Her hands were shaking so hard the water spilled onto the counter.

I stepped forward and took the kettle from her hand.

Our fingers brushed.

She didn’t pull away immediately.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She looked up at me, her eyes wet with tears.

“Celeste called me yesterday,” she said.

I froze.

“What did she say?” I asked.

“She told me to keep my kids away from you,” Maren said.

“She said a scandal would ruin the family trust.”

“Celeste only cares about the name,” I said. “I am leaving her.”

Maren let out a bitter laugh.

“You say that now,” she said. “But when the press starts digging, you’ll go back to your lawyers.”

“I won’t,” I said. “I am done with the Whitmore family.”

The front gate bell rang.

We both jumped.

I walked to the kitchen window and peered out.

A silver sedan was parked at the curb.

A man with a large camera was stepping out of the driver’s seat.

“They’re here,” I said.

Maren came to the window, her face draining of color.

“How did they find us so fast?” she asked.