Emma’s breath hitched. A cold rush of memories slammed into her—pain, fire, Shelby’s smile, the taste of smoke, the months of torment she’d forced herself to bury.
What is he doing here? Why do I have to face him today?
She stumbled back a step, her hand flying to her temple as sharp, broken flashes burst through her mind. The heat of flames. Screams. A door slamming. But the pieces refused to form a full picture—just pain and panic.
Oliver’s eyes darkened as he studied her.
After all these years… she was still alive.
Shelby had sworn she finished the job— poison first, then the fire. Yet here Emma stood. Breathing. Walking. Talking.
His jaw clenched. Why didn't she go to the police? After all, she is the true owner of Jones estate. Why didn't she go to court?
If she speaks up, I wi
