Page 4

[long pause]

Victoria’s death wasn’t just another Mayfair scandal. It was a puzzle piece that didn't fit.

Too violent. Too personal. Too damn familiar.

And after spending a full year peeling back the layers of this family’s secrets, I had the sickening feeling that whoever killed her wasn’t finished yet.

Which was exactly why I needed to be there.

I didn’t even hesitate when the invitation to stay on the Mayfair compound for a week came.

Because Victoria wasn’t just another socialite with a powerful last name. She was my friend’s mother. And I know what it’s like to lose someone who feels larger than life.

I know what it’s like to grieve and get silence in return. To search for answers that never show up, no matter how hard you dig.

And, maybe most importantly, I knew that whatever happened to Victoria Mayfair didn’t happen in a vacuum.

It started years ago.

With Henry. With Peter. With a family so tangled in its own web of power and deception that I doubt even they remember where the lies began.

And I wanted to know why.

1

LATENT PRINT

LILA

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about the truth, it’s that it hates being caught.

You can be right there—breathing down its neck, fingers grazing the edge—and somehow it still slips away.

Always one step ahead. Always leaving you with more questions than you started with.

Questions like: Why did I think a career in forensic psychology would be glamorous? Or: How many cups of coffee can one overworked professor drink before they start hallucinating? And my personal favorite: Why is Professor Grayson looking at me like I just spit on the Constitution?

Spoiler: I didn’t. I only gently suggested that he would be a great person to help me revisit the case that ruined his legal career.

I mean, he can’t be too shocked, considering I already forced him to relive it when I used it for my PhD thesis less than a year ago.

I assured him I hadn’t chosen the case because of him.

Though, I can see why he might think I did—especially given our history. The few times we interacted before everything got complicated. The things we never talked about again.

I wanted to be better than that. I really did. No one wants to be the student who bulldozes into a new professor’s life, dragging his worst professional failure into the spotlight like some kind of academic hazing ritual.

I wasn’t entirely honest with Professor Grayson, though.

He did play a small part in the reasoning behind my thesis choice.

He’s hated me since.

Not since… you know. The ridiculous chemistry, the flirting, and me very much wanting to die from how disgustingly attracted I was to him.

Since the thesis thing.

The limit to the number of times I’ve caught him looking at me like he wishes he could set my body on fire with his eyeballs does not exist.