I should have turned around the second I saw the extra cars in the driveway.

The house looked the same as it had when I dated Daniel—large, expensive, sitting back from the road behind tall hedges. I had only come to collect a box of things I left behind after the breakup. Clothes. A of books. Nothing important enough to justify standing on this porch again. I rang the doorbell anyway.

Harlan Cole opened the door.

Daniel’s father was a tall man in his early fifties, broad-shouldered, with silver threading through dark hair and the kind of cold, assessing eyes that never bothered to hide what they were thinking. He...