Chapter 3

My limbs moved before my brain caught up. A primal instinct to survive.

I threw open the French doors and scrambled onto the small balcony.

The cool night air hit my face. Below, the dark rectangle of the pool, the stretched canvas of the awning beside it.

It was a twenty-foot drop. Maybe more.

Behind me, a roar of triumph. Mother's soft moan.

I vaulted over the railing.

For a split second, I was airborne. Then I hit the awning.

It wasn't a soft landing. The canvas ripped with a tearing sound, slowing me only slightly before I crashed through, landing hard on the concrete pool deck.

Pain exploded in my left ankle and shoulder. White hot. Searing.

I gasped, vision swimming.

No time.

I pushed myself up, ignoring the screaming agony in my leg.

Adrenaline surged.

I limped, then stumbled into a run, across the manicured lawn, towards the dense woods bordering our property.

Brooke's family ranch was a mile through those trees. A mile of darkness and rough terrain.

Every step sent jolts of fire up my leg. My shoulder throbbed with a dull, deep ache.

Branches whipped at my face. Roots tried to trip me.

I could hear shouting from the house. They'd seen me.

Faster.

I burst out of the woods onto the familiar dirt road leading to the Miller ranch.

The main house was lit up. Brooke's truck was parked out front.

I staggered onto the wide porch, hammering on the door.

"Brooke! Brooke, help me!"

The door opened. Brooke stood there, silhouetted against the warm light. My fiancée.

Her eyes widened, taking in my torn clothes, my bleeding face, the way I cradled my arm.

"Ethan? What in God's name...?"

"Intruders... at our place... Mom... she's hurt..." I gasped, leaning against the doorframe, fighting for breath.

Her expression shifted. Not to concern. To suspicion.

"Intruders?" she said, her voice cool. "Really, Ethan?"

A cold knot formed in my stomach.

"Yes! They attacked us! Please, Brooke, you have to call your father, get your men..."

She laughed. A short, ugly sound. "Oh, Ethan. Savannah called me. Gave me a heads-up."

"Heads-up? What are you talking about?"

"She said you'd be pulling some kind of stunt tonight. Jealous of Cody. Trying to ruin her trip."

My mind reeled. Savannah had poisoned her too.

"Brooke, no! It's real! Mom is bleeding, maybe dying! We have to go back!"

John, the Millers' old ranch foreman, appeared behind her. He'd known me since I was a boy.

"Miss Brooke," he said, his weathered face creased with concern. "The boy looks like he's seen hell."

Brooke's eyes narrowed. "He's a good actor, John. Always has been."

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I ignored it.

"Please, Brooke," I begged, desperation clawing at me. "I'm not lying. I swear on my life."

Her phone, sitting on the hall table, lit up. She glanced at it. Savannah's name.

She picked it up. "Savannah? Yeah, he's here. Making quite a scene... What? Maria said what?"

Maria, our housekeeper. But Maria was in Mexico, visiting her sister. She hadn't been home in a week.

Brooke listened, her face hardening. "Okay. Got it." She hung up.

Her eyes, when they met mine, were like chips of ice.

"Savannah just spoke to Maria. At your house. Said everything's perfectly fine. Just you having another one of your tantrums."

"That's impossible! Maria's not even..."

SMACK.

The riding crop she'd been holding connected with my injured leg.

Agony, sharp and blinding, shot through me. I collapsed to my knees.

"You lying bastard," Brooke hissed, her face contorted with fury. "Get off our property."