The low, aggressive growl of a flat-six engine tore through the quiet morning air of the estate.

A silver Porsche 911 Carrera whipped around the circular driveway and slammed to a halt near the front steps. The driver's side door swung open.

Julianna stepped out. She wore a sharp, camel-colored trench coat and a pair of black Louboutin heels. The red soles flashed as she marched up the steps. She had just wrapped up a massive gallery exhibition in New York and drove through the night to spend the weekend in Boston.

Maura opened the door before Julianna could ring the bell.

"Welcome home, Miss Julianna," Maura said, taking the trench coat. There was a noticeable lightness in the housekeeper's face.

Julianna handed over her coat and paused. She inhaled. The air in the foyer felt different. The suffocating tension and the lingering smell of Evelyn's overly sweet vanilla perfume were entirely absent.

She walked into the sunlit breakfast room. Grant was reading the paper. Camren was staring blankly at a plate of scrambled eggs. Christa was sipping tea.

The fourth chair was empty.

Julianna pulled out her chair and sat down. She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow.

"Where is the tragic genius?" Julianna asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Usually she's reciting Shakespeare and demanding everyone's attention by now."

Grant stopped turning the page of his newspaper. He let out a heavy sigh and didn't answer.

Camren kept his head down, his jaw tight, his eyes refusing to leave his plate.

Christa smiled. She picked up a plate of freshly baked blueberry pancakes and slid it across the table to her eldest daughter.

"She ran off to pursue her street romance last night," Christa said, her voice light and unbothered. "She won't be ruining our breakfast today."

Julianna caught the dangerous glint in her mother's eye. A slow, knowing smirk spread across Julianna's face.

The rest of the breakfast was a revelation. Nobody interrupted. Nobody manufactured a crisis. Grant actually put down his paper and talked to Camren about the Celtics game.

When the plates were cleared, Christa picked up a woven basket from the counter and walked out the back doors toward the glass greenhouse.

Julianna grabbed her coffee cup and followed.

The air inside the greenhouse was thick and humid, smelling strongly of damp earth and blooming Damask roses.

Christa picked up a pair of heavy steel pruning shears. She expertly positioned the blades around a dead, thorny branch.

Julianna leaned against the wooden potting bench. "Alright, Mom. Cut the act. You finally decided to stop putting up with the little parasite?"

Snap.

Christa cut the branch. She didn't look up as she detailed the events of the past twenty-four hours. She told Julianna about the recording, the dinner, the ultimatum, and Camren's breakdown in the study.

Julianna let out a harsh, bitter laugh. She set her coffee cup down hard on the wood.

"I always knew she was a leech," Julianna spat, adjusting her gold watch. "She's been playing Dad and Camren for years."

Christa stopped cutting. She turned to look at her eldest daughter. In her past life, Julianna had taken the fall for massive corporate fraud that Evelyn had orchestrated, spending years in a federal prison just to keep Grant out of it.

A sudden heat pricked the back of Christa's eyes. She dropped the shears into the basket. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around Julianna.

Julianna stiffened for a second, completely caught off guard by the physical affection. Then, she relaxed, wrapping her arms around her mother's shoulders.

"Don't worry, Mom," Julianna whispered. "I'm on your side."

Christa pulled back. The brief moment of vulnerability vanished, replaced by cold steel.

"We don't kick her out," Christa explained, her voice dropping. "We let her dig her own grave. We let her push until there is absolutely no sympathy left for her in this house."

Julianna's eyes lit up with predatory approval. "Give her enough rope to hang herself. I love it."

Before Christa could reply, the sound of frantic footsteps crunching on the gravel path echoed outside the glass walls.

Both women turned their heads.

Through the condensation on the glass, they saw Evelyn. Her hair was a tangled mess, her uniform was wrinkled, and her eyes were swollen red. She was sprinting toward the main house, looking like she had just survived a war zone.

The heavy double doors of the estate burst open, slamming against the interior walls.

Evelyn stumbled into the foyer. Her pristine prep school uniform was a crumpled, dirty mess. Her hair clung to her sweaty forehead, and black eyeliner ran down her cheeks in dark, jagged rivers.

She looked wildly around the room until her eyes locked onto Julianna, who was sitting on the living room sofa, casually flipping through an architectural magazine.

Evelyn let out a gut-wrenching wail. She practically threw herself across the room, dropping to her knees on the Persian rug.

She lunged forward and wrapped both arms tightly around Julianna's calves, burying her tear-stained face into the fabric of Julianna's designer trousers.

"Julianna! Thank god you're home!" Evelyn sobbed, her voice muffled against the fabric. "I'm so scared!"

Julianna's face contorted in immediate, visceral disgust. She dropped the magazine onto the glass coffee table with a loud slap.

She did not reach down to pat Evelyn's head. She sat perfectly still, looking down at the girl like she was a diseased rat that had crawled out of the sewer.

Evelyn felt the lack of movement. Panic flared in her chest. She lifted her head, tears streaming down her face, and immediately launched into her script.

"I broke up with Dante," Evelyn choked out, her voice trembling perfectly. "I swear I did. I'll never see him again."

She paused, sucking in a ragged breath, preparing to pivot to her real target.

"But Mom..." Evelyn whispered, her voice dropping into a terrified register. "Mom looked at me with such hatred last night. She said if I didn't get out of her sight, she would make sure I'd never see a penny of the trust fund and would end up on the streets. She said it with such quiet, terrifying hatred, Julianna, I was terrified. It felt like she wanted me dead."

Evelyn reached up and deliberately pulled back the left sleeve of her uniform blouse.

She exposed her wrist. A ring of dark, purple-and-yellow bruises encircled her pale skin.

Evelyn flinched violently, as if the memory was too much to bear. "And when I tried to walk past her, she completely snapped. She grabbed me and shoved me toward the door. If I didn't leave... I was afraid she was going to lose control and hurt me worse. I'm just an orphan, Julianna. I have no one else but you guys."

Up on the second-floor landing, Christa stood holding a glass of water. She looked down through the wrought-iron railing, watching the performance with a cold, dead smile. She didn't make a sound.

Down in the living room, the silence stretched. Evelyn kept her eyes wide and pleading, waiting for Julianna to explode with righteous anger at their mother.

Instead, Julianna let out a soft, breathy laugh.

The sound was completely devoid of humor. It was ice-cold.

Julianna violently jerked her leg backward.

Evelyn's grip slipped. She lost her balance and pitched forward, her hands slapping hard against the rug to stop her face from hitting the floor.

Julianna stood up. She did not reach for a wipe or make a theatrical scene. Instead, her eyes slowly dragged over the wrinkled, tear-stained fabric of her trousers where Evelyn's face and hands had touched. Her upper lip curled in a look of profound, unadulterated revulsion. She turned her head slightly toward the hallway.

"Maura," Julianna called out, her voice slicing through the air like a razor blade. "Please have these trousers sent for dry cleaning immediately. They've been contaminated."

Evelyn's mouth opened, but her brain short-circuited.

Julianna crossed her arms over her chest and stared down her nose at the girl on the floor.

"Are you done auditioning?" Julianna asked, her voice slicing through the air like a razor blade. "Or did your IQ melt into the gutter along with your eyeliner?"