Chapter 3

When I pushed open the heavy doors of the main house, the smell of cigars and champagne still hung in the air.

Aiden was sprawled on the sofa, flipping a lighter open and shut in his hand.

“So,” he drawled, “your little funeral-home field trip is over?”

He lifted his gaze, eyes landing on the black box in my arms.

“Ella, just to get me back, you’re really willing to put on a show like this?”

My arms tightened around the urn, my fingers digging into its hard edges.

I looked away and turned toward the stairs.

“Stop.” His voice dropped.

I didn’t.

Footsteps closed in behind me. My wrist was suddenly seized, his grip so tight it hurt.

“I’m asking you a question.”

There was that familiar pressure in his voice, the kind that never allowed disobedience.

He yanked me back. I stumbled, and the urn slipped from my arms. “Bang.” It hit the floor.

The latch snapped open. Gray-white ashes spilled across the marble.

My pupils shrank. My throat locked. “Aiden Rossi! Let go of me!”

He glanced down at the mess and frowned in disgust.

“What kind of trash did you bring back into the house? Bad luck.”

Something cold and vicious surged up from my bones, making my whole body shake.

I bent down, reaching for the box.

Before I could touch it, Aiden grabbed my waist and threw me into the sofa.

“Who are you pretending for?” he sneered, leaning over me. His breath reeked of smoke, alcohol, and Sophia. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

He lowered his head on purpose and sank his teeth into my bare shoulder.

Pain exploded. My stomach lurched.

“Aiden Rossi, get the fuck off me!” I kicked and thrashed, fighting with everything I had.

The more I struggled, the more excited he seemed.

He pinned one of my wrists with one hand while the other slid toward the zipper at the side of my dress.

“Rip.”

Fabric tore.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the brass ashtray on the coffee table.

I turned my head to dodge his mouth, drove my knee up into his abdomen with all my strength, and grabbed the ashtray.

“Bang!”

Aiden staggered back. Blood poured from his temple, running down over his brow.

I stood up, gripping the blood-smeared ashtray, aiming it at him like a gun. “Get out.”

The living room went dead silent.

Aiden wiped his face, stared at the blood on his palm, then looked back at me.

His eyes were vicious like he wanted to tear me apart.

“Fine.” He slowly straightened. “Ella Rossi, remember this. This is the road you chose.”

I didn’t answer.

He let out a cold laugh, stepped around the pile of ashes on the floor, and walked toward the door without looking back.

The door slammed shut.

I dropped the ashtray and sank to my knees, carefully gathering the scattered ashes back into the urn, handful by handful.

That was when the tears finally broke free.

“Chloe, don’t be scared…” I sobbed, my voice shattered beyond repair. “Mommy’s here… Mommy’s right here…”