Page 49 of Depraved Boys

“Then, who?”

I shook my head.

“Willow Evergreen, I’m asking you a question.”

“You sound like Mom.”

“I should hope not.” He chuckled. “Actually, it’s something our mother used to say to us when we were young.”

“I like Sebastian. A lot. But I can’t trust anyone at Brittas.” I dipped my head. “Not even Ashley.”

“Oh, Willow.” He placed a hand on top of mine and squeezed. Thankfully, he didn’t remind me that sisters should stick together.

“But I don’t think either of them is keeping me there. I want to preserve Mom and Dad’s memory, and selling the house will erase them.”

“It won’t. They still live in our hearts.”

“But the memories will fade.”

“Do you know what I think?”

I raised my head and gazed into his hazel eyes. Eyes the same color and shape as Mom’s. “What?”

“Brittas Academy is killing you. Any much longer with these terrible people and the sweet, clever Willow your mother and father cherished will be gone, replaced by a harder version neither of them would recognize.”

My throat convulsed. Had the academy changed me that much?

“Think about it,” he said. “Focus on preserving the living and not the dead.”

Uncle Trevor left shortly after because Aunt Hortense wasn’t feeling well, and I lay in bed, running everything through my mind.

Bianca despised me because she didn’t want the boys’ attention going to me and not her. She told me I would fall down a ditch and she instigated the foie gras treatment.

But someone had found me and brought me to the Royal Infirmary.

The vague memory of seeing Prakash didn’t fit into the story unless the kings had been with the girls all along.

I shook my head. They didn’t seem that vindictive, but Cormac’s constant criticisms and warnings about them weren’t without foundation. His sister had become obsessed with the kings and had committed suicide.

Was Corrine the other girl found drunk and stuffed with pork ribs?

A soft knock on my door broke me from my thoughts. My heart flipped, and I pulled the sheets up to my chest.

A middle-aged, black nurse with short braids poked her head through the door. “Willow, may I come in?”

“Yes.”

She stepped into the room, followed by a female police officer who carried a large bag. My heart thudded in my chest. They had to be here for the forensic exam. The two women stood at the foot of my bed, each giving me kind and sympathetic smiles. A lump formed in my throat.

“I’m Nurse Petra Williams, and this is WPC Karen Dobson. Did Dr. Croft explain why we are here?”

“Yes,” I croaked.

“Let’s get a statement from you first, as the forensic exam is quite time consuming,” said the policewoman.

My gaze lingered on her bag. “What happened to the other girl who was found with mud and pork ribs?”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” replied the female constable.