The morning sun streamed across the Prescott estate, gilding the polished marble floors and catching the sparkle of the chandelier above the dining table. Ethan Prescott sat at the head of the long table, fingers resting lightly on the armrest of his chair. The scent of freshly brewed coffee curled through the room, but his cup sat untouched, cooling steadily.

Across from him, Desiree was picking at her toast. She had taken exactly three tiny bites, not enough to satisfy anyone, and now she ...