The phone slammed into Cecilia's palm like a live wire. "Hayes wrecked the red," Leslie's voice squealed through the line before Cecilia could speak. It wasn't a normal panic; it was a practiced, breathless panic—one that had been cultivated for years to make other people move. "He—he took your car. He—there's glass everywhere. The side is crushed. The airbags—" "Where is he?" Cecilia cut her off. She didn't wait for the shaking to settle. Her coffee sat cooling on the counter. She didn't taste it. "Summit—family wing. Room three-twelve. It's bad—Cec, you have to come. Gabriel's on his way. Please, hurry—" "Cecilia," her father said through the call. His voice was two floors and a dozen reputations away, calm enough to be infuriating. "Leslie called me. I'm—" "I'm leaving." She didn't let him finish. She dropped the phone, grabbed her coat, the keys to a car she hadn't driven in months, and moved like she meant it. Leslie's secondhand panic sharpened into accusation. "You should have seen him—he's so careless—he's been spending—Cec, he crashed it into a pillar, I think it's totaled—" "You sold my pieces," Cecilia said into the receiver before she reached the front door. "You took my jewelry to pay for his bills. You pawned my clutch. You promised you'd stop—" "Those were gifts," Leslie countered, her voice syrup-thick. "You