Chapter 1 - This House Became a Crime Scene
Leah Vance sprayed freezing water over Samantha Hale while Samantha knelt barefoot in the snow.
The green garden hose jerked in Leah’s gloved hands.
Cold water struck Samantha’s soaked pale pink-white maternity dress, ran down her arms, and turned the fabric transparent against her shivering body.
Samantha folded both arms over herself.
One over her chest.
One over her seven-month pregnant belly.
Her wet brown hair clung to her face. Her lips trembled so hard she could barely breathe. Snow stuck to her bare knees and the icy pavement beneath her had already begun to burn her skin with cold.
Donovan Hale stood beside Leah near the open iron gate, wearing a gray winter coat, looking down at his pregnant wife like she was something he had dragged outside to be taught obedience.
He laughed once.
Then clapped.
“Stay out there until you learn gratitude.”
Leah smiled.
A pleased, pretty smile.
The kind of smile that made cruelty look rehearsed.
Samantha lifted her eyes toward Donovan.
Her voice shook so badly it nearly disappeared in the wind.
“Donovan… our baby is freezing.”
Donovan’s face hardened.
“You should have thought about that before embarrassing me in my own house.”
Leah lowered the hose slightly, still smiling.
“His house,” she corrected softly.
Samantha’s teeth chattered.
Behind them, the iron gates opened wider.
At first Donovan did not turn.
He thought it was the wind.
Then headlights cut across the snow.
One black SUV surged through the gate.
Then another.
Then three more.
Red-blue lights flashed against the white stone pillars and snowy trees.
Tires stopped hard on the icy driveway.
Doors opened in formation.
Men in black tactical suits stepped out with earpieces, moving with quiet precision.
Leah’s smile vanished.
Donovan turned sharply.
“What the hell is this?”
A Security Captain stepped forward first, one hand raised toward Donovan and Leah.
His voice was firm.
Commanding.
“Step away from her now.”
Donovan tried to recover his arrogance.
“This is private property.”
The lead SUV door opened.
Edward Whitmore stepped into the snow.
Silver hair.
Black overcoat.
Dark suit.
Face completely still.
He looked once at Samantha kneeling on the ground.
Once at the hose in Leah’s shaking hand.
Once at Donovan.
Then his eyes returned to his daughter.
For a second, the billionaire’s face showed nothing.
That was how Samantha knew he was close to breaking.
He took one slow step forward.
Donovan frowned.
“Who are you?”
Edward’s stare stopped him cold.
“That is my daughter.”
Leah’s hand went slack around the hose nozzle.
Water dripped uselessly onto the driveway.
Samantha let out one broken sound.
Not a sob.
Not a word.
A child’s sound from somewhere deep inside a woman who had been trying not to collapse.
Edward removed his coat as he moved toward her.
Security surrounded Samantha carefully, blocking Donovan and Leah from stepping closer.
Edward knelt in the snow, wrapped the coat around Samantha’s shoulders, and touched her cheek with one shaking hand.
“Samantha.”
She tried to answer.
Her lips moved.
No sound came out.
Edward turned his head toward the mansion.
Then toward Donovan.
His voice became colder than the snow beneath them.
“And this house just became a crime scene.”
Donovan’s face changed.
May you like
Not enough for regret.
Only enough for fear.
