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Prologue

The Wife

The moon hangs low in an inky-black sky dotted with a million stars. Endless, they seem.

Goose bumps rise on my arms as a gust sweeps over my nightgown, sending my long blond hair swirling around my face. The wind is getting stronger with each passing hour.

A storm is coming.

Peering at the ocean at the bottom of the cliff, I listen to the waves crashing against the shore. The sound reminds me of my own breath. Reminds me to breathe at all.

I close my eyes, rolling my wedding band around the base of my finger. On a deep, ragged inhale, I wriggle my bare toes deeper into the cool, thick dirt beneath my feet. I tilt my face to the sky and open my arms.

I’m flying, I think.

Yes, I’m flying.

I’m free, like a bird on the wind.

Suddenly, the air shifts around me. A chill. A presence.

He’s here.

I freeze, the hair on the back of my neck prickling. My gaze drops to the garden that surrounds me, awash in silver moonlight.

Tears fill my eyes. From fear, or is it relief? Relief that, finally, all of this can be over.

I reach out, my long, skinny fingers fluttering against the breeze. I want to touch my flowers one more time. Just one more, just one petal.

“It’s time,” he whispers in my ear.

Yes. It’s time.

A tear rolls down my cheek as I turn to face what I know will be the death of me.

One

Astor

I pull a black balaclava over my head, followed by latex gloves on each hand. Moonlight sneaks through the treetops, dappling the forest floor in swaying silver spotlights. I’m careful to avoid each one.

I step out of the tree line and onto a narrow path of grass that skirts the back of the affluent neighborhood. No dogs tonight. Luck is on my side.

After a quick glance over my shoulder, I grip the top of the privacy fence and launch myself over. I land silently on the ground. After brushing a speck of dirt from my pant leg, I make my way to the back door of the three-story monstrosity known as the Knoll House, a nod to the former (very wealthy) owners who built it a century ago.

I pull a brass key from my pocket, unlock the door, and step inside. The house is dark.

Recalling the blueprint I studied an hour earlier, I stride past the kitchen, the media room, and the library, then quietly jog up the curved marble staircase.

A woman moans to the beat of slapping skin as I top the stairs.

The master bedroom is lit only by the dim glow of a television featuring amateur porn. On the California King ahead of me is a girl on all fours. Eighteen at best, with long red hair. On his knees behind her, a man in his mid-sixties with a protruding beer gut grips her hips as he thrusts into her.

She screams when she sees me.

“Get out.”

I don’t need to tell her twice. The girl hurls herself off the bed and sprints out of the room, stark naked.

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