For three long years everyone he trusted whispered his wife had betrayed him, run off with another man and stolen half his fortune, and he’d hated her with every beat of his broken heart.

Ethan arrived in Atlanta two days later.

Marcus had arranged for a car—a nondescript sedan with tinted windows. They drove to the Buckhead neighborhood, to the house Ethan had built for Claire.

It looked the same from the outside. Manicured lawn. Tall columns. The oak tree in the front yard that Ethan had planted himself.

But it didn't feel like home.

It felt like a tomb.

“Are you sure about this?” Marcus asked from the driver's seat.

“No,” Ethan said. “But I have to do it.”

“When?”

“Tonight. She's hosting a fundraiser. Vanessa will be there. Hale too. All the important people. The perfect time to remind them that the dead don't always stay dead.”

Marcus looked at him.

“You know this could go very badly.”

“I know.”

“Margaret is dangerous, Ethan. If she thinks you're going to ruin everything, she won't hesitate to finish what she started.”

“Let her try.”

They drove away from the house. Ethan stared out the window, his mind turning.

The fundraiser was a black-tie affair for the children's hospital. Margaret had always loved charity events—they made her look good. They gave her an opportunity to be seen as a grieving mother who was channeling her sorrow into good works.

Ethan had always hated them.

Claire had hated them too.

But Margaret had insisted they attend. Had insisted Claire wear the right dresses, say the right things, be the perfect society wife.

Claire had never been comfortable in that world. She had been a baker. A hard worker. Someone who believed in getting her hands dirty.

Margaret had always held that against her.

That evening, Ethan stood across the street from the house. He wore a black suit, a white shirt, no tie. His hair was longer than he usually wore it. The scars on his face were visible, but they gave him a harder look. A look that said he had been through hell and survived.

Guests arrived in expensive cars. Men in tuxedos. Women in designer gowns. They laughed and talked as they walked up the driveway, completely unaware that the man they all believed was dead was watching them.

Ethan saw Margaret first.

She stood on the front porch, greeting guests. She wore a black dress—widow's weeds, though Ethan suspected it was more designer than mourning. Her hair was perfectly styled. Her makeup was flawless.

She looked happy.

Vanessa stood beside her, wearing a red dress that was too tight, too revealing for a charity event. She was flirting with a young man Ethan didn't recognize, her laugh carrying across the lawn.

And then Ethan saw him.

Richard Hale.

Tall. Silver-haired. Handsome in a predatory way. He wore a custom tuxedo. He moved through the crowd like he owned it, shaking hands, kissing cheeks.

He stopped beside Margaret. They spoke quietly. Margaret smiled—a real smile, the kind Ethan had rarely seen directed at him. Hale touched her arm. Familiar. Intimate.

Ethan's blood ran cold.

They were more than business partners.

Much more.

That changed things.

That explained everything.

Margaret hadn't just been after money and control. She had been in love with Ethan's enemy.

She had betrayed her son for a man.

Ethan's grip on the fence tightened until his knuckles turned white.

He waited until most of the guests were inside. Until the party was in full swing. Then he crossed the street.

He walked up the driveway. Past the fountain where he and Claire had shared a bottle of champagne after closing on the house. Past the garden where Claire had wanted to plant roses but never had time.

He didn't sneak.

He walked boldly, as if he belonged there.

As if this was still his home.

A security guard at the door looked at him, confused.

“Sir, may I see your invitation?”

Ethan looked him in the eye.

“I don't need an invitation. This is my house.”

The guard blinked.

“I'm sorry, sir, but—”

“Ethan?”

The voice came from behind him.

Ethan turned.

It was Robert Chen. His attorney. His oldest friend after Marcus.

Robert stared at him as if he had seen a ghost.

Which, in a way, he had.

“Hello, Robert.”

Robert recovered first. He turned to the guard.

“It's okay. He's with me.”

The guard nodded and stepped aside.

Robert pulled Ethan into the house, into a small study off the main hallway. He closed the door and locked it.

Then he turned and looked at Ethan.

Really looked at him.

“You're alive,” he said.

“I'm alive.”

Robert ran a hand through his hair. He looked shaken.

“Everyone thinks you're dead. Margaret. The board. The police. There's a death certificate. Everything.”

“I know. And I need your help to fix it.”

Robert sat down heavily in a leather chair.

“Tell me everything.”

Ethan did.

He told him about the coma. About waking up to his mother's lies. About finding Claire in Charleston. About the triplets. About the evidence Marcus had gathered. About his suspicions regarding the plane crash.

When he finished, Robert was silent for a long time.

Then he stood.

“Your mother,” he said. “I always knew she was a difficult woman. But this... this is evil.”

“I need to confront her tonight,” Ethan said. “I need her to know I'm back. I need her to make a mistake.”

Robert thought for a moment.

“If you confront her in front of everyone, she'll deny everything. She'll say you're an imposter. She'll have you arrested. She has the police in her pocket, Ethan. The chief of police is here tonight. He's a close friend of hers.”

“Then I'll confront her privately.”

Robert nodded.