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The coffee had gone completely cold, but I didn't pour it out. I wrapped both hands around the heavy ceramic mug, feeling the chill sink straight into my palms. Thirty-two years. Thirty-two years of sleeping beside a man who had mastered the art of the long, slow lie. / Chapter 4 / 20

Chapter 4 - The Trojan DaughterAt 7:15 PM, the heavy mahogany back door rattled.

I sat at the kitchen island, nursing a fresh cup of tea, watching the entryway with a face carved from granite. The door swung open, and Chloe stepped inside, her designer handbag slung over one shoulder, her blonde hair falling in careless, expensive waves.

"Mom?" she called out, stepping into the kitchen. Her eyes swept the room, landing on me with a flicker of poorly concealed tension. "You're sitting in the dark?"

"I like the quiet, Chloe," I said softly, flipping the wall switch.

The overhead pendant lights flooded the kitchen with a harsh, yellow glare. Chloe blinked, stepping backward slightly. She looked different tonight—sharper, more defensive. Her clothes reeked of expensive perfume, the exact same scent that lingered in Richard’s car whenever he drove home from the downtown marketing office.

"Dad said you'd be moping about the trip," Chloe said, tossing her bag onto the island counter. "Honestly, Mom, you shouldn't take it so hard. Business is business. Where are Grandma's books? I have to run; Vanessa invited me over for a late-night design consultation for her new condo."

The name dropped like a lead weight on the kitchen tiles. Vanessa.

I stood up slowly, smoothing down the front of my linen blouse.

"Vanessa Cole?" I asked, my voice dangerously level. "The woman your father is currently sharing a king-size bed with at the Coastal Palms Resort in San Francisco?"

Chloe’s face drained of color so fast it looked like someone had thrown white paint across her skin. Her jaw went slack.

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The heavy mahogany door of the dressing room seemed to close in on us, trapping the suffocating tension inside. Richard’s hands were shaking as he clutched the small, tarnished silver pendant. His knuckles were bone-white.

The heavy mahogany door of the dressing room seemed to close in on us, t...

The heavy silver fork slipped from my fingers, clattering sharply against the gold-rimmed porcelain of my dinner plate.

The heavy silver fork slipped from my fingers, clattering sharply agains...

The heavy mahogany door of the Fairmont Copley suite clicked shut with a muffled, expensive thud.

The heavy mahogany door of the Fairmont Copley suite clicked shut with a...

"What... what are you talking about?" she stammered, taking another step back toward the exit. "Dad is in Jacksonville."

"He was never in Jacksonville," I said, walking around the island toward her. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the forged property deed, sliding it across the marble countertop until it stopped right under her trembling fingertips. "And you were never picking up cookbooks. You were here to help your father steal my house, weren't you, Chloe? You helped him practice my signature."

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