MRS. Harlow had barely dropped the phone when her voice tore through the house, sharp and thunderous.

"This girl! Claire! You won't kill me the way you killed your father. You made me a widow, and now you want me to join my husband in the grave, it will not happen!"

Her heels clattered on the staircase as she ascended with rage, her voice echoing against the walls. By the time she reached Claire's room, she twisted the knob and barged in without a thought.

Claire, seated upright at her dressing table with her laptop open, jolted to her feet.

"Mom, what happened to knocking?" she asked, brows furrowed.

"You...