Page 37 of The Cousins and the Brunette

The thick, squishy crimson carpet beneath my feet was as foreign as the opulence that draped the Porter mansion’s living room. Carved mahogany tables, gilded frames clutching priceless artwork, and a crystal chandelier that threw specks of light across the ceiling like a private galaxy—all seemed like almost too much damn luxury. And I still felt like a trespasser in my worn sweatpants, dirty sneakers, and plain t-shirt.

A bitter taste coated my tongue. This place reeked of privilege, of a life I’d never know. now that Mr. Shoemaker had betrayed me.

“Joel, what is so important about these Nant-bots?” I asked, trying to focus on the conversation rather than the grandeur that threatened to swallow me whole.

Joel sighed. “Military-grade tech that are embedded GPS trackers. No more prisoners of war. Jason Cartright made them and destroyed them so Shoemaker replicated it and made it better. They are untraceable plus can self district at the touch of a button .”

My skin prickled. I frowned. “Huh?”

Sebastian paced the room. “They are technically illegal to use. but with some tweaking we could potentially even control the host.”

Braxton leaned back on the velvet sofa, a smirk playing on his lips as he juggled a crystal paperweight. “Which is why we need a solid plan to steal the tech before it ends up in the wrong hands. I say we approach from the west wing since it’s less guarded. Brynn, you’ll be our key to the locks—literally. Joel, those gadgets better work when it counts.”

My throat tightened. There was no running from this world, only fighting to carve out our piece of it.

“Hey, when have my toys ever let us down?” Joel’s hands were busy at a nearby table, assembling what looked like sleek, matte-black lock picks and tiny drones.

“Sebastian, thoughts on entry?” I turned to him, eager for his insight.

He rubbed his chin. “We’ve got one shot. We should consider using the garden maze. It’s risky but provides cover. Plus, if we time it right with the night patrols...” His voice trailed off as he calculated our chances.

I gave him a half-grin, though my stomach knotted at the thought of sneaking through Shoemaker’s fortress.

The plan was taking shape, but doubt gnawed at me. One misstep and we’d be caught in Shoemaker’s web, crushed like the insignificant insects he saw us as. But the alternative—letting him amass even more power—was unthinkable. I clenched my fists.

A knock on the door cut through our scheming. I glanced at the others before striding over to answer it. Swinging open the heavy oak door revealed a woman whose elegance matched the mansion itself. She stood on the threshold, a picture of poise with blue eyes and tailored attire.

Well, well, what have we here? An Elite showing up unannounced. My muscles tensed, ready to slam the door shut if needed, but curiosity gnawed at me. What could she want?

“Can I help you?” I asked, my tone a little defensive and wary.

“I’m Elizabeth Shoemaker. Nice to meet you,” she said extending a hand I didn’t take.

Shoemaker, huh? As in the big bad businessman who’d tried to kill me? Like I’d fall for that trap. I eyed her outstretched hand like it might sprout claws any second.

I kept my hands at my sides. “I’m Brynn Soto. You’re really Mr. Shoemaker’s daughter?”

She nodded and her cheeks flushed. “Unfortunately. May I come in?”

I sized her up again, trying to read between the lines. Her embarrassment seemed genuine enough, but I’d been fooled before. Letting her in could be like inviting a viper to tea. Still, something in her eyes made me want to hear her out. Against my better judgment, I stepped aside.

“Yeah, I guess.”

My skin prickled as I led her inside. This could be a setup, another elaborate scheme by Mr. Shoemaker.

“Porters,” she greeted them with a nod. “I’m Elizabeth Shoemaker and I wanted to chat with you all, if that’s all right.”

I watched the Porters’ reactions closely, trying to gauge if they were buying this act. Sebastian, ever the gentleman, stepped forward with a polite smile.

“Miss Shoemaker, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Sebastian’s demeanor calm yet guarded.

“Look, I know my father hired Brynn to pretend to be me to trick you, and I know…he had his goons beat her up—for which I’m so sorry about. His quest for power, his disregard for people...it’s wrong. I can’t just stand by anymore.”

Her confession hung heavily between us. The daughter of our enemy offering an olive branch? Or perhaps something more sinister.

Little Miss Elite had a conscience after all. Or did she? Her apology sounded sincere, but I’d heard pretty words from forked tongues before. This could be just another one of Daddy Dearest’s ploys, dangling bait to see who’d bite. I exchanged a skeptical glance with Joel, his jaw clenched tighter than a rusted nut.

Could she really be turning against her own father? It seemed too good to be true. But then again, I knew better than anyone how family could betray you. The memory of my own past stung, reminding me to stay sharp.

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