Across the table, Sheila’s mother, Dana Woods, wasn’t faring much better. Her lips were pursed so tightly they’d nearly vanished, and her fingers toyed with the pearl necklace at her throat, a nervous habit. “Father, you… You can’t seriously mean to bring “her” back here. I mean she’s—”

“Shut your little trap, Diana.” Grandpa Woods set his fork down with a deliberate clink.

Dana’s face went even paler.

She'd been his daughter-in-law for over two decades now, living here at the Woods Villa, and yet, the old man still didn't pronounce her name correctly.

How pathetic was that?

“Now, listen you frogs. I’m dead serious. That terrible sucker—” he jabbed...