Page 130 of Stolen Vows

“Frankie,” she says, voice breaking.

I straighten, grip tightening on the phone. “Flora, what happened?”

She sniffs, wiping at her face with a shaking hand. “I—I didn’t know who else to call.”

“Are you okay? Where are you?” I press, my heart clenching at the sight of my sister looking so wrecked.

She takes a shuddering breath, glancing around like she’s afraid someone might overhear. “I’m pregnant, and I don’t know if it’s my husband’s.”

The words hit me square in the chest, knocking the breath from my lungs. For a second, I don’t move, don’t react. I can’t.

My mind scrambles for something—anything—to say, but I can’t get past the implications of what she just admitted. A dozen emotions slam into me at once. Shock, disbelief, something dangerously close to anger. Is this another game? Another manipulation? Some dramatic ploy to get me to fall back into step with our mother’s plan?

But then I really look at her. At the way she’s clutching the fabric of her robe like it’s the only thing keeping her from falling apart. At the smudged mascara streaks staining her cheeks, the redness around her eyes. At the unmistakable terror in them.

This isn’t an act. It’s not a game. My sister is afraid.

Florence doesn’t meet my eyes. Her gaze darts around like she’s checking over her shoulder, her breath coming in shallow bursts. I’ve seen her dramatic, I’ve seen her calculated, I’ve seen her cruel. But I’ve never seen her like this.

Raw, terrified.

“Florence,” I say carefully. “Where are you?”

She sniffles, swiping at her mascara-streaked face. “Home.” Her voice is a thin thread, unraveling. “But I—Francesca, I can’t stay here.”

A chill creeps down my spine. “I thought you two had an arrangement.”

She exhales shakily, fingers gripping the fabric of the silk robe she’s wearing like it’s the only thing tethering her. “If it’s not his, he’ll kill me.” A humorless laugh bubbles out of her, brittle and cracking at the edges. “Or maybe Mother will do it first, just to save face.”

My stomach knots. Florence has always been dramatic. But this doesn’t feel like an exaggeration. This feels like a warning.

“Flora, listen to me,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm and level despite the dread winding through my veins. “Pack a bag and leave. Don’t wait for permission, justgo.”

She sniffs, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “And go where? I don’t exactly have a lot of options here, Frankie.”

“You can come here.” The words leave my mouth before I can second guess them. “Stay in my flat in Avalon Falls.”

Florence hesitates, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Even after what I did, you’d still help me?”

I should say no. I should remind her of what she’s done—what she’s put me through, what she tried to pull with Graham. I should tell her that she made her choice when she sided with our mother, when she let them control her, when she let them use her as a pawn against me.

And Graham—God, Graham is going to lose his mind when I tell him what I’m about to do. I can already hear his voice in my head, calm but firm, telling me not to rush in, not to trust too easily. Telling me that my sister has burned me before, and that the people in our family don’t just change overnight.

And he’s right. And I don’t even know if I trust her.

But none of that matters. Not right now.

Because Florence is crying—truly crying, not the calculated, strategic kind of tears I’ve seen her wield like a weapon. And when she looks at me, it’s not with pity or contempt or superiority. It’s with raw, naked fear. And if I walk away now, if I refuse to help her, then I’m no better than the people who raised us.

So I swallow down every doubt, every hesitation, and I say the only thing that matters.

“You’re my sister.”

Fresh tears spill out of her eyes and roll down her cheeks. “I can’t. They took everything. My wallet, my passport, my car keys. My phone was charging in the library, or they would’ve taken that too.” She shudders, eyes flitting off-screen again. Her voice cracks, barely above a whisper. “They won’t let me leave.”

I can barely hear the ambient noise of the bookstore anymore, barely register anything beyond the blood rushing in my ears.

Florence looks back at me, mascara-smeared and broken in a way I never thought I’d see.

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