Chapter 3

When Judith Calder arrived, Dylan sat at Simone's side, peeling grapes for her. Judith took one look at the scene and smiled with approval.

"Dylan had sense. He knew how to take care of people. Not like a certain someone, looking like death from the moment he walked through the door. What a way to start a marriage."

I stood at the foot of the stairs with Dad's death certificate clenched in my fist. When she said the word "death," my grip tightened without thinking.

Simone glanced at me, her eyes cold and indifferent. "Mom was here. Were you going to pour her some tea or just stand there? Did the Holts forget to teach you any manners?"

I walked over in silence and picked up the teapot. My wrist still shook from the 6-mile walk the night before, and every muscle in my body ached. The moment I began to pour, Dylan let out a sharp yelp and jerked back against Simone.

"Ow! That was scalding!"

The water had not touched him. Simone reacted instantly, shoved me away, and the scalding tea splashed across the back of my hand instead. The skin swelled red on contact.

"Spencer, did you do that on purpose?" She shielded Dylan, her eyes full of disappointment.

"Dylan wore one of your robes. One. You could not even handle that? You had to pull this kind of stunt in front of Mom?"

Judith let out a contemptuous snort and slammed her teacup down on the table. "So much for high-society breeding. All I saw was a petty, jealous man. Simone, why was someone like this even part of our family? Divorce him and make things official with Dylan."

Before, the word "divorce" would have sent me to my knees, begging for forgiveness. I had loved Simone past the point of having any self-respect left. Now, hearing it, all I felt was the faintest flicker of relief.

"All right."

I looked up at them, swallowing the pain throbbing across my hand. My voice came out flat, emptied of everything.

"Then let us get a divorce."

The air in the living room went still. The shock in Simone's eyes lasted only a second before it hardened into something more cutting. She let go of Dylan, stood, and closed the distance between us step by step until her finger jabbed hard into my chest.

"Divorce? With what, Spencer? Do not forget, your father's company still owed the bank 300,000,000 dollars. Without me, how were you going to fill that hole? Sell a kidney?

"Or would you rather watch your proud old man go to prison at his age?"

Before yesterday, those threats would have been enough to break me. Now all I felt was sorrow. She had found my weakest spot, the way she always did. She just did not know it was gone.

"Think whatever you wanted."

I pushed her hand away. There was no point in arguing. "I was tired. I was going upstairs."

Behind me, a teacup shattered against the wall. Simone's voice echoed through the villa, raw with fury.

"Spencer, get back here! Who said you could talk to me like that?"

Dylan's voice wove in, all sympathy on the surface and satisfaction underneath. "Simone, do not be upset. Spencer was probably just in a bad mood. It was all my fault, really.

"I should not have worn his robe. I will take it off right now and give it back. Even if I had to walk out of here with nothing on, I did not mind."

"Keep it on!" Simone ground out the words through clenched teeth. "I will show him exactly who was in charge in this house."

I closed the bedroom door and shut out the noise from downstairs. The blisters on the back of my hand had already risen, translucent and swollen. I found a needle, held it over a flame, and lanced them one by one without flinching.

The fluid drained out. It hurt, but it was nothing next to the thought of Dad lying in that cold drawer at the funeral home.

I tore through every drawer and shelf until I found the wedding ring. It was the one Simone had given me, with rare blue diamonds worth a fortune. She had told me, "Spencer, you were the only one for me. Everything good in this world should be yours."

Now, this ring was the only thing of value I had left.

The funeral would cost money. The burial plot would cost money. A proper urn would cost money.

Simone had frozen my supplementary card, and the Holt family accounts had been seized. I did not want Dad's send-off to be something pitiful. At the very least, he deserved to leave with his dignity intact.

I slipped the ring into my pocket, changed into black, and left the villa quietly through the back door.