WHIT

I enter the house and immediately begin searching for Summer. I check her usual spots downstairs, like the library where I’ve found her curled up with a book from my family’s collection, and our favorite guest room upstairs, the one with the massive bed where we’ve shared countless intimate moments.

But she’s not in either of those places.

I wander through the guest wing, peeking into every open doorway, hoping to find her waiting for me with a smile, whispering “Gotcha” before we share a kiss.

She’s nowhere to be found.

Her bedroom door is closed, and I already sense she’s gone before I even open it. A hollow feeling settles in my chest as I wrap my fingers around the door handle, counting to three before stepping inside.

Her things are gone. There’s a pile of clothes on the messy, unmade bed—the same bed where we were together last night. A folded piece of paper on the bedside table has my name written in block letters.

WHIT

Frowning, I unfold the letter to find it typed. It feels strange.

I HAVE TO GO. I realized this morning I don’t want to be with you after all. I know your life is completely mapped out, and there’s no room for me in it. While I’ve enjoyed our time together, I know it won’t last. So I’m leaving now, before we hurt each other too much. You belong with Leticia anyway. She is your destiny.

I’m sorry I typed the letter, but my hands were shaking too much to write it. I found a printer in your father’s study and wrote this letter in my notes app.

Take care, Savage

I crumple the note into a ball and clutch it in my fist as I leave the room. I don’t stop until I reach my mother’s salon, where I can smell her presence before I even enter. I knew she wouldn’t be in the kitchen preparing the family meal—cooking is not her forte.

I don’t bother knocking; I just stride in and toss the balled-up paper directly at her head. She glances up just in time for the paper to hit her squarely on the nose before landing on her desk.

“Whit.” She sounds furious.

Good. We’re on the same page emotionally. “What did you do to her?” I demand.

Mother doesn’t even look at the crumpled paper. “Which her are you referring to?”

“You know who,” I reply through gritted teeth.

Mother sighs, pushing the paper ball aside so she can rest her arms on her desk. “Darling, it was bound to happen.”

“What was bound to happen?”

“That your—whatever you want to call her—would abandon you for someone else.”

“What the hell are you talking about? What did you do to her? What did you tell her?” My voice is barely controlled rage.

“She came to me.” Mother sits up straighter, her composure unshaken. She remains elegant, not a hair out of place. Despite her husband’s infidelities over the past decade, she never once lost her cool.

Her calm demeanor infuriates me. “Who came to you? Summer?”

“Yes. I didn’t want to tell you this, but she demanded money from me or said she’d go to the police and accuse you of rape.” She delivers this with unnerving calm.

I see red. Would Summer really do that? “Rape her? Are you fucking kidding me? Let her go to the police then! She was always willing.”

“Oh, I know. Everyone has informed me of your dalliances around the house.”

I start pacing the salon, running my hands through my hair, my mind reeling from everything my mother just said. I find it hard to believe. Just this morning, Summer and I woke up together in her bed, her head resting on my chest. We talked about what we were grateful for, though I wanted to tell her how thankful I am that she’s in my life.

I’m an idiot.

“She really threatened to report me to the police?” I pause my pacing and stare at my mother, who remains emotionless.

“Yes. She did. She asked for money, and I gave it to her. Then she left.” Her gaze barely flickers to the crumpled paper ball. “I assume that’s from her.”

Realization hits. I don’t believe Summer would do that. Not after everything we’ve shared. “I thought the letter was from you.”

Mother remains unflinching. “Why would you think the letter is from me?”

I approach her desk and spread out the letter. “’She is your destiny.’” I look at her. “You’re the only one who says that sort of thing.”

“Who exactly is she referring to? Leticia?” Mother asks calmly.

“Oh, what a lucky guess. Yes, Leticia. And she signed the note Savage. She would never do that.”

“Isn’t that her last name? Isn’t that what you call her?”

Not anymore. That’s my term for her. She’s Summer. My Summer. “You wrote this.”

“I did not.”

“She didn’t try to bribe you.”

“She did. I gave her one hundred thousand dollars to leave you. That’s it. That’s all you’re worth to her,” Mother says, maintaining her even tone.

“I don’t believe you.” I crumple the note and toss it at her again, but she dodges it, and it lands on the floor. “I’m going to find her.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I am. Forget your little Thanksgiving dinner. I’m out.” I turn to leave, but she blocks my path, closing the doors behind her. “Move.”

“No. You’re going nowhere. Dinner is in a couple of hours. Leticia and her family have just arrived.”

“You invited Leticia and her family to Thanksgiving dinner?” I ask incredulously.

“Of course I did. It was your father’s idea. He thought it would show that you’re still committed to each other,” she explains.

“I’m not marrying her.”

“You are.”

“I’m not!” The words burst from my throat, making it raw. I finally see a reaction from my mother as she presses against the doors, cowering. “I won’t marry her. I made that clear to my father. He said that was fine. It’s my life. My choice.”

“He was humoring you. He knew what was going on between me and your little fling, and he was trying to distract you so we could get her out of the house without your interference. Trust me, you’re better off without her.”

“How would he know if Summer came to you and threatened you?” I ask, my voice growing louder. Her story doesn’t make sense, and she knows it. Her expression betrays her guilt.

“You bribed her,” I say, putting the pieces together. “You paid her off to leave.”

“And she took it.” Mother lifts her chin, haughty as ever. “Didn’t even hesitate. What does that say about her character?”

“Move out of the way,” I tell her, my voice low and dangerous. She glares at me but doesn’t budge.

“Mother.” I crowd her, placing my hands on her trembling, bony shoulders. “Move.” I push her aside and throw open the doors to find Sylvie standing there, spying on us as usual.

“You have anything to do with this too?” I ask her as I walk past.

Sylvie follows me, surprisingly quick despite her supposed weakness. “Don’t make a fool of yourself over that girl, Whit. She’s not worth it.”

“I see Mother’s already gotten to you,” I sneer as I head down the stairs.

Sylvie keeps pace with me. “She used me to get to you. Can’t you see? She just wanted our money.”

“Our money.” I stop on the staircase, Sylvie on the step above me. “Yes, she was so eager for my money that she never asked for a single dime from me.”

“She wasn’t looking for it from you. Why do you think she came here with me? And what she must have realized when she did?” Sylvie gestures around the opulent foyer. “Look at it through her eyes. It’s wealth beyond her wildest dreams. She wanted a piece of that. A piece of us.”

“You sabotaged her, didn’t you?” I ask, my voice low and threatening. I know my sister well enough to recognize her manipulations. “You were jealous she chose me over you, and now you’re lashing out. Not caring if she has real feelings. She’s a human being, Sylvie. You were her friend.”

“What, like you’re her boyfriend?” Sylvie raises an eyebrow.

I take a deep breath, feeling my anger rise. “What Summer and I have is beyond definition.”

“Uh-huh. How convenient.” She points a finger at me. “She used me. And she used you too. You just don’t want to admit it.”

I watch her skip down the stairs, calling Spencer’s name. I hear his response, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses, and she rushes off to join the newly arrived guests.

Mother comes down the stairs as well, her gaze fixed on me. “Touch me and I’ll tell your father.”

I roll my eyes but stay silent.

“And join us. Dinner will be served soon. You need to visit with Leticia and her family before we eat.” She says it like a command, as if I should readily agree.

When she reaches the bottom step, she turns to look up at me, her gaze sweeping over me. “Do go change. You look like you’re going for a jog.”

“Fuck off,” I mutter under my breath, but she doesn’t hear. I head up the stairs, but not to my room.

I return to the salon.

The doors are locked, and I shake the handles in frustration. A maid exits Summer’s room and heads toward me. When she sees me, she stops, her dark eyes wide.

“Do you have the keys?” I ask with a friendly smile. “I need to get in there.”

She approaches cautiously, as if afraid of me. “That’s your mother’s study.”

“I left my wallet in there,” I say, leaning against the door jamb and trying to appear casual. “She won’t mind. I’d ask her to open it, but the guests have started to arrive.”

The maid hesitates, then pulls out a ring of keys. She’s been at the estate for a few years—quiet and reliable, according to my mother’s standards. “Here you go,” she says as she unlocks the door.

“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “I appreciate your help.”

I step inside, quietly shutting the doors behind me. I scan the room and head straight for the desk. Remembering how I had Summer spread out on it yesterday, the sunlight bathing her skin in a golden glow. My mouth on her, watching her writhe beneath me.

She was beautiful. And now she’s gone.

The longer I look at the desk, the more I sense there’s something hidden.

I sit at her desk and start rummaging through the drawers. Initially, I find nothing of interest, but when I open the bottom drawer on the left side, I see a thick, black book among the hanging files—a journal.

Summer’s journal.

My heart races as I pull it out and open it to the familiar handwriting. Pages I’ve already read. I had brought it with me for safekeeping, thinking it was smarter to travel with it.

Of course, my mother found it. I’m sure she read every word and used it against Summer.

My mother is manipulative. My sister is learning from her.

I keep the journal with me, carefully putting everything back on the desk. I lock the doors behind me and head to my room to hide the journal before changing clothes. I go to the bathroom, comb my hair, wash my face, and splash on some cologne, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace.

I’ll endure this so-called family dinner. Once it’s over, I’m leaving.

I need to find Summer.

If she even wants to be found.