Chapter 3

Evan had a chauffeur waiting at the curb.

Before Noah got into the SUV, he brushed off his pants, then sprayed disinfectant over his clothes as if he were carrying something filthy.

I stared at him.

Evan crooked one finger at my son. "Fine. You look clean enough today. Get in."

He spoke to Noah the way someone might address a stray dog.

Rachel gave us a sideways look.

"Evan is very particular about germs. Public schools like Noah's aren't exactly clean. They let in anyone - janitors' kids, construction workers' kids. We can't be too careful."

She smiled.

"Usually we make him take off his shirt before he gets in. Since his mother is here today, we'll let it go."

Take off his shirt?

It was nearly summer. Noah wore nothing but a short-sleeved school polo. She meant that my son had been forced to ride half naked.

The insult rose to my lips.

Daniel had grown up in a rural town, and Rachel had grown up beside him. What gave her the right to look down on working families?

When we reached the Eastwood villa, I followed Rachel inside.

No wonder Diane Whitaker thought I had sold the property for a fortune. Rachel and Evan lived like royalty.

The house and gardens had been renovated from end to end. Several limited-edition sports cars gleamed in the garage.

Noah had always loved cars. Before he was old enough to drive, I had promised to buy him the one he wanted for his eighteenth birthday. Daniel's so-called character-building plan had erased that promise along with everything else.

Rachel noticed me looking at the garage and laughed softly.

"His father bought all of them. Evan loves cars, and he got his license the moment he turned eighteen. Noah seems interested too. Maybe..."

"No," Evan cut in. "My dad bought those for me. Why should some broke tutor touch my cars? He isn't worthy of sitting in one."

Rachel spread her hands in theatrical helplessness, but triumph shone in her eyes.

Humiliation burned through me.

Noah reached for my clenched fist and gently eased my fingers open.

"Mom, he isn't wrong," he whispered without raising his eyes. "I'm here to make money. I can put up with it."

Tears blurred my vision.

Everything around us should have belonged to my son.

I followed them inside and forced down my rage while Noah began the lesson in Evan's bedroom.

The villa was more lavish than I remembered. Every trace of the life Noah and I had once lived there had been wiped away.

Rachel ordered a housekeeper to bring fruit, then had a late dinner arranged in the dining room. Her pale, manicured hands kept moving in front of me.

I lowered my eyes to my own rough, misshapen fingers.

How could I have lived in comfort while Noah suffered?

Daniel had limited the two of us to three hundred and fifty dollars a month. He said I needed to learn how an ordinary mother lived: cooking, cleaning, and doing the laundry myself.

If our son was going to endure hardship, I would endure it beside him.

Even on that tiny allowance, I made sure Noah had fish or meat every week. When I could afford only cheaper ingredients, I taught myself to cook them well. The heiress who had once never lifted a finger in the kitchen could now put a full meal on the table in half an hour.

Rachel, meanwhile, wore designer labels from head to toe. A diamond the size of a marble flashed on her finger.

I wanted to ask her one question: What exactly are you to my husband?

But I remembered Grace's warning. Don't let them see what you already know.

Then a scream tore through the second floor.

"Ah!"

My blood went cold.

It was Noah.