I didn’t sleep.

Not after seeing Mary Prescott—Elena’s perfect, polished, always-in-control mother—slip out of the house in full makeup at two in the morning and disappear into a waiting car like someone with a secret life.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her heels glitter in the streetlamp and heard the quiet slam of that car door.

It didn’t match anything Elena had ever believed about her mother.

Hell, it didn’t match anything anyone believed about Mary.

By morning, my nerves ...