“WHERE IS CHARLES?” Aria’s voice shrieks down from the second-floor landing. “CHARLES CARTER, GET UP HERE THIS INSTANT!”
I watch my brother’s jaw clench, that particular muscle jumping, which means he’s fighting for control. Sienna touches his arm gently, and he takes a breath.
“She’s refusing to leave,” Mom says quietly, like she’s discussing the weather. “I had the staff begin packing her belongings this morning as you instructed, Charles. She’s...not taking it well.”
“I can hear that.” Charles starts toward the stairs, but I catch his arm.
“Let me come with you.”
He looks at me, surprise flickering across his features. “Parks, you don’t have to?—”
“She’s making a scene on the day before Dad’s funeral, disrespecting the staff, and disturbing four children who are trying to have a normal moment together.” I square my shoulders. “I’m not letting her ruin this day more than it’s already ruined.”
Something like pride flashes in his eyes. “Okay. But let me do the talking.”
We climb the stairs together—Charles in front, me behind, just like when we were kids sneaking downstairs for midnight snacks. Except now we’re heading toward confrontation instead of cookies.
Aria stands at the top of the second-floor landing, all platinum blonde hair and designer mourning clothes that probably cost more than a car. She’s twenty-nine now—five years younger than me—and she’s been playing the grieving widow since Dominic died, despite the fact that everyone knows their marriage had long evolved into a business transaction dressed up in white lace.
“Finally!” She spots Charles, and her voice shifts from shriek to something she probably thinks is seductive. “Baby, this is ridiculous. Your mother and that awful woman she hired to ‘help me pack’“—she uses air quotes that would be comical if they weren’t so entitled—”are trying to throw me out. On the day of my husband’s funeral!”
“Ex-husband,” Charles corrects, his voice flat. “Technically. The divorce was finalized three days before he died.”
I didn’t know that. Based on the way Aria’s face goes pale then red, she didn’t want anyone to know that.
“That’s just paperwork!” she protests, descending a few steps toward us. “We were working things out! He told me he made a mistake! We were going to?—”
“Aria.” Charles’s voice carries that particular authority he’s learned to wield—the one that reminds everyone he’s not just my twin brother anymore, he’s the head of the Carter family. “We discussed this. You have two options: move into one of the guesthouses on the property, or move off the property entirely. Those are your choices.”
“But this is my home!” Her voice cracks convincingly. If I didn’t know better, I might almost believe she cares. “I gave up everything for Dominic! I was his wife!”
“His will is ironclad, Aria. Your marriage endedbeforehe died. Any additional support you’ve been receiving has been because Mom didn’t want you completely despondent and abandoned,” Charles says. “You’ll receive the settlement outlined in the divorce decree. That’s generous, considering.”
“Generous?” She laughs, sharp and bitter. “Do you know what I had to put up with? Whatheput me through? I deserve?—”
“You deserve exactly what was legally agreed upon,” I cut in, unable to stay silent anymore. “Nothing more.”
Aria’s gaze snaps to me, and her expression curdles into something ugly. “Of course you’d say that. Little Parker, finally crawling back home now that Daddy’s dead and can’t disapprove of your life choices anymore.”
The barb hits its mark, but I don’t flinch. “Aria?—”
“Where haveyoubeen for six years?” she continues, descending another step, getting braver. “Oh, that’s right. Playing house in California, pretending you’re not a Carter, raising those bastard children without even telling anyone who their father is.”
“Watch your mouth,” Charles snaps, but I put a hand on his arm.
“It’s fine.” I keep my voice level, professional. The same tone I’d use with a difficult client who’s trying to get a rise out of me. “Aria, you’ve been asked politely to relocate. Charles has been more than fair?—”
“Fair?” She laughs again. “This coming from the woman who abandoned her family? Who ran away rather than face her responsibilities?” She takes another step down, and now she’s close enough that I can smell her perfume—something cloying and too sweet. “At least I had the decency to stay and take care of Dominic in his final years. Where were you when he was dying? Oh right. Too busy beingindependent.”
“That’s enough,” Charles says, his voice going cold.
But Aria isn’t done. She’s worked herself into a full performance now, tears gathering in her expertly lined eyes. “You can’t just throw me out like I’m nothing! I have rights! I was his wife, and this house, this family—I’m part of it!”
“You were married to our father,” I say quietly. “Not to this family. And now that he’s gone, so is your claim to any of this.”
“How dare you—” She moves toward me, hand raised like she might actually try to slap me, and something in me snaps.
I catch her wrist before she can make contact, my grip firm but not painful. Years of self-defense classes in California are paying off. “Don’t.”
