The Sterling penthouse occupied the entire 50th floor of a limestone building overlooking Central Park. It was a fortress of glass and steel, decorated in shades of grey and white that made Sienna feel like she was living inside a cloud-or a padded cell.
The morning after the gala, Sienna sat at the marble kitchen island, staring at the small plastic cup Julian had placed in front of her. Two white pills. One blue.
"Dr. Evans adjusted the dosage," Julian said, not looking up from his tablet. He was reading the Financial Times, his posture perfect, his coffee black. "He's consulting with Dr. Aris regarding your neurological response. He thinks the anxiety is inhibiting the nerve regeneration in your foot."
Sienna touched the blue pill. "I feel foggy when I take these, Julian. I lose time. Yesterday morning, I couldn't find my phone for an hour, and it was in the refrigerator."
Julian lowered the tablet. He looked at her with that patient, weary sadness that made her want to scream.
"You put it there, Sienna."
"I didn't," she insisted, though her conviction was a crumbling wall. "Why would I put my phone in the fridge?"
"Because you were upset about the flowers," Julian said calmly.
"What flowers?"
"The lilies I bought you. You started crying, said they smelled like a funeral, and then you started rearranging the kitchen. You don't remember?"
Sienna stared at him. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She had no memory of lilies. She had no memory of crying. She looked at the center of the island. A crystal vase stood there, empty.
"Where are the lilies now?" she asked.
"I threw them out, Si. To stop you from screaming." Julian reached across the table and covered her hand. His palm was warm, but his rings were cold metal against her skin. "It's okay. The trauma from your childhood... it rewires the brain. It's not your fault."
Gaslighting. The word floated in the back of her mind, a piece of vocabulary she had picked up from a podcast she listened to in secret. But gaslighting required malice. Julian blocked bullets for her. Julian paid for the best doctors. Julian stayed when everyone else-the ballet company, her friends, even her own brother Sebastian-had drifted away.
She picked up the blue pill.
"Drink your juice," Julian commanded gently.
Sienna swallowed the pills. They slid down her throat, leaving a bitter trail.
"I have a meeting with the board at ten," Julian said, standing up and buttoning his suit jacket. "Sophia is coming over later to pick up those old costumes you wanted to donate."
Sienna froze. "Sophia Thorne?"
"She's the new principal dancer, Sienna. She needs costumes for the charity recital. You agreed to this last week."
"I... I don't want her here," Sienna whispered. Sophia had been her understudy. The one who watched with hungry eyes when Sienna fell.
"Don't be jealous, darling. It's unbecoming." Julian walked around the island and kissed the top of her head. "Besides, she looks up to you. Be a mentor. It gives you a purpose."
He left the room. The silence he left behind was heavy. Sienna looked at the empty vase. She leaned in and sniffed.
There was no lingering scent of lilies. There was only the smell of bleach and expensive lemon polish.
She stood up, testing her weight on her left foot. A sharp, grinding pain answered her. She gritted her teeth and walked to the refrigerator. She opened the door.
On the middle shelf, sitting next to a carton of organic milk, was her spare set of house keys. Not her phone. Her keys.
You put the phone in the fridge, Julian had said.
Sienna stared at the keys. A shiver ran down her spine, cold and violent. She hadn't used these keys in months. She never left the house alone.
