She had something in her eye. I was checking it." His voice went sharp. "Jesus. What kind of dirty mind thinks about a man's sister like that?"

Then Sloane's chin wobbled. Her eyes filled with tears so quickly it was almost impressive.

"Why would you say that?" she sobbed. "He's my brother. Why are you trying to ruin our family?"

The terrace doors swung open. Mrs. Vale stood there in pearls, her mouth a thin line.

"What on earth is going on out here?"

"Vivienne thinks Adrian and I are..." Sloane couldn't finish. She collapsed against Adrian's chest, shoulders heaving.

Mrs. Vale's eyes found mine. Cold as the marble floors in her foyer.

"Vivienne. You will apologize to my daughter. Now."

"Mrs. Vale, I saw—"

"Apologize."

Guests had followed her outside. Aunts. Cousins. Adrian's business partners. All of them watching.

My eyes burned. My throat closed up.

"I'm sorry, Sloane." My voice cracked in front of everyone. "I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

Sloane sniffled. Then she hugged me. Over my shoulder, I could have sworn she was smiling.

---

A rose stem snapped in my fist.

I looked down at the broken flower and started to laugh. Quietly at first. Then harder, until I had to sit on the velvet couch and press my knuckles against my mouth.

Elena appeared in the doorway. "Miss Vivienne? Are you all right?"

"Do you remember when I had the flu last October? And I drove to Adrian's anyway because he said he was sick too?"

"I remember."

"Sloane came out of his bedroom wearing his shirt. Only his shirt." I wiped my eyes. "And Adrian said, 'She was worried I'd get worse in the night. She slept in the chair.'"

Elena's face tightened. "Did you believe him?"

"I brought them both soup, Elena." I shook my head. "I brought them soup."

She crossed the room and took the broken rose from my hand. Her fingers were warm.

"Then this time," she said, "you bring them something else."

---

My phone buzzed at nine.

*Adrian.*

I let it ring twice. Then I answered.

"Hey, babe." His voice was easy. Smooth. The voice that had promised me forever over a candlelit dinner. "Listen, about Valentine's. I was going to come over early and help you set up, but I'll have to skip that part."

"Oh?"

"Sloane's freaking out about her dress for your party. Says she has nothing to wear. She asked me to take her shopping that afternoon."

In the background, I heard a giggle. Then a soft, muffled sound, like lips against skin.

"Is she with you now?"

A tiny pause. "She stopped by to borrow a charger. You're not mad, are you? You know how she gets."

"I know exactly how she gets."

"So... we're good?"

I looked at my reflection in the mirrored glass. Calm face. Dry eyes. A woman I hardly recognized.

"Of course we're good," I said. "You two have fun."

Another pause. Longer this time.

"Viv? You sound different."

"Just tired. Planning." I smiled, even though he couldn't see it. "Make sure she picks something red. Red silk. She'll look stunning."

"You're the best, you know that?"

"I know."

I hung up first. For once.

Then I stood and walked the room one more time. The couch. The roses. The champagne bucket by the door, two crystal flutes waiting beside it.

I stepped into the hallway and looked back through the glass. Every corner of the room was perfectly clear.

Inside, I'd hidden one more thing. A small black lens tucked between the roses, its tiny light blinking green.

I pulled out my phone and opened the live feed.

The couch filled the screen.

"Ready when you are, Adrian," I whispered.

By eight o'clock, the driveway of Hartwell House looked like a car show.

Bentleys. A silver Bugatti. Two Rolls-Royces parked nose to nose.

Elena stood beside me at the top of the ballroom stairs, reading names off her tablet in a low voice.

"The Kerrigan heir. Banking. The Delacroix twins. Hotels on three continents. Marcus Osbourne. His father just sold a tech company for nine billion."

"And the Vales?"

"Not here yet." She paused. "Miss Vivienne, nearly every client Mr. Vale has tried to court this year is standing in this room."

"I know."

Then the double doors swung open, and the whole room turned.

Sloane walked in on Adrian's arm, wearing white. Silk that hugged her hips and flared at the floor. A sweetheart neckline. All she needed was a veil.

Near the bar, Celeste Delacroix lowered her glass. "Is she... wearing a wedding dress to a party?"

Her twin, Julien, snorted. "To her future sister-in-law's party."

At the foot of the stairs, one of Sloane's straps slipped off her shoulder. Adrian reached over and slid it back into place. His fingertips lingered on her collarbone.

A year ago, I would have looked away and called myself paranoid.

Tonight, I nearly laughed out loud.

"Viv!" Adrian let go of Sloane and climbed the stairs. He kissed my cheek. His cologne was the same as always. Under it, faintly, was Sloane's vanilla perfume. "You look incredible, babe."

"Thank you."

His smile flickered for half a second. Sloane floated up behind him and threw her arms around me. "Vivi! Look what Adrian got me!"

She shoved her wrist under my nose. Diamonds, a whole row of them, catching the chandelier light.

"Gorgeous," I said. "What's the occasion?"

"No occasion!" She giggled and leaned against Adrian's side. "Big brothers spoil their little sisters. That's just normal, right?"

"Totally normal," I said.

The receipt had come to my inbox that afternoon. *Valentine's gift. Engraving: For my S.*

---

Dinner was halfway through when Sloane started swaying.

She just had had two glasses, but she pressed to her forehead and sagged against Adrian like she'd finished a bottle.

"Adrian," she whined. "My head is spinning."

"You okay?" He was already on his feet, his arm around her waist.

"I need to lie down. Somewhere quiet." She looked up at him through her lashes. "Stay with me? Please? I don't want to be alone."

"Of course."

He didn't even glance at me.

Across the table, Marcus Osbourne raised an eyebrow at his date. Nobody else seemed to notice.

I stood up and put on my most worried face. "Oh, sweetie." I touched Sloane's arm. "Elena, could you take them to the gallery room? It's the quietest spot in the house. Nobody will bother them there."

Elena stepped forward without a flicker on her face. "This way, Mr. Vale."

Sloane let herself be led out, leaning on Adrian the whole time. At the doorway, she glanced back at me.

"You're the best, Viv."

"I know," I said.

---

Elena came back eight minutes later. She bent close to my ear, as if she were asking about dessert.

"The door is closed," she murmured. "She kissed him before it latched. They're... undressing. Neither of them looked around the room even once."

"Not even at the mirror?"

"They can't wait.

My hand was perfectly steady when I set down my fork.

I stood and tapped my champagne flute with a spoon. The ballroom went quiet.

"Everyone, thank you for coming tonight." I smiled around the room. "I promised you a surprise. My father built a private gallery in this house years ago, and it's been closed for years. Tonight I'm reopening it with a brand-new piece."

"A new artist?" Celeste asked.

"Two of them, actually. A collaboration." I lifted my glass. "Follow me."

Chairs scraped back. People in silk and tuxedos poured into the long corridor behind me, chatting and laughing.

"Is it a Basquiat?" someone whispered.

"Vivienne always had better taste than Adrian," someone else said.

The glass wall came into view at the end of the hall.

The laughter stopped.

Not all at once. It died in waves, front to back, as each row of guests reached the glass.

Inside the room, on the velvet couch beside my red roses, Adrian Vale was on top of his sister.

His shirt was gone. His pants were around his knees. The white dress was pushed up to Sloane's waist, one of her heels still hanging from her ankle. Her hands clawed at his back.

The bucket of Krug sat open by the door. Two glasses. Both empty.

Glass shattered behind me. Julien Delacroix had dropped his flute.

"Oh my God," Celeste breathed. "Oh my *God*. That's—"

"That's his sister," a woman behind her said.

Mrs. Kerrigan grabbed her husband's sleeve. "Harold, we're leaving."

"Wait." He didn't move. He just stared.

Someone near the back turned and walked out without a word.

But most of them didn't leave.

They raised their phones.

Around me, cameras started recording. Marcus Osbourne already had his phone to his ear.

"Dad. Pull out of the Vale deal. No. Right now. I'll send you the video."

Through the glass, Sloane threw her head back. Her mouth opened. We couldn't hear her, but we didn't need to.

A girl near me covered her mouth and gagged.

"Vivienne." Celeste turned to me, white-faced. "Did you know? Did you *know* about this?"

I kept my eyes on the glass. "I found out on Tuesday."

"And you let them—"

"I gave them a quiet room," I said. "Everything else, they did on their own."

Inside, Adrian finished with a shudder and slumped against her. Sloane laughed and kissed his ear. He pushed himself up and grabbed his pants off the floor.

The hallway went so silent I could hear the ice settling in someone's glass.

Adrian zipped up. Buckled his belt. Ran a hand through his messy hair and grinned at something Sloane said.

Then he walked to the door and pulled it open.

Faces stared back at him.

His grin froze. Then it slid off his face, one inch at a time. His eyes jumped from Harold Kerrigan to the Delacroix twins to Marcus Osbourne, still holding his phone up and recording.

Behind him, Sloane screamed and grabbed for a cushion.

Adrian's eyes finally landed on me, front and center.

I lifted my champagne toward him.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Adrian."