Chapter 1
The first bucket of ice water stole my breath.
The second thing I heard was my mother-in-law screaming, "Stop faking, you brat! Get up and prepare the meal!"
I was kneeling on the kitchen floor of the Whitmore family's lakeside house, shaking so violently my teeth clicked together.
I'd arrived at the reunion with a fever of 103 degrees. I'd told my husband, Daniel, before we left home.
"I shouldn't go."
He'd barely looked up from his phone. "Mom already thinks you're dramatic. Don't make this worse."
So I went.
For seven years, I'd swallowed Evelyn Whitmore's insults because Daniel always had the same excuse.
"That's just Mom."
At the reunion, thirty relatives filled the enormous house. Music played. Wine flowed. Everyone expected me to cook because Evelyn had announced that "outsiders should earn their place."
By noon, I could barely stand. I gripped the counter.
"Daniel," I whispered. "Please take me to urgent care."
His cousin laughed. Evelyn turned from the dining table.
"Again?"
"I'm sick."
"You're lazy."
Then she picked up the stainless-steel ice bucket.
I realized what she intended one second too late.
Freezing water crashed over my head. The room exploded with laughter. My feverish body went into shock.
Daniel stared at me. And smiled awkwardly.
"Mom, come on."
That was his defense. Three words.
I looked at my husband and understood something with terrifying clarity.
He would never protect me.
Evelyn threw a dish towel at my feet. "Dry yourself. The roast isn't going to cook itself."
I tried standing. My legs folded. Nobody moved.
So I crawled.
Across the kitchen. Past Daniel's polished shoes. Past relatives pretending not to see. Toward the front door.
"Look at her performance," Evelyn scoffed.
I pushed the door open and crawled onto the porch. Cold autumn air struck my wet clothes. My vision blurred.
"Help," I whispered. Then louder. "Please… somebody help me."
Headlights suddenly swept across the driveway. Three black SUVs stopped outside the house. Doors opened.
The first man running toward me was Dr. Marcus Hale, chief medical officer of Hale-Morrison Health. Behind him came two paramedics with a stretcher.
And behind them stepped a silver-haired man Evelyn recognized instantly.
Her face drained of color.
Because Thomas Morrison wasn't merely one of the richest healthcare investors in the state.
He was my father.
And my husband's family had spent the last six months begging his company to save theirs.
May you like
"Dad," I whispered. Then the world went black.
The last thing I remember was his voice, cold as ice, saying, "Get my daughter to the hospital. And call the police. I want that woman arrested."
