Eli started a direct message with the anonymous profile Nora'd created. His scalp prickled, his fingers shaking as he typed.

therealEli: Voluntarily?

The response came not two minutes later.

Dream_ON: No.

He gritted his teeth, the keys loud as he typed out his next message.

therealEli: What do you need?

Dream_ON: Nothing. Hold. One day.

therealEli: Can I call?

Dream_ON: No. Phone broke.

He'd texted Nora before when they'd done their chemistry project together. Nora's texting was flawless, fully fleshed out sentences. Not these little fragments. He was 100% certain that this was Nora. But he didn't like the way she talked. As if she needed to keep it vague. To disguise herself.

As if she were afraid someone would trace the profile back to her.

His pulse pounded. "She wants to do this alone," he muttered mostly to himself.

This was the reason she needed a break, needed space from him. He was sure of it. She was too smart not to have something up her sleeve.

Lizzie's palm landed on his shoulder blade. He froze slightly, completely forgetting she was there for a moment. "You have to let her fight her own fight if that's what she wants," Lizzie said softly.

His fingers speared through his dark locks.

Then Lizzie grinned, something touched with a hint of wickedness. "That doesn't mean we can't be ready with backup." She pulled out her phone and put the device to her ear, waiting a moment. Then, "Jackson. We need to do some digging."

Eli sucked in a slow breath; his throat tight.

therealEli: One day. That's it.

There was no response.

❆❆❆

After her brief exchange with Eli, Nora opened her email and began sorting through the forwarded messages.

Only when the sky turned a dim gray did she take off her glasses and rub at the bridge of her nose. She spent the entire night going through emails and trashing those that were of no use. Anything that was moderately helpful was moved to a separate folder in her inbox titled Song Ideas.

It was amazing how much information emails gave. She'd been surprised, but not really, to find that Mallory planned to take Nora's inheritance from her. Mallory had numerous email exchanges with her father's attorney. Each time, she portrayed Nora as if she were drowning in grief and couldn't stand the idea of accepting her father's money. She already had legal documents in place to bestow the inheritance – however much it was – to Mallory instead. But Nora was still a minor and couldn't legally sign away her inheritance. After some quick searching, Nora discovered that no matter what, Mallory would have to wait until Nora turned 18.

Thank Creator for small mercies.

There were also email chains between Mallory and some of the board members at Dreame. Mallory had gotten her position, through heavy-handedness and subtle blackmail. She had files upon files of incriminating photos, receipts from hotels, and documentation on a few of the board members. Files she'd threatened to release to the public if they did not back her.

And once she'd had the position she'd wanted, her father's position, she'd used Nora as a way to lie to the board about her level of experience.

The level of manipulation in every aspect of what she did should've surprised Nora.

It didn't. Mallory knew how to play the game. She always had.

Nora saved all the files to a separate flash drive to back it up, and then tucked the flash drive into the back corner of her desk drawer.

She had enough to expose Mallory. But who would be best to receive that information? She needed to do some research on Sarian laws and get a copy of Dreame's employee handbook. To confirm this information could do damage.

Her father's medical records were possibly the most dangerous and solid pawn she had. But she had no way to prove how he'd actually died. The records would indicate he'd died of a heart attack. That was what was on the books.

She wouldn't go down that road if she didn't have to. Her father had committed suicide. It was as simple and heart-wrenching as that. But it didn't hurt the public if they didn't know the truth.

Nora knew the truth. Wasn't that good enough?

Her father had spent his entire career building up a successful production company. His darkest moments shouldn't eclipse all the sunlight he'd brought into budding artist's lives. All the good he'd created through donations and his own kindness.

Bleary-eyed, Nora glanced at the clock on her desk. The red numbers, fuzzy, read 4:35 am.

She closed her laptop, set her glasses on the nightstand, and fell asleep on top of the covers, still in her clothes from the day before.

"Nora!"

Someone pounded on the door. Nora groaned and cuddled her extra pillow closer. Whatever it was could wait—

"Nora Davis, open this door!"

Through the fog of her brain, Nora glanced at the clock across the room. 7:23 am. She went to tuck her head under the pillow, but the voice at the door finally registered.

Mallory.

She jackknifed out of bed and flew across the room to tuck her laptop in the top drawer on her desk. She'd been smart enough to keep all her notes on her laptop and not in a notebook or on anything that could be accessed without a password. Still, she didn't want anything out in the open.

After a quick check of the room to make sure everything was in place and out of sight, Nora stopped, messed up the hair on her head further, and, with a yawn, opened the door. "What is it?"

Mallory had her arms crossed over her chest as she waited in the hallway. Her dress, a sleek black number with a square neckline, contrasted nicely with the ruby red heels on her feet. Her briefcase was in one hand and a wrap for her dress in the other. "What are you doing?"

Nora rubbed at her eye with the heel of her palm. She'd left her black frames on the nightstand next to the desk in her rush to hide everything. "Sleeping," she said, peering out at Mallory.

"Felicity's next song is due in 24 hours, and you're sleeping?"

Every muscle in Nora's body went taught. She knew the conversation, or rather, argument, would come up, but she hadn't planned on it being at seven in the morning. Before she'd even brushed her teeth. She also thought for sure she'd have rested at least 8 hours. Not two.

Nora straightened her spine. "I hope Felicity figures out what she's going to write. 24 hours isn't a lot of time to come up with a new piece."

A shadow passed over Mallory's face. "Excuse me?"

Palms sweating, Nora shrugged, "I'm just saying – you can't really write a song in a day. Felicity may want to postpone her release date until she writes something new."

Mallory's nostrils flared. She glanced down at her watch and Nora swore she growled under her breath. "I need to get to work. Someone needs to actually bring in money for this family." She pointed a red nail at Nora, "you and I are having a discussion when I get home."

Nora would have whatever conversation Mallory wanted. That didn't mean she would write any more material for Felicity and the other artists. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned her weight on her foot. "I'll be here."

Mallory headed down the hall, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. Air found its way into Nora's lungs. No confrontation this time.

She was smart enough to know that meant it would only come later instead.

And so, instead of going back to sleep, Nora yawned and made her way to her white wooden dresser and grabbed clothes for a shower.

Showered, dressed, and ready, Nora opened her laptop and began researching the board members Mallory had blackmail on.

Around 3 pm, Nora took a break and, legs restless, bundled herself up in her jacket, and took a walk. She needed fresh air. To get out of the home that had become her prison.

She walked a few blocks. The sun was bright against the white snow settled over the ground. Almost absently, she found herself at the small convenience store just outside her neighborhood subdivision.

When she was little, Nora's father used to walk with her to the tiny family-owned store for ice cream. The two of them would grab water bottles and cherry popsicles and sit on the curb outside the store while they watched cars pass.

Although too cold for ice cream, Nora found herself wanting coffee or hot chocolate. Something to keep her insides warm. She paid for her hot chocolate with the few crumpled up bills she kept inside her coat pocket for emergency bus trips. Then took her Styrofoam cup and sat down on the curb of the sidewalk out front. The concrete bit into the seat of her jeans.

Because it was a weekday, there weren't many people driving past. The tiny 10 space parking lot of the convenience store was often jam-packed in the morning as people dropped in for cheap coffee and easy breakfast items before work. After work, it was anything from cigarettes to candy to lottery tickets. Nora enjoyed the semi-silence. Only two cars filled the lot – one belonging to the middle-aged woman at the register and the other to the kid who'd rushed in like a dog was chasing him and fled straight to the restroom as Nora paid for her medium hot chocolate.

She sipped at the plastic lid, her tongue immediately crying out. She hissed.

Ow, ow, ow.

She set the drink on the concrete sidewalk to her right and buried her hands deep into her coat pockets.

Would this be her last time here? After she delivered the contents of her computer to the members of the Dreame board, she wasn't sure what would happen. All she knew was that she needed to be far, far away from Mallory.

Immediately.

Even after her drink was empty, Nora huddled into her coat and looked up at the bright blue sky. Clouds dotted the horizon. Although it was cold, the dry air didn't hurt her nose today. She lifted her face to the sun and closed her eyes.

I'll come back here, Dad, she thought to the sky, next time, I'll bring Eli with me.

On the heels of that thought was the image of her father. He would've liked Eli, though he would have been skeptical at first. Her father worked with growing artists, and he often warned her of the dangers of success and how it gave certain individuals a big head. He'd had plenty of stories of those who used their success as a platform over others. "No matter how far you go," he told her, "remember these days, and use them to keep your feet securely on the ground."

Like her, her father would have probably made an initial snap judgment of Eli, but after time spent with him, he would've realized Eli was a good man.

She hoped.

Nora tapped her fingers against the side of her empty cup. It was nearing 4 pm and she needed to bite the bullet and send the files over to Dreame. She needed to stop dragging her feet about the whole thing and just...do it.

She got up, brushed off the butt of her jeans, and started her trek home.

Halfway up the driveway, she noticed the garage door open. Nora's shoe caught against one of the paver blocks and she stumbled before righting herself.

Mallory's dark sedan was in the garage.

What was she doing home this early?

Nora's stomach churned as she sped up to the front door. The moment she hit the main hallway she stopped and took a deep breath. Mallory doesn't know, she told herself. Mallory doesn't know and don't give it away.

Once she got her racing heart to calm, she made her way up to her room.

Only to stop at the top of the stairs. Mallory, clad in the same sleek dress as this morning, marched down the hallway, something thin and long clutched in her hand. As she got closer, Nora realized it was a screwdriver.

Mallory pointed a slim finger at her, "I want you in the study in two minutes."

"Mallory—"

Mallory walked right past her, the heavy clacking of her heels trailing her.

Nora rushed to her room and looked around. Everything looked the same. Nothing jumped out. Maybe Mallory had been in the bathroom. But what was with the screwdriver? In all the years she'd known her, Nora had never known Mallory to pick up a toolset.

Nora checked her desk drawer, her shoulders dropping as she spotted the flash drive with all of her material on it.

Thank Creator.

Nora bit the side of her thumb, spotting her leather journal on her desk as well. Everything she needed was in here still.

She almost relaxed. Until she remembered her conversation with Mallory earlier this morning. She supposed if they were going to talk about it, it was best to do so now. But something itched at her.

Two minutes later, Nora knocked on the study door and opened it when Mallory called her in.

Instead of entering, Nora's feet glued themselves to the floor.

"Get in here, Nora," Mallory said from the desk. She did not look up, her eyes on her monitor. Her fingers flew across her keyboard.

Nora stayed rooted.

Only after a minute or so did Mallory's click-clacking on the computer slow down. Mallory glanced upward. "Nora."

Nora's fist tightened at her side. She did not move. "I'm not going in there. We can talk from here."

The look that crossed Mallory's face briefly made Nora wonder if her stepmother truly was capable of murder as some people at Dreame believed. Then, to Nora's surprise, Mallory laughed, the sound sharper than the steak knives they had downstairs. "You are Paul's daughter through and through, aren't you? Never want to play to the tune of others."

"I will talk to you," Nora said, "but not in the room where my father died."

Mallory stood, her dress still in place, as she stepped around the edge of the large desk. "You mean where he killed himself."

Jaw tight, Nora said nothing. Mallory may have been correct, but she was still a heartless Ace. One who'd mourned her husband for one day, one day, before picking up and moving on. "It must've hurt," Nora said, quiet, "to know you'd never be the woman he wanted."

Mallory tilted her head to the side, her brown hair cascading over her shoulder, an unreadable expression on her face. "We both lost our mates, Nora," she said. "While I used the experience to strengthen myself, your father only wallowed. He was never strong enough on his own. He was weak."

Sick, Nora told herself, he was sick and wasn't able to get the support he needed. "Is there a reason you wanted to speak to me, or did you just want to insult the man who gave you a home and a position within his company?"

Mallory blinked, the hint of something curling her lips. "My, what a bite you have, Nora."

Her stepmother leaned back against her desk and picked up the apple paperweight in the corner only to roll it between her hands. "Felicity hasn't received her song for this week yet."

"And she won't," Nora said.

Mallory worked her jaw slowly and set the crystal paperweight down. "I thought that's what you said this morning," she crossed her arms, "well then, tell me."

Nora scratched at the side of her jeans with her pointer finger. "What?"

"Tell me what possible excuse you have for not having a song ready."

She shrugged, though inside her heart thundered. "I didn't feel like putting something together this week."

"If we never did things we didn't want to do, nothing would get done. Try again. But with a real excuse this time."

"It's not an excuse," Nora said. "It's the truth. I didn't want to write anything – so I didn't."

"I think you may have forgotten what our deal was, Nora."

Nora made herself smile, though it felt tight over her face. She pushed her palm against the doorframe if only to have something solid to touch when she felt so disjointed and shaky. "I remember our deal. But I've decided I'm done," she said. Once the words were out of her mouth and she didn't fall apart completely, she found a small strand of courage in her stomach. She yanked on that courage, pulling it out. "Felicity will need to find someone else to write her songs. So will Devon, Celine, Garth, Pete, Tara, and Ariel." In her head, she renamed them – Doc, Grumpy, Happy, Sleepy, Dopey, Bashful, and Sneezy. Her seven terrors.

"That is rather selfish, don't you think?" Mallory took slow, heavy steps toward her. Nora resisted the urge to step back. Instead, she kept her spine straight. "Throwing it all away, your father's legacy, for a few weeks of freedom?"

Nora swallowed and said, "I haven't had freedom in the last two years."

"That's what this is? You need a break?"

"No," she said, definitive. "I'm done."

Mallory got right into Nora's space and through her teeth said, "We will lose it all, Nora."

Did her songwriting really have that much power?

"It was your mistake, Mallory," Nora met her stepmother's eyes. "in assuming at this point I have anything left to lose."

With a sharp exhale, her stepmother grabbed her arm and pushed her out the door, dragging her back towards the direction of Nora's bedroom.

"What," Nora scoffed, "now you're going to ground me?"

Mallory shoved Nora into her room. Nora didn't resist. What was the point? She'd already made her stand. And this was only the beginning.

In the doorway of her bedroom, Mallory narrowed her gaze. "You need time to think about this decision."

Then Mallory slammed Nora's door.

A lock turned.

Nora frowned. How could the lock turn if she was ins—?

The doorknob was different. Instead of her classic handle, there was nothing except for a smooth round piece of metal where her knob had once been. Nora's heart dropped. The screwdriver.

Nora rushed to the door, her left-hand tracing over the smooth metal. Trapped. She was locked in. "Mallory!" Nora shouted through the wood, pounding her fist. "Mallory!"

Her stepmother was crazy. But she wasn't this insane.

Nora took a shaky breath, the fear clogging her throat. Think. Think.

Laptop. She had her laptop—

Nora flew through her room, looking for it. But it was missing. She'd left it on her bed earlier when she went out. And when she'd come back, she'd been more worried about the flash drive and the notebook.

Her phone was also missing from her desk drawer.

Nora shoved her fingers into her hair and sank to the floor.