Chapter 1
The roast chicken sat cold on the table when I finally worked up the nerve to ask.
Sunday dinner had always been a minefield since Dad died, but I couldn’t keep pretending anymore.
“Why did Hannah get everything Dad left?” I said, my voice quieter than I wanted it to be.
The slap landed before I finished the sentence.
Sharp, stinging heat exploded across my left cheek, so hard my head snapped to the side. My fork clattered against my plate.
The room went dead silent.
Dead enough that I heard the ice in Uncle Ray’s whiskey glass clink once, twice, like a tiny, mocking bell.
I pressed my palm to my cheek. It burned. When I pulled my fingers away, they were warm.
Mom sat across from me, her chest heaving, her cloth napkin crumpled so tight in her fist her knuckles bleached white. Her red lipstick was pressed into a thin, furious line.
“Ungrateful little brat,” she spat. “After everything I’ve sacrificed for you.”
Hannah, beside her, hid a smirk behind her wine glass. Her eyes glinted, bright and cruel, like she’d been waiting for this exact moment.
“Dad told me a hundred times he’d split everything evenly,” I said. My throat felt tight, like I was swallowing glass. “The house, the business, the cars. All of it.”
Mom laughed.
It was a cold, sharp sound, no humor in it at all. It skittered over my skin and left goosebumps in its wake.
“That was before he came to his senses,” she said.
She tossed a folded sheet of paper across the table. It slid over the fine china, skidded to a stop right in front of my plate.
My hands shook when I unfolded it.
A will. Dated one week before Dad’s heart attack.
Every single thing he’d built—our Dallas home, the construction company he’d started with his bare hands, the vintage truck he’d spent ten years restoring—all of it left to Hannah.
Not a single line with my name on it.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me this existed?” I said. The paper trembled in my grip. “I was here. I was with him every step of the way.”
Hannah leaned forward, her voice dripping with fake, syrupy sweetness.
“You were always too busy with your little marketing job in Austin to bother with real family, Liv,” she said. “Dad noticed.”
“I came home every single weekend,” I said, and my voice cracked. “I was the one who sat with him through every chemo round. I was the one who held his hand when he was scared. You were too busy posting vacation photos to even pick up the phone half the time.”
Mom waved a hand like those months of late nights and hospital beds meant less than nothing.
“You never appreciated what you had,” she said.
I reached for my phone on the table. I’d call Mr. Henderson, the family lawyer we’d used for twenty years. He’d know what to do. He’d know this was wrong.
Mom slapped the phone out of my hand before I could even touch the screen.
It skittered across the plates, knocked over my full water glass. Ice cold water flooded the table, ran over the edge, soaked straight through my shirt and into my jeans.
“Get out,” Mom said.
She stood so fast her chair scraped loud against the hardwood. She pointed one red-nailed finger straight at the front door, like she was casting a curse.
I stared at her, disbelieving.
“What?”
“You heard me,” she said. “This is my house now. You get nothing. Get out before I call the police and have you arrested for trespassing.”
Hannah snickered. She didn’t even bother trying to hide it.
“Don’t forget your ratty old tote by the door,” she said. “I’d hate for you to lose your precious lip gloss.”
I pushed myself to my feet. My legs felt like jelly, like they might give out any second. The cold water stuck my shirt to my skin, and my cheek throbbed in time with my heartbeat.
I looked around the table.
No one said a word.
Not Aunt Linda, who’d taught me to braid hair when I was seven.
Not Uncle Ray, who’d taught me to ride a bike.
Not even Grandma, who’d always snuck me chocolate chip cookies after school when Mom wasn’t looking.
They all stared at their plates. They all pretended they couldn’t see the bright red handprint burning on my face.
I walked to the entry table, grabbed my bag. My vision blurred at the edges, hot tears spilling over before I could stop them.
I reached for the doorknob.
Three sharp, deliberate knocks rapped from the other side.
Everyone froze.
The door swung open before any of us could move.
A man in a crisp gray suit stepped inside. He held a thick manila envelope sealed with gold wax, the kind that only gets used for things that matter.
He scanned the room. His gaze skipped right past Mom’s furious face, right past Hannah’s smug smile, and landed straight on me.
“Olivia Carter?” he said. His voice was calm, formal, steady as a rock.
Mom stepped in front of him, blocking his path, her chest puffed out like a fighting hen.
“Who are you? We’re in the middle of a private family dinner,” she said. “Leave or I’ll call security.”
He didn’t even glance at her.
He walked straight past her, like she was no more than a piece of furniture in his way. He stopped two feet in front of me, and held out the envelope.
“I’m with Hale and Bennett, your father’s estate law firm,” he said. “This is the only will he signed in the presence of two independent witnesses. Dated three days before he passed.”
My breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t breathe.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mom’s face drain of all color. All the red fury vanished, leaving her pale as a sheet.
The man’s eyes flicked down to my cheek. To the bright red handprint that still burned there, bright as a brand.
His expression hardened.
“Before we go over the terms,” he said, his voice dropping so only I could hear, “I need to ask you one question.”
May you like
He leaned in slightly.
“Did the woman standing behind me just physically assault you in front of all these witnesses?”
