The sun dipped low behind the mansion’s iron gates, casting golden streaks across the driveway and the gleaming black G-Wagon parked at an angle like it owned the space, just like Beth.

She’d returned from her latest designer shopping spree no more than ten minutes ago, flinging her heels off at the entrance and barking at the maids without looking up from her French manicure.

“Get my bags from the car,” she said, brushing past them like air. “Now.”

Carolina exchanged a glance ...