Page 237 of The Harbinger

I grinned and nodded.

It was a great birthday party, aside from Caroline’s poor attitude. Lex said we stopped getting along after I kissed her ex-boyfriend at our junior dance.

Mom started loading the dishwasher while I grabbed a dishcloth, wiping down the countertops, scrubbing away the cake crumbs and frosting smears, and Dad gathered the trash.

“Thanks for helping me clean up, sweetheart,” my mom said, drying a large knife with a towel. “But it’s your birthday. You don’t have to do this.”

“I know, but I want to help. “Besides, it was the least I could do for all the effort they put into making my day special.

Together, we tackle the kitchen. I washed the large dishes while my mom put away the leftover food. We chatted and laughed as we worked, enjoying the time together.

“Thank you, Mom and Dad. I had a really good time,” I said when the kitchen was spotless.

My mom hugged me tight, something I’d been allowing more often lately. “We’re glad you enjoyed it, honey.”

“Me too,” Dad added, smiling at me.

“Well, I’m exhausted.”

“That’s right,” Mom said. “Your last day of class is tomorrow.”

I’d switched my class two weeks in and decided to strictly learn the Russian language because the rest of the literature and history wasn’t of any use to me.

“Yep. Goodnight.” I ascended the stairs with their goodnight responses at my back and closed the door until it left a slight crack, as was acceptable, then collapsed face down onto my bed as my phone dinged.

I groaned into my comforter, reached into my back pocket, and then looked at my screen.

Sacha: Happy Birthday.

My heart jumped against my ribcage as I rolled to my back and thumbed out a response.

Me: Thank you.

The doorbell rang, and I bounced off my bed, bound down the stairs, and yanked the door open before my father could leave the living room.

“Who is it, Mia?”

There was no one there except a tall vase with a massive bouquet of red roses. A black SUV started across the street, its headlights illuminating the pavement before it, then took off down the road.

I rushed out the door and down the road but stopped before I got too far, my bare feet freezing in the barely spring weather. My phone rang this time, and I answered right away.

“Was that you?”

“Did you like them?”

“Were you in the car, Sacha?” I cried, ignoring his question.

He sighed. “No. I’m home.”

“I don’t want roses, Sacha. Don’t you understand that?” I walked back to the front porch where my parents stood, the vase in my mother’s hands.

“These are beautiful. Oh, look, a note.” She glanced at the open-faced card. “Maybe it’s from your Russian class.”

She picked the card off the bouquet and handed it to me while I kept the phone to my ear.

“Read the card.”

Scrawled in Cyrillic with the drawing of our branding in the corner. It read:A gift for the most captivating captive.

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