Chapter 4

The next morning, after a mostly sleepless night in a luxurious but impersonal hotel suite, Nolan insisted we return to the Malibu house to meet the police and the cleaning crew he'd summoned.

As we pulled up, my stomach twisted. The house looked normal from the outside, but I knew the chaos within.

What I didn't expect was the scene on my lawn.

Bryce was there. And Kelli. And Jayden. And Bryce's mother, Pamela Jenkins, a woman whose disapproval of me had always been palpable.

And they weren't alone.

A crowd of people, Bryce's friends from the night before, and a smattering of what looked like local gossips, were gathered. They were having a barbecue. On my lawn. Using my patio furniture.

Someone had even set up a volleyball net.

My pristine, private beachfront property had been turned into a public park for lowlifes.

As I got out of the car, a wave of murmurs went through the crowd.

One of Bryce's friends, the greasy-haired one from last night, pointed at me. "There she is! The crazy ex! Can't take a hint!"

Kelli, holding a plate piled high with barbecue, sauntered over. "Oh, Emily. You're back. Did you come to apologize for kicking us out last night? Bryce was very upset."

Bryce stepped forward, trying to look magnanimous. "Emily, look, I know you're hurting. But this is getting a little stalker-ish. You need to move on."

My jaw dropped. "I need to move on? You're trespassing! Again! On my property!"

Pamela Jenkins, a woman built like a bulldog with a perm to match, waddled towards me. "Now, now, dear. Don't make a fuss. Bryce is just trying to be a good father. This is a family gathering. You should be happy for him."

"Happy?" I choked out. "He brought his mistress and her child to our wedding, then trashed my house, and now you're all squatting here like it's a public beach!"

A woman I didn't know, holding a phone and clearly live-streaming, pushed her way to the front. "So you're the one who tried to break up this happy family? Shame on you!"

The crowd started to close in, their faces a mixture of curiosity and hostility.

"She's a psycho!" someone yelled.

"Gold digger, probably!" another voice added.

"Leave them alone, you homewrecker!"

I felt a shove from behind. Then another. Someone pulled my hair.

Panic clawed at my throat. I was surrounded.

"Bryce!" I cried out, desperately looking for him in the throng. "Tell them! Tell them this is my house! Tell them I'm not... I'm not who they think I am!"

Bryce looked away, a flicker of something – shame? fear? – in his eyes. But he said nothing.

Kelli smirked. "Poor Emily. Can't handle the truth."

Hands grabbed at me, pushing, pulling. My purse was ripped from my shoulder. My phone clattered to the ground. Someone stepped on it.

I was going to be sick.

They were laughing, jeering, their faces contorted with ugly triumph. The live-streaming woman was right in my face, her phone capturing my terror.

"Stop it!" I screamed, but my voice was lost in the din.

This couldn't be happening. Not here. Not in my home.