Chapter 1

The sharp, metallic sound of a key turning in my own front door jolted me from a deep sleep.

It wasn't my key. It wasn't my hand.

Before I could even process the violation, the bedroom door flew open, slamming against the wall. Light from the hallway flooded in, outlining a figure I instantly recognized with a sick feeling in my stomach.

It was Matthew's mother.

"Get up," she hissed, her voice a low, venomous rasp that cut through the Thanksgiving night quiet.

I sat up, clutching the silk sheets to my chest, my heart hammering against my ribs. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

"Matthew gave me a key, of course," she said, flicking on the overhead light. The sudden brightness made me flinch. "A good son makes sure his mother can get in. Unlike some people."

She stood there in her worn-out jeans and a faded sweatshirt, her arms crossed, her face a mask of fury. She looked completely out of place in my downtown condo, a stain on the clean, minimalist design I was so proud of.

"It's Thanksgiving, Gabrielle. Or did your fancy architect brain forget that? I waited all day. No call. No turkey. Nothing."

I stared at her, my mind struggling to catch up. "You expected me to drive three hours to your trailer park to cook for you?"

"It's what a good girlfriend does! It's what a respectful woman does!"

The absurdity of it was staggering. "Matthew is your son. He's the one who should have made plans with you."

I reached for my phone on the nightstand, my hand shaking. I needed to call Matthew. He was supposed to be at a friend's place watching the game. He needed to handle this.

"Don't you dare ignore me," his mother screeched, lunging forward and snatching the phone from my grasp.

Just then, Matthew walked in behind her. He looked tired, and his eyes were slightly glazed over. He' d clearly been drinking.

"What's going on?" he mumbled.

"She's disrespecting me, Matty!" his mother wailed, her voice instantly shifting to a pathetic whimper. "She's saying I'm not welcome here, that I'm trash."

"I never said that," I shot back, my voice rising. "I said you can't just barge into my home in the middle of the night! Matthew, get your mother out of here. And I want my key back."

I looked at him, expecting him to be the reasonable one, to take my side.

Instead, his face darkened. He walked over to me, his steps heavy and menacing.

"Why do you always have to make things so difficult, Gabrielle?"

He stood over me, his shadow falling across the bed.

"Apologize to my mother."

I stared at him in disbelief. "Apologize? For what? For her breaking into my home?"

His hand came out of nowhere. The slap was sharp and loud, my head snapping to the side with the force of it. The sting on my cheek was instant, a hot, spreading fire.

The shock was so profound, it stole my breath.

"I said," he repeated, his voice low and dangerous, "apologize to her. Now."