Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

I step into the dimly lit hallway, the floorboards creaking an old, familiar sigh. Each step feels weighted, as if the house itself is trying to drag me back into the shadows of my childhood.

The air is thick, heavy with the dust of neglect and the lingering echoes of pain. I’ve paused on this banister so many times, the wood worn smooth by years of desperate little fingers, while I listened for my father.

Memories flood my mind, unbidden and unwelcome. The sharp crack of a hand against flesh, the muffled sobs of my mother, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. I close my eyes, fighting back the surge of emotions that threaten to overwhelm me.

Breathe, Sienna. Just breathe.

Of course, there’s no chance of him cursing or yelling downstairs.

No chance of his fist hitting my mother’s face.

He’s dead now. And the man I love has been charged with his murder.

The silence is broken only by the distant ticking of a clock—a reminder of every second Logan spends sitting in jail, imprisoned because he protected me.

Which is why I can’t give up.

I force myself to move, to push past the ghosts that haunt these halls. The living room looms below, a cavernous space with plastic-covered furniture. The curtains hang heavy, blocking out the sunlight, casting the room in a perpetual gloom.

Samantha said I should stay at North Security with her, but that’s an hour away even in one of their fancy armored SUVs. I also could have stayed with the circus, but it’s still a long bike ride away. And besides, I have too much guilt for imprisoning their leader. Where would I even sleep? In Logan’s RV? No way.

My childhood home is the closest place to the jail.

It’s the closest to Logan.

That’s where I’ll stay until he’s free.

One of my old hiding places was the front closet, my small body tucked behind the coats, my breath held tight in my lungs as I prayed for invisibility. The darkness was my sanctuary then, a place to escape the storms that raged beyond the door.

I’m not that frightened little girl anymore.

I’ve learned to face the darkness, to find strength in the shadows.

The circus taught me that fear is just another obstacle to overcome, that the greatest triumphs often lie on the other side of bravery.

I straighten my spine, squaring my shoulders as if preparing for battle. Which, in a way, I am. The fight for Logan’s freedom won’t be won in the courtroom alone—it will be fought in the hearts and minds of this town, in the whispers and the sideways glances, in the weight of prejudices that refuse to let go.

I won’t let them break Logan.

I won’t let them break us.

My deep breath tastes of stale air and determination, and I step into the living room, ready to face whatever lies ahead.

My mother sits at the worn dining table, a delicate teacup cradled in her hands. Banyu Cole looks small, almost fragile, as if the years of abuse have chipped away at her bit by bit, leaving only a shadow of the woman she once was.

My dad is gone, but his reign of terror hasn’t stopped.

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I’m struck by the weariness in her gaze, the resignation that seems to have settled into her very bones. “Hello, Sienna.”

It’s a look I know all too well—the face of someone who has been beaten down so many times that they’ve forgotten how to stand up straight.

Sympathy rushes through me. It’s chased by frustration.

I want to remind her that she’s stronger than this, that she doesn’t have to live in the valley of my father’s cruelty forever.

It’s not that simple. The scars he left on her run deeper than the ones on her skin.

I bend to press a soft kiss to her cheek. “Morning, Mom.”

A flicker of warmth breaking through the clouds in her eyes. “You’re up early.”

I nod, leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen. For some reason, I’ve always avoided sitting at the table, drinking tea with her. It would seem too much like defeat. “A lot on my mind.”

She takes a sip of her tea, her hands trembling slightly. “About this circus man?”

“His name’s Logan, Mom.” Which she knows. I run a hand through my messy hair, my thoughts spinning. “I don’t know how I’m going to get him free. This isn’t even about Dad, you know. It’s about the fact that he protected me from Kyle. It’s retribution.”

My mother is quiet for a long moment, her gaze distant. “People here… They don’t like outsiders. They never have.”

Anger flares in my chest. “Outsiders like us?”

She sighs, setting her teacup down on the side table. “We look different.”

That always upset me when I was a kid. I was born and raised in this godforsaken town, and I was always called a freak for the shape of my eyes.

I was the same as them on the inside, damn it.

At least, that’s what I thought. The circus has taught me that it might not be true. There could have been a different reason they never accepted me. I wouldn’t conform. I wouldn’t bow to the supposed golden boy, to the town gossips. That’s what made me a freak.

I glance over at my mother’s cherrywood china cabinet, its rich, dark surface gleaming faintly in the muted light. It’s old-fashioned, sturdy, and imposing—a testament to a time when things were built to last. It stands as sentinel against the far wall, guarding its precious contents with a solemnity that borders on reverence.

Behind the glass doors lives my mother’s doll collection. Each one is a silent witness to years gone by, a testament to dreams and places far removed from Forrester’s suffocating grasp. Dolls from all over the world peer out from their glass prison, their painted faces frozen in perpetual serenity.

I’ve always found it ironic. These delicate figurines, with their representations of beauty and culture, were trapped behind a barrier, much like my mother was between these walls.

I remember the countless times I stood before that cabinet as a child, my nose almost pressed against the glass, yearning to hold just one doll in my hands. There was an allure to them, each with its story, its secrets locked away. The one from Japan, dressed in an intricate kimono with tiny cherry blossoms embroidered on the fabric. The African doll with her vibrant dress made of kente cloth, her hair adorned with beads. A porcelain ballerina from Russia with a tutu so delicate it looked like it might dissolve at a touch.

Those dolls were forbidden treasures.

My mother’s rule was absolute: look but don’t touch.

“They are not toys,” she said whenever she caught me lingering too long near the cabinet. Her voice was stern, but her eyes always held a trace of something softer—a fear of what might happen if I did break one. Maybe she was scared of what breaking them would symbolize—the shattering of something beautiful that couldn’t be mended.

Even now, longing pangs in my chest as I gaze at the dolls. It’s mixed with defiance. They remain untouchable, perfect in their stillness, while everything around them crumbles.

“Do you still have that one from Italy?” I ask suddenly, breaking the silence.

My mother’s eyes flicker toward the cabinet, and for a moment, I see a shadow of her old pride. “Yes,” she says quietly. “She’s right there.”

I follow her gaze to a small doll dressed in traditional Italian garb—a miniature masterpiece with expressive eyes that seem almost too lifelike. She stands on her tiny stand, untouched by time or hardship.

“She’s beautiful,” I murmur.

“Yes,” my mother echoes softly. “She is.”

“How come you never open the doors? Take them out?”

She looks at me, her dark eyes shining. “They don’t want to come out.”

“They’re just dolls,” I whisper, but I know they’re more than that.

“We all make our choices, Sienna. You know that better than anyone. And this circus man of yours. He knows that, too. He took the risk when he stood up to Kyle for you.”

That doesn’t mean I have to accept it. I’ve spent my whole life fighting against the unfairness of this world, and I’m not about to stop now.

Not when Logan’s freedom is at stake.

I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, my eyes intense. “I have to do something. I can’t just sit back and let them freaking imprison him. Kyle kidnapped me, for Christ’s sake. And no one cared enough to do anything. Hell, Sheriff Dunham probably helped him.”

She looks at me, and for a moment, I see a flicker of the old fire in her eyes, the spark that my father tried so hard to extinguish. “What can you possibly do?”

I take a deep breath, my mind racing. “Something. I’ll figure this out. I have to.”

For Logan. For us. For the life we’ve built together, the love we’ve fought so hard to build.

I won’t let this town take that away from me. No matter what it takes.

Banyu’s weathered hands fidget nervously in her lap. “Perhaps it’s time to… to let him go. To start a new life, away from all this. You could go anywhere, now that you don’t have a man holding you down. You could leave. Start over.”

A hot flash of betrayal surges through me. “How can you even say that? I would never abandon Logan, especially not now when he needs me most.”

“Men always need us. That is the problem.”

I push away from the doorframe and pace the worn carpet. “Have you moved on from Dad, then? Put it all behind you like it never happened? Gone to travel?”

Mom flinches, her eyes dropping to the floor. “That’s different,” she says quietly. “I’m old now. You’re young. You still have a chance at a better life.”

I whirl to face her, my voice rising with passion. “A better life? Mom, you can have a better life too, at any age! Look at these curtains.” I gesture to the heavy drapes, blocking out the sunlight. “They’re like prison bars. They’re still there because you keep them there.”

“I deserve them,” she whispers, her voice thick with unshed tears.

My heart clenches. I kneel before her, taking her hands in mine. “No. No one deserves this.” I squeeze her fingers, willing her to believe me. “It’s not too late. You can tear down these curtains, let the light in. You can still find happiness.”

She meets my gaze, her dark eyes so like my own, filled with a lifetime of pain and fear. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough,” she admits, her voice barely audible. “I’ve never been like you.”

I smile softly, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “You are, Mom. You’re strong and loyal. Where do you think I got it from?” I stand, pulling her to her feet with me. “I’ll prove that to you, somehow. First, I need to save Logan.”

A tentative smile touched her lips. “If anyone can do it, you can.”

I release her hands, my resolve solidifying like steel in my veins.

The hold of Forrester goes deeper than my father’s fists ever did. It’s about legacy, about prejudice so ingrained it’s like a stain on the very fabric of the land.

My phone buzzes with an incoming text.

On my way. That’s Maisie. The corner of my lips tugs upwards.

She’s one of the only people who stood by my side all these years, even though she’s part of the town. The sweetheart. Voted most friendly. If anyone can get through to them, she can.

I run upstairs to take a quick shower. The hot water ends in about ninety seconds in this house, so I hurry through the shampoo. The thought of confronting my past, of facing the whispers and the stares, makes my stomach churn. I’ve spent so long running from it all, finding solace in the circus. Now I have to run toward it. I have to face it head-on.

A shiver takes me as I step out of the shower. Even in the oppressive heat, it’s always cold in the moments of tepid water and peeling linoleum of my bathroom.

I stare at myself in the mirror, this face I used to hate, with its too-large eyes and nose and lips. With its big foreign features. Freak. Whore. Outsider. I’m Sienna Mae Cole. I’ve survived worse than small-town gossip. I’ve survived my father’s fists, my mother’s tears, Kyle’s cruelty.

There’s a silver lining, after all. It means I have enough strength to save Logan.

When I get back downstairs, I’m surprised to find a mug of coffee waiting for me.

My mom hates coffee. She only made it for my father, who would hit her if it wasn’t ready and hot whenever he wanted it, which naturally made her hate the smell even more. I prefer coffee to tea, but she never makes it for me. I would never ask.

Except today she’s holding a steaming mug for me. The liquid is already pale from cream and sugar. “Mom. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to.”

“I’m going to fight for him. But more than that, I’m going to fight for us. For the support we never got but should have. And I’m going to win because I have something they don’t.”

She tilts her head, curiosity brightening her dark eyes. “What’s that?”

I take a big gulp of coffee, burning my lips, my tongue. It’s never felt better. “Good old-fashioned stubbornness. I got that from you, too.”

Banyu laughs softly, and for a moment, I see a glimmer of the woman she used to be before my father’s abuse snuffed out her light. “Yes. You are my daughter.”

Tears prick my eyes, but I turn to slip on my shoes from the mat by the door. I pause, looking back at her. “Love you. I’ll be back soon.”

She smiles, and it’s like the sun peeking through storm clouds. “Be careful.”

I wink at her, my hand on the doorknob. “Careful? Where’s the fun in that?”

And with a laugh, I step out into the waiting day, ready to face whatever comes my way. For Logan. For us. For the family I found under the big top.

The sound of tires crunching over gravel pulls my attention to the street. Maisie’s car, a cheerful yellow VW bug that seems out of place in this neighborhood of faded dreams, rolls to a stop by the curb. She waves at me through the window, her smile bright, her curls reflecting the sun.

I hurry down the steps, my boots thudding against the worn wood. As I approach the car, Maisie leans over to push open the passenger door.

Tricks comes bounding out, his little legs moving faster than they should be able to. His ears—one up, one flopped down—flap as he sprints toward me. I drop to my knees, arms wide open.

“Tricks!” My voice catches in my throat.

He leaps into my arms, wriggling with joy. His tiny body trembles with excitement, and I bury my face in his fur. It’s softer than I remember, and it smells faintly of Maisie’s lavender shampoo. Tears prick my eyes, but I blink them away quickly. I don’t want Maisie to see me cry.

“You missed me, huh?” I whisper against Tricks’s warm fur. He licks my cheek enthusiastically, his tail wagging so hard it’s a blur.

Maisie steps out of the car, a knowing smile on her lips. “Hey there, stranger,” she says. “Ready for a jailbreak?”

Tricks wiggles in my arms and barks softly as if agreeing with Maisie.

I slide into the seat, the leather cool against my skin. “I wish.”

When we’re all buckled in, Maisie pulls away from the curb, the car lurching forward with a burst of speed. She glances over at me, her brow furrowed. “You okay? For real?”

Anyone could see the dark shadows beneath my eyes. I shrug, turning to stare out the window at the passing houses, their fa?ades as familiar as old scars. “I’m fine,” I lie. “This is just my face.”

Maisie snorts, the sound inelegant and utterly her. “Bullshit,” she says, her tone blunt. “I know you. You’re not going to sleep until he’s free again.”

I sigh, my shoulders slumping. It feels good to cuddle Tricks as I think about this. “Of course I’m not,” I admit, my voice raw. “They’ve got him locked up like some kind of animal. Like he’s a danger to society. Meanwhile Kyle is walking free for what he did to me.”

Maisie reaches over, her hand finding mine and squeezing gently. “We’re going to get him out,” she says, her words fierce with conviction. “We’re going to prove his innocence.”

I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat.

She doesn’t know the truth.

That Logan isn’t actually innocent. He did beat my father, but he did it to protect me. The law in this part of the country, these rural backwoods, has no place for nuance. No mercy for outsiders, even if he killed a man who beat my mother every night.

“How’s he been?” I ask, forcing lightness into my tone.

She glances sideways at Tricks, who’s still wriggling in my lap. “He’s been a very good boy. Haven’t you, Tricks? And he’s taken a shine to our girls. He keeps cleaning Camila’s ears.”

“Aww. Is that true, Tricks? Do you have a little crush?” My mother refuses to have pets in the house. Even a small, friendly one like Tricks. Which means he’s staying with Maisie until I’m out of here.

“And he really likes June Bug. He’s tried humping her a few times.”

“Oh shit. I guess I need to get him fixed. I didn’t even think of that.”

Maisie laughs. “Don’t worry. June Bug had no problem laying down some boundaries. Plus she’s fixed. So we’re not going to end up with a bunch of puppies. Even though they would be adorable. I’d have content for months.”

Content. I blink as we turn into the town proper, an idea nudging me. She takes videos of her two dogs’ antics that go viral online. The platforms pay her for the views. Plus she gets dog toys and fancy human-grade dog food sent to them for free. There’s the occasional sponsored post. It’s not a ton of money, but it’s more than I made working at the coffee shop when I still lived here.

I turn back to the window, watching the houses give way to fields of withered crops, the land as barren and unforgiving as the people who inhabit it.

“Hey,” I say. “About that content.”

“Yeahhh?” she asks, her voice drawn out.

“What if you made videos on behalf of Logan? Told his story?”

“Okay, but why?”

“I don’t know.” Except I do. The town’s prejudice runs deep, as thick and choking as the dust that coats everything here. Even Maisie, with her sunny optimism and unwavering loyalty, can’t entirely escape its grasp. “Maybe we can convince the town, sway them. Or even if we can’t, maybe we can convince the world.”

“Convincing the world would be easier.”

“They don’t have any proof. It could put pressure on them.”

The county jail looms ahead, a squat, ugly building that seems to leach the color from the world around it. Maisie pulls into the parking lot, the car shuddering to a stop.

“It’s worth a shot,” she says, her hand on the door handle. “Consider me hired.”

I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. “Thank you, Maisie. Really. I—”

“Oh, shut up,” she says. “Don’t get all mushy on me now. I just promised to make a few videos that probably won’t do anything. Besides, I’m your best friend.”

My best friend. Tears prick my eyes, but I try not to get mushy.

We step out into the harsh sunlight, the heat pressing down like a physical weight. I focus on the rush of my blood, the unshakable certainty that I will prevail. That I have to, because the town would just as soon watch me burn.