Chapter 3: The Uninvited Guest
The Reynolds Estate was intimidating. It was a sprawling colonial property set back from the road, the driveway lined with manicured hedges and expensive cars. Jaguars, Mercedes, Teslas—the driveway looked like a showroom.
I parked my modest sedan between a Range Rover and a vintage Porsche. I took a deep breath, checking my reflection in the rearview mirror one last time. My eyes were clear. My jaw was set. I looked like a woman who belonged there.
I grabbed the gift bag and stepped out into the cool evening air.
The house was alive. Golden light spilled from the massive windows, casting long shadows on the lawn. I could hear the murmur of a hundred conversations, the clink of crystal, and the soft, sophisticated notes of a jazz quartet drifting through the open front doors.
I walked up the stone path, my heels clicking a rhythmic beat of impending doom.
The front door was wide open, welcoming guests. I stepped into the foyer, a grand space with a checkerboard marble floor and a chandelier that looked like a frozen explosion of diamonds. A server with a tray of champagne flutes passed by, and I took one, not to drink, but to have something to hold—a shield.
I scanned the room. It was a sea of velvet, silk, and tailored suits. People were laughing, hugging, celebrating forty years of marital fidelity—the irony tasted bitter on my tongue.
And then, I saw her.
Sophia was standing near the fireplace, radiant in a shimmering gold gown that clung to her figure. She was holding court, laughing at a joke made by an older man who must have been her father. She looked happy. She looked untouchable.
And standing just a few feet away, clutching a scotch, looking uncomfortable but trying to blend in, was Daniel.
He hadn’t seen me yet. He was too busy scanning the room, likely making sure no one asked him too many personal questions.
I began to move. I cut through the crowd like a shark through water. I didn’t rush. I moved with a terrifying sense of purpose. As I got closer, the sounds of the party seemed to fade into a dull roar, my focus narrowing to the woman in the gold dress.
When I was ten feet away, Daniel turned.
His eyes locked onto mine. The color drained from his face so fast it was as if someone had pulled a plug. He froze, his mouth opening slightly, but no sound came out. The glass of scotch in his hand tilted dangerously.
I ignored him. My eyes were fixed on Sophia.
I stepped into her circle. The laughter died down as the people around her noticed the stranger standing there with an intense, unreadable expression.
Sophia turned. Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second as she looked at me. There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes—perhaps she had seen photos, or perhaps Daniel had described me. Or maybe, purely on a primal level, she recognized the energy of the woman whose life she was dismantling.
“Sophia?” I asked, my voice clear and melodic, cutting through the ambient jazz.
“Yes?” She straightened her posture, her social mask slipping back into place. “Do I know you?”
The room behind her buzzed, but the circle around us had gone quiet. Glasses clinked in the distance. Conversations paused.
I smiled politely. It was the coldest smile I had ever worn.
“I’m Emily,” I said. “Emily Carter.”
I saw Daniel take a step forward, his hand raising in a futile stop gesture. “Emily, don’t—” he croaked, his voice strangled.
I didn’t look at him. I held Sophia’s gaze.
