“You think you can just lock me out of my own life.”

He pulled his coat from the back of the chair and straightened his cuffs.

“This house belongs to the Mercer estate,” he said, looking at me with cold fury.

“My grandfather bought these walls, and everything inside them belongs to my family.”

“We will see what the courts say about that,” I replied.

Grant checked his watch, his chest rising and falling quickly.

“I am leaving,” he said, turning toward the door.

“Do not try to contact me.”

“We won’t need to,” Lena said, her pen clicking as she wrote a note on her pad.

“The process servers will find you soon enough.”

Grant ignored her and walked out of the room, his heavy leather shoes clicking against the oak floorboards of the gallery.

A moment later, the heavy front door of Darrow House slammed shut, rattling the glass panes in the vestibule.

Blaire stood by the window, her shoulders slumped, looking small in the large room.

“Can I really trust you?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“If you tell the truth,” I said.