Chapter 1

The first time I saw what they had done to my house, it was on Instagram.

I was scrolling numbly through my phone, a habit I' d picked up in the six months since Mark died, when a picture made me stop.

It was Chloe' s account.

I almost swiped past it, but the background was too familiar.

It was our living room.

My living room.

But it was all wrong.

The clean, minimalist lines I had designed, the serene white walls that caught the morning light just so, were gone.

In their place were gaudy, gold-flocked wallpapers and a hideous leopard-print sofa.

A cheap, crystal chandelier hung where Mark and I had installed a simple, elegant fixture.

The room was crowded with strangers, laughing, holding red plastic cups, their faces flushed with alcohol.

The house, my house, looked like it was bleeding.

It was a testament to our love, every line and angle a piece of a conversation between me and Mark.

Now it was screaming.

Chloe was in the center of the photo, a champagne flute in her hand, her arm slung around David' s neck.

David.

Mark' s business partner.

My husband' s friend.

He was smiling, a smug, possessive look on his face as he kissed Chloe' s cheek.

The caption read: "New beginnings in our new home! Out with the old, in with the new! #blessed #bosslife."

My blood ran cold.

Our new home?

I clicked on Chloe's profile.

More pictures.

The kitchen, my beautiful, functional kitchen, was now painted a garish shade of pink.

They' d thrown a cheap-looking neon sign on the wall above the stove that read "Good Vibes Only."

In the garden, where I had planted Mark' s favorite hydrangeas, they had installed a hot tub, and the lawn was scorched and littered with beer bottles.

They had desecrated it.

They had taken my sanctuary, our legacy, and turned it into a frat house.

The rage came so fast it left me breathless.

It was a physical thing, a hot spike in my chest.

My hands were shaking, but my mind was suddenly, terrifyingly clear.

I found David' s number and dialed.

I didn't wait for him to speak.

"What have you done?"

There was a pause, then David' s slick, unbothered voice.

"Ava. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"My house, David. What the hell are you and Chloe doing in my house?"

I could hear Chloe giggle in the background, a shrill, infuriating sound.

"It' s our house now, sweetie," she called out, her voice dripping with mock sympathy.

David chuckled.

It was the sound of a man who thought he had won.

"Look, Ava, it' s just business. Mark made some arrangements before he passed. The house is mine. The company is mine. It' s all perfectly legal."

"Legal?"

I almost choked on the word.

"You' re telling me Mark would sign his home, our home, over to you? The home I designed? The home we built together?"

"People do strange things when they know the end is near," he said, his tone dismissive.

"He wanted to make sure the business was secure. And Chloe... well, Chloe is a great asset. We' re taking the company in a new, more profitable direction."

The casual cruelty of it, the way he spoke of Mark as a mere business transaction, made the floor drop out from under me.

He wasn' t just a thief.

He was a ghoul, picking over the bones of my life.

"You' re a liar," I said, my voice shaking with a fury I hadn' t felt since the day I lost Mark.

"Believe what you want," David said, his arrogance coating every word.

"But the paperwork is solid. You' re a smart woman, Ava. You should know when you' ve been beaten. Move on. It' s just a house."

He hung up.

I stared at the phone, the silence screaming in my ears.

Just a house.

It wasn' t just a house.

It was my life.

It was the last piece of Mark I had left.

And they had taken it.

Desecrated it.

And they were laughing.

A switch flipped inside me.

The grief that had fogged my world for six months burned away, replaced by a cold, hard resolve.

They thought I was beaten.

They thought I was a grieving widow they could just push aside.

They had no idea who they were dealing with.

I am a brilliant architect.

I am meticulous.

I see the flaws in every design, the stress points in every structure.

And I had designed that house.

I pulled up the contact for my lawyer, a man who had worked with my father for thirty years.

"Robert," I said when he answered.

"It' s Ava. I need you to do something for me. I want to freeze every joint asset and shared account between Mark' s company and David Sterling. Immediately. And I want you to file an injunction to bar him from selling or altering the property on Oceanview Drive. He' s claiming ownership with a forged document. I need the best forensic document examiner you can find."

There was a pause.

"Ava, are you sure?"

"I have never been more sure of anything in my life," I said, my voice devoid of any emotion except ice.

"They' ve started a war, Robert. I' m going to finish it."