Jenna's fingers dug into the serving tray, her nails nearly piercing her palms.

She never expected to run into Sean Roland here.

First Ethan Roscente yesterday, now her cousin today. Trouble truly never came alone.

"Jenna!" Supervisor Patrick's voice echoed from down the hallway. "Room 404 needs service. Get over there."

She was about to seize the escape when an iron grip clamped around her wrist.

Her entire body froze. Even her breath hitched.

She kept her head stubbornly lowered, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Turn around." Sean's voice could have flash-frozen hell.

Patrick eyed them suspiciously. "You two know each other?"

"She's my sister." Sean's tone brooked no argument.

Patrick's brows knitted together. "Jenna, this is your brother?"

Her spine straightened like a steel rod.

Five years apart, yet Sean would recognize that stubborn posture anywhere.

She inhaled deeply, forcing her shoulders to relax.

"Patrick, could someone else take Room 404?" Her voice trembled. "I need to talk with my brother."

Patrick waved them toward Room 301.

"Thanks." Jenna murmured, holding the door open for Sean.

The moment it clicked shut, an eerie calm settled over her.

"Sean."

The name escaped softer than a whisper.

Of all the Rolands, he'd never once kicked her when she was down.

Every time Aunt Fiona bullied her, he'd been the one to intervene.

Which made him the last person she wanted witnessing her current state.

"You work here?" Sean's piercing gaze raked over her uniform.

A beverage promoter at Studio 54. He knew exactly what that entailed.

The proud Roland heiress reduced to this.

Jenna's lips twisted. "What else would I be doing?"

"Mom and Dad said you chose to move out?"

"Something like that." Her tone turned glacial.

Sean's frown deepened. "This place isn't safe. Come home."

Home?

The image of those cola chicken wings flashed before her eyes.

Made specially for Milo, devoured by Jason and Heidi before he could take a bite.

They'd not only stolen his food but called him a sickly burden.

That house stopped being theirs long ago.

"Sean," she said quietly, each word deliberate as a guillotine blade. "Milo and I would rather sleep on the streets."