CHAPTER 3

EMMA

The words hung in the air like poison. I stared at Adrian, trying to make sense of what he'd just said.

"You lied." My voice sounded hollow. "About how my mother died."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Adrian's jaw clenched. "Because she asked me to."

"That doesn't make any sense. Why would she"

"Emma." He moved closer, his dark eyes intense. "Your mother didn't die of natural causes. She was murdered. And with her last breath, she made me promise to protect you from the truth until you were old enough to handle it."

The room tilted again. This time I didn't almost faint. This time, fury flooded through me, hot and sharp and clearing.

"Murdered." The word felt strange in my mouth. "My mother was murdered, and you've known for five years, and you said nothing?"

"I gave her my word."

"She's dead! Your word to a dead woman mattered more than my right to know?"

"She was trying to protect you. You were eighteen years old, grieving, vulnerable. The truth would have destroyed you."

I stood up, the blanket falling to the floor. My legs were steadier now, held up by rage. "You had no right to make that choice for me."

"Emma" Liam started.

"Did you know?" I spun on him. "Were you in on this too?"

"I suspected something was wrong. Your mother was healthy one day and dead the next. It didn't make sense. But I didn't know for certain until a year ago, when your father told me."

"My father knew?" My voice rose. "My father knew my mother was murdered, and he did nothing?"

"He was gathering evidence," Liam said quietly. "He couldn't prove it. He spent the last months of his life investigating, trying to build a case strong enough to go to the police."

"And then he died too." The implication hit me like a truck. "Oh God. They killed him too, didn't they? Patricia killed them both."

No one answered. They didn't have to. The truth was written on all their faces.

I sank back onto the couch. My hands were shaking again, but this time with rage instead of weakness. "How? How did she do it?"

Adrian sat in the chair across from me. When he spoke, his voice was clinical. Professional. Like he was discussing a stranger's case instead of my mother's murder.

"Poison. A drug called digitalis, derived from foxglove plants. In small doses over time, it causes symptoms that mimic heart failure. By the time your mother came to the hospital, her heart was barely functioning. I ran every test I could think of, but she was dying too fast. In her final moments, she was lucid. She told me Patricia had been putting something in her tea for months. She knew it was too late to save her, so she made me promise to lie on the death certificate. She said if Patricia knew that she'd talked, you would be next."

"And you believed her?"

"I didn't have a choice. She died ten minutes later. I had no proof, just the words of a dying woman. So I did what she asked. I wrote 'cardiac arrest due to undiagnosed heart condition' and I've regretted it every day since."

The clinical mask slipped. I could see the pain in his eyes now, the guilt. He'd cared about my mother. Maybe even loved her.

"My father figured it out," I said.

"Six months before he died." Liam leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. "He found your mother's journal. She'd been documenting everything, the symptoms, her suspicions about Patricia. She'd hidden the journal in this house, in her old darkroom. Your father came here looking for answers and found it. He hired a private investigator, had Patricia followed, searched for evidence. He was planning to go to the police, but then he had a heart attack."

"Another heart attack. Another convenient death."

"The autopsy showed digitalis in his system too," Adrian said. "But by the time the results came back, he'd been cremated per Patricia's instructions as his widow. No body, no evidence, no case."

I pressed my hands to my face. My mother had been murdered. My father had been murdered. And I'd been living with their killer for five years, completely oblivious.

"Why didn't someone tell me?" My voice cracked. "When my father died, why didn't you”

"Your father left specific instructions," Liam said. "He knew Patricia had her claws in you through David. He was afraid if you knew the truth, you'd confront her and she'd kill you too. The will was designed to keep you safe. If you married David, you'd be under his protection and hopefully out of Patricia's immediate reach. If you didn't marry, the terms would force you to come here, to this house, where we could watch over you."

"Where you could watch over me," I repeated. "All three of you. You're not just random renters, are you? My father sent you here."

Another exchange of glances.

Jake spoke up for the first time since the revelations started. "I'm just a renter. I didn't know your family. I answered an ad online two years ago. Great house, cheap rent, private beach. I had no idea what I was walking into."

"But we did," Liam admitted. "Adrian and I. Your father asked us to live here, to keep the house maintained, to wait for you. He didn't know if you'd ever come, but he hoped if you needed to escape, you'd remember your mother loved this place."

"So this was all planned. My whole life was manipulated by dead people trying to protect me."

"They loved you," Adrian said.

"They lied to me!" I was shouting now. "Everyone lied! My father, you, Liam, even my mother lied by making you lie for her! I had a right to know! I had a right to grieve properly, to understand what happened, to”

My voice broke. The tears came finally, all the grief I'd pushed down for five years pouring out. I'd never properly mourned my mother because I'd thought she'd just gotten sick. Random bad luck. Not murder. Not poison slipped into her tea by a woman I'd lived with, eaten meals with, called family.

Someone sat next to me. Jake. He didn't try to touch me or say comforting words. He just sat there, a solid presence, while I fell apart.

"I'm going to kill her," I said through my tears. "I'm going to find proof and send Patricia to prison for the rest of her life."

"We'll help you," Liam said.

"Why? Why would you help me? You don't even know me."

"I knew your mother. She was one of the best people I've ever met. And your father" His voice roughened. "Your father was my mentor. He taught me everything I know about architecture and about being a good man. I owe them both. If I can help bring their killer to justice, I will."

"Same," Jake said quietly. "I didn't know them, but I know you. Anyone who runs away from a wedding the night before and drives six hours to a house she hasn't seen in five years because her dead mother told her to? That's someone worth protecting."

I looked at Adrian. "And you?"

"I loved your mother." He said it simply, like it was a fact. "Not romantically, she was married and I respected that. But she was my closest friend. I've spent five years living with the guilt of letting her die and lying about it. If I can help you destroy the woman who killed her, it's the least I can do."

A knock at the door made us all jump. We'd been so focused on the conversation that none of us had heard a car pull up.

Liam went to answer it. Through the window, I could see an older man in an expensive suit carrying a briefcase. The lawyer.

He came inside, looking harried and worried. "Miss Walsh, I'm Samuel Richardson. I apologize for not reaching you sooner. Your stepmother has been blocking my calls for months."

"So I heard. You have a letter from my father?"

"Yes, and I need to deliver it immediately. There's been a development. Your stepmother filed an emergency injunction this morning claiming you're mentally unstable and shouldn't have access to your inheritance. She's asking the court to declare you incompetent and give her control of all your assets, including this property."

"She can't do that. I'm twenty-three years old. I'm not incompetent."

"She has evidence. Photos of you leaving your engagement party in distress, testimony from your fiancé that you've been behaving erratically, and a psychological evaluation from a doctor she hired claiming you're having a mental breakdown."

"That's insane. I've never seen a psychologist."

"She forged the documents." Richardson looked grim. "It's fraud, but it will take time to prove that. Meanwhile, the court granted a temporary restraining order. You're not supposed to access any of your family's assets, including Seaside Manor, until a hearing next week."

"This is my house!"

"Actually, it's in a trust that names your father as executor until you complete the one-year residency requirement. Since he's dead, Patricia is arguing as his widow that she should have control. It's flimsy legally, but she has a judge in her pocket. You need to leave this property immediately, or she can have you arrested for violating the restraining order."

"No." The word came from Jake. "She's not leaving."

"If she stays, she'll be arrested."

"Then let them try." Jake stood up, his usual easy-going demeanor gone. "I'm a renter here with a valid lease. I'm allowed to have guests. Emma is my guest."

"That won't hold up in court."

"It'll hold up long enough," Liam said. "We'll fight the injunction. I'll call my lawyer."

"We fight this the right way," Adrian added. "Legally and carefully. Patricia has made her first mistake. She moved too fast, too obviously. That psychological evaluation? That's evidence of fraud. We can use it."

Richardson looked between the three of them and then at me. "Miss Walsh, these men are right, but you need to understand what you're walking into. Your stepmother is dangerous. Your father's letter will explain everything, but the short version is: she's murdered at least twice that we know of. If she feels cornered, she'll escalate."

"I don't care. I'm not running anymore."

He handed me a thick envelope. "Then read this. Your father spent his last months documenting everything he learned. It's all in here, his suspicions, his evidence, his plans. He wanted you to have the truth and the tools to fight back."

I took the envelope. My father's handwriting on the front: "For Emma. To be opened only if she claims Seaside Manor."

"He knew," I whispered. "He knew I'd run. He knew I'd come here."

"He knew you were your mother's daughter," Richardson said. "Strong enough to face the truth and brave enough to fight for justice. Don't prove him wrong."

After he left, the four of us sat in silence. I stared at the envelope, afraid to open it. Afraid of what my father's final words would say.

"Do you want us to leave?" Liam asked quietly. "Give you privacy?"

I shook my head. "Stay. Please. I don't want to be alone for this."

I opened the envelope. Inside were dozens of pages in my father's neat handwriting. I started reading.

"My dearest Emma, if you're reading this, I'm dead and you've finally come home to Seaside Manor. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you these things while I was alive. I'm sorry I failed to protect your mother and that I failed to be the father you deserved after she died. But I never stopped loving you, and everything I did in my final months was to give you the truth and the tools to survive..."

The letter detailed everything. How he'd found Mom's journal. How he'd investigated Patricia and discovered she'd been planning to kill Mom for years, slowly working her way into our family with the goal of stealing everything. How she'd seduced him after Mom died, married him quickly, and isolated Emma from him using subtle manipulation.

He'd discovered that David wasn't just a random boyfriend, Patricia had introduced them deliberately, grooming David to be Emma's controller. The marriage was supposed to keep Emma docile and distracted while Patricia took over the family business completely.

But then he'd had a heart attack. Not natural, he was sure Patricia had poisoned him too when she realized he was investigating. He'd survived long enough to change his will, to set up the trust, to write this letter. But not long enough to go to the police with evidence that would stick.

"I've set aside money in an account only you can access," the letter continued. "Use it to hire investigators, lawyers, whatever you need. In the safe deposit box at First National Bank, you'll find your mother's journal and all the evidence I collected. The key is hidden in the house, in your mother's darkroom, behind the photograph of you as a baby..."

The letter went on for pages. Instructions, evidence, suspicions. At the end, a final paragraph:

"Emma, you're going to be angry when you learn the truth. You're going to feel betrayed by everyone who kept secrets from you. But please understand, we did it out of love. Your mother's last act was to protect you. Mine was the same. Now it's your turn to protect yourself. Trust Liam and Adrian. They're good men who loved your mother and will keep you safe. And remember: you're stronger than Patricia. You're your mother's daughter. You'll win this fight. I love you. Always. Dad."

I finished reading and looked up. All three men were watching me.

"He was right," I said. "I am angry. At all of you, at him, at Mom. But he was also right that I'm going to win."

"We'll help you," Liam promised.

"I know." I stood up, my decision made. "I'm staying. For the full year. I'm going to fulfill the terms of the will, and I'm going to gather every piece of evidence I need to destroy Patricia. And then I'm going to watch her go to prison for murdering my parents."

Jake grinned. "That's the spirit."

"But I need to know something first." I looked at each of them. "My father trusted you. My mother trusted you. Can I trust you? Really trust you? Because I can't do this alone, and I can't afford to have people around me who are going to lie or keep secrets or decide what I should and shouldn't know."

"No more secrets," Liam said immediately.

"Full honesty," Adrian agreed.

"I'm an open book," Jake added. "Literally. My entire tragic backstory is available upon request. I have nothing to hide."

"Okay." I took a deep breath. "Then here's the truth: I'm terrified. I just ran away from my wedding, discovered my parents were murdered, and I'm about to go to war with a woman who's killed twice. I have no idea what I'm doing. But I'm not backing down."

"Good," Adrian said. "Because we weren't going to let you back down anyway."

A phone buzzed. Liam checked his. His expression darkened. "It's started. David just posted on social media. He's calling you unstable and claiming you attacked him last night."

I looked at the post. David had a photo of a scratch on his arm, one I'd definitely given him when he grabbed me and a long caption about how worried he was about my mental health. The comments were already full of sympathy for him and speculation about me.

"Let him talk," I said. "I have bigger problems than an ex-fiancé's social media campaign."

But I was wrong. Because at that moment, three cars pulled into the driveway. David was in the first one. My stepmother Patricia was in the second. And the third was a police cruiser.

Patricia had brought the cops to arrest me for violating the restraining order I didn't even know existed until an hour ago. And David was here to watch it happen.

Jake looked out the window. "Well, shit."

"What do we do?" I asked.

Liam's jaw set. "We don't let them take you."

"If I resist arrest"

"You're not resisting. You're a guest in Jake's rental. They can't arrest you for being in a house you're legally allowed to be in."

"She has a restraining order," Adrian said grimly. "If she's on the property..."

"Then I'll say she's staying in the cottage with me," Liam interrupted. "The cottage isn't technically part of the main house. Different address."

"That's a technicality that won't hold up"

"It'll hold up long enough for us to get our own lawyer here."

Outside, car doors slammed. I could see Patricia's face through the window, triumphant and cruel. She thought she'd won.

"Emma." Adrian's voice was low and urgent. "Listen carefully. When they come to the door, you don't speak. Not one word. You let us handle this. Understood?"

I nodded.

"Good. Because if you say the wrong thing, they'll arrest you, and once you're in custody, Patricia will have time to forge more evidence, bribe more officials, and bury you. We can't let that happen."

The knock came. Loud. Authoritative. "Police! Open up!"