Ten Years Ago.
The Sterling Estate looked exactly the same, as if the stone walls were immune to the passage of time. The grass was cut to the same millimeter height. The roses were the same bleeding shade of crimson. The silence was just as heavy.
Sienna was ten years old, and she was hiding in the linen closet on the second floor.
She was wearing a white lace dress that scratched her skin. Her hair was curled into perfect ringlets that felt heavy against her neck. She was holding her breath, listening to the sound of her father's footsteps pacing in the hallway.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
He wasn't shouting. He never shouted. That was for common people. William Sterling dealt in silence and disappointment, weapons that cut much deeper than a raised voice.
"Sienna," his voice drifted through the crack in the door. It was calm. Reasonable. "The guests are waiting."
Sienna squeezed her eyes shut. She pressed her hands over her ears.
She had missed a note.
It was such a small thing. A single B-flat turned into a B-natural during her piano recital in the parlor. No one else had noticed. The applause had been polite and enthusiastic. Her mother had beamed.
But her father hadn't clapped. He had just looked at her. He had looked at her with a flat, empty expression that said: You failed.
The footsteps moved away, fading down the hall toward the stairs.
Sienna let out a shaky breath. She pushed the closet door open and crept out. She couldn't go back downstairs. She couldn't face him yet. She needed to disappear.
She ran down the back servants' staircase, her patent leather shoes tapping quietly on the wood. She slipped out the kitchen door, dodging the caterers who were busy plating hors d'oeuvres for her birthday party.
Once she was outside, she ran.
She ran past the manicured gardens, past the fountain with the weeping angel, past the iron gates that separated the "Main House" from the "Service Grounds."
She didn't stop until she reached the old oak tree near the boundary wall.
There was a girl sitting on one of the lower branches, swinging her legs. She was wearing denim overalls and a t-shirt stained with grass. She was eating an apple with a loud *crunch*.
Maya.
"You look like a marshmallow," Maya said, looking down at Sienna's puffy white dress.
"Shut up," Sienna wiped her eyes, smearing the bit of mascara her mother had allowed her to wear. "I hate this dress. It itches."
Maya jumped down. She was smaller than Sienna, scrappier, with knees that were perpetually scraped. She wiped her hands on her overalls.
"Is the party over?" Maya asked. "My mom said I couldn't come up until the cake was cut. She said I had to stay invisible."
"You're lucky," Sienna kicked at the dirt, ruining the shine on her shoes. "It's awful. I messed up the piano song. My dad is... he's doing the Look."
Maya grimaced. She knew the Look. Everyone on the estate knew the Look. It was the look that made grown men stumble over their words and made Maya's mother cry in the bathroom.
"He's just a grump," Maya said, trying to be helpful. "Want some apple?"
Sienna shook her head. "I can't. I have to go back. If he finds me out here..."
"He won't find you," a boy's voice said from above.
Sienna looked up.
Roman Vane was sitting on a higher branch, hidden by the leaves. He was twelve, but he already had the dark, brooding intensity that made adults nervous. He was wearing a miniature version of a tuxedo, but his tie was in his pocket and his jacket was hanging on a twig.
He dropped down, landing silently between them. He brushed a leaf off his shoulder.
"I saw him go into the library," Roman said. "He's pouring a scotch. You have at least twenty minutes before he realizes you're gone."
"Hi, Roman," Sienna sniffled.
"Hi, Princess." Roman reached out and tugged one of her perfect ringlets. "You ruined your makeup."
"I don't care," Sienna lied.
"Liar." Roman reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. It was monogrammed with *R.V.* He spit on the corner of it—gross—and gently wiped the smudge from under her eye.
Sienna stood still, letting him do it. Roman was the only boy she knew who didn't pull her hair or call her names. He was mean to everyone else, but he was always nice to her.
"Better," Roman decided, tucking the handkerchief away. "Now. We need to get you dirty."
Sienna's eyes widened. "What? No! He'll kill me."
"He's already mad, isn't he?" Roman shrugged. "Might as well give him a reason. Besides, you look miserable in that thing."
He pointed to a muddy puddle near the tree roots.
"I dare you," Roman smirked.
Sienna looked at the puddle. She looked at the white lace dress that cost more than Maya's mom made in a month. She thought about the piano. She thought about the silence in the car ride home from practice when she didn't play perfectly.
A spark of rebellion flared in her chest.
She stepped into the puddle.
The mud squelched over her shiny shoes. It splashed up onto her white tights.
"Higher," Maya cheered, clapping her hands.
Sienna jumped.
Mud flew everywhere. It splattered across the lace bodice. It landed in her hair. She laughed. It was a shocked, breathless sound. She jumped again, harder this time, stomping until her dress was ruined and her legs were soaked.
"Take that, Beethoven!" she screamed.
Maya joined in, jumping next to her. Roman leaned against the tree, arms crossed, watching them with a small, satisfied smirk.
For ten minutes, Sienna wasn't a Sterling. She was just a kid. She was dirty, she was loud, and she was happy.
"Sienna!"
The voice cracked through the air like a whip.
The laughter died instantly.
Senator William Sterling stood at the edge of the clearing. He wasn't alone. Evelyn was behind him, looking pale and terrified. And Graves, the security guard, stood like a statue by the path.
Sienna froze. She was covered in mud. Her hair was a bird's nest. She stood in the puddle, shaking.
The Senator walked forward. He stopped just outside the splash zone. He looked at his daughter.
He didn't yell. He didn't grab her.
He just looked at her with absolute, cold disgust. It was the look you gave to a cockroach before you stepped on it.
"Look at you," he said softly.
"William, she's just playing," Evelyn tried to intervene, stepping forward. "It's her birthday."
"She is a Sterling," the Senator cut her off without looking back. "Sterlings do not wallow in filth like animals."
He turned his gaze to Maya.
"And you," he said. His voice dropped an octave. "You did this. You encouraged her."
"No, sir!" Maya stammered, stepping back. "We were just—"
"Get out of my sight," the Senator ordered. "Go back to the quarters. If I see you near the main house again this week, your mother will be looking for a new job."
Maya ran. She didn't look back. She sprinted toward the cottage, tears streaming down her face.
The Senator looked back at Sienna.
"Go to your room," he said. "The party is over. I will tell the guests you are ill."
"But Dad—" Sienna started, tears welling up again.
"I said go." He turned his back on her. "I can't look at you right now."
Sienna stood there, shivering in the cold mud. Her father walked away, taking her mother with him.
She was alone.
Except she wasn't.
Roman stepped out from behind the tree. He hadn't run. He had stayed, watching the whole thing.
He walked over to the puddle. He didn't care about his expensive shoes. He walked right into the mud and picked Sienna up.
"He's wrong," Roman whispered into her ear.
"He hates me," Sienna sobbed into Roman's shoulder, getting mud all over his shirt.
"He doesn't hate you," Roman said, carrying her toward the house. "He just doesn't know how to love anything he can't control."
"I want to disappear," Sienna wept.
"I won't let you," Roman promised. He held her tighter. "I'll never let you disappear, Sienna."
He carried her all the way to the back door, ignoring the stares of the staff, ignoring the mud dripping on the marble floors. He took her upstairs and sat on the floor of her bathroom while she washed her face, telling her stupid jokes until she stopped crying.
That night, Sienna lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. The white dress was in the trash. The party was over. The house was silent.
She made a vow to herself in the dark.
She would never miss a note again. She would never get dirty again. She would be perfect. She would be the porcelain doll he wanted, so perfect that he would never look at her with that disgust again.
And if the cracks started to show?
She would just paint over them.
Sienna rolled over and looked at the photo on her nightstand. It was her and Roman, taken last summer. He wasn't smiling, but he was holding her hand.
She closed her eyes, clutching the pillow.
The mud washed off. The shame didn't.