Darkest Lies (Orchestrated Corruption #2)

Prologue

Daniella

There was nothing more beautiful than Savannah at the cusp of summer.

Flowers were in bloom, the foliage on the trees thick and well-nourished from the increasing humidity and warmth. Butterflies were everywhere, enjoying sweet nectar while birds created a perfect symphony overhead.

The afternoon storm had given way to rays of sunshine dancing across the horizon, the rain exacerbating the rich, floral scents filling the air. Some might say I was a dreamer, but the reality of everyday life was a stark contrast to the beauty of nature.

Tonight was no exception.

On top of yet another shitty day, my mother had called, her insistent tone instantly putting me on edge.

She knew better than to try to encourage me to come to the house she’d easily made her own.

It certainly wasn’t my home and never would be.

Not for the obvious reasons such as that I was now an adult and never planned on living under the same roof with my mother and her husband again.

My life was just beginning, college taking all my time.

There were other less admirable reasons.

Or maybe I should say darker, more vile reasons.

I’d been accused of not caring enough about my family. That wasn’t true. I simply cared about a family lost, a mother who’d once been loving and kind. My palms were sweaty just thinking about going inside.

Was I thankful she’d finally come out of her deep depression?

Of course. After losing my father to such a horrible crime years before, she deserved happiness, yet from the beginning of their whirlwind romance lasting three weeks, I’d had my doubts the man was completely admirable.

Plus, he had a sordid reputation, which should have given her the perfect excuse to keep her distance.

Instead, she’d fallen head over heels in love.

I’d tried to tell her the real estate developer was a smarmy man, but she’d refused to hear what a teenager had to say.

I had difficulty trusting anyone, but I hated the man and his son.

My mother had tried to say he was the brother I’d never had.

In the years I’d been forced to deal with him, he’d been a bully, a twisted kid with an attitude since his father was rich.

He’d acted as if he owned Savannah and every city surrounding it because of his wealth and their power.

His friends were all wealthy, the pack of assholes acting as if they didn’t need to follow rules or laws. What pissed me off was that there never seemed to be any consequences. No one would dare fuck with Zane Emmett.

He and his father were exactly the same. They were standoffish pricks with entitlement issues. Fortunately, he’d been away at college for two years, rarely returning home. Thank God for small favors.

With exhaustion settling in, when I pulled up in front of my stepfather’s home in the heart of the South Historic District, I had a very bad taste lingering in my mouth.

I was only here out of a favor to my mother.

And the fact that she’d assured me she was alone, my stepfather always working.

As I stepped out, I shielded my eyes from the waning light and peered at the gothic house.

Maybe I was a little superstitious, but the massive four-story building and its ornate facade had given me the creeps from the first time I’d laid eyes on it.

I could swear I’d seen the location in some horror flick over the years, only the demons hadn’t been played by actors but ghosts haunting the place.

Living there had been even worse, demons plaguing my nightmares and they’d always had the same face.

Zane’s.

I shuddered as I headed toward the door, reminding myself there was protocol when coming to the house. They had staff, men and women who tended to everyday needs from shopping to landscaping, cleaning and if I had to guess, kissing the patriarch’s ass.

The sharp knock was quickly answered by a polite but stern-looking older woman.

“Ms. Dunham. You were expected. You’ll find—”

“Thank you, Margaret. I think I can find my mother by myself.” Maybe I was being rude, but the pomp and circumstance was completely foreign to the way I’d grown up.

At least until the tragic day just after my tenth birthday.

We’d had a loving, happy household with daily laughter and a messy house, but there had been love and light even if everything wasn’t in a perfect place.

Then everything had changed, shattering the rose-colored glasses I’d been stupid enough to wear. Never again.

When I walked into this house, it felt more like I’d entered a mausoleum.

There was no music, no sound other than the clicking of my boots on the twenty-four-by-twenty-four marble slabs.

No life other than the people living here, even though my sweet mother was little more than a shell of who she used to be. And no sign of love anywhere.

My friends and my roommate had advised me my extreme hatred and constant criticism of my mother’s marriage and her surroundings was based on my fury at my father for daring to die, leaving us all alone.

They’d encouraged therapy.

I’d chosen to relish my hatred of the Emmett family and keep my nose to the grindstone. As soon as possible, I was moving very far away.

I headed through the house, ignoring the priceless works of art and Persian rugs, each one costing more than I made in a year. I knew where I’d find her. When my stepfather was out of the house, she spent her time in the conservatory. A fancy name for the room that had the grand piano.

We’d had an old upright when I was a kid. The whole family used to love hearing her play. Sometimes she’d sing, her voice like a sweet lullaby. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d bothered.

At least as I approached, I was gifted with a mini concert. Instead of heading inside immediately, I hugged the wall just outside the door, enjoying remembering the past. When she crashed her arms down on the keys, it was my cue to go in. A single wrong note had pushed her over the edge.

Since my father’s death, her entire personality had changed. Very slowly, she’d driven her sadness into a black box, emerging angry and bitter. Then another personality had emerged, one as greedy and self-serving as my stepfather.

Now I barely recognized her any longer.

I didn’t bother knocking, opening the door and taking long strides in her direction where she remained sitting upright, her fingers still on the keys of the piano.

She was dressed elegantly while I was wearing a jean skirt and a university sweatshirt, my combat boots more out of defiance than comfort. My stepfather hated them.

“Hey, Mom. I have something for you.” A peace offering. Flowers. And I wasn’t certain why I’d bothered. Maybe because I used to pick wildflowers for her as a child, eager to see the joy they brought her since we had no money.

Maybe I just longed to relive those days before she’d grown used to the money and clout, her entire personality cold.

She’d even told me more than once never to mention my real father again.

I’d wanted to hate her, but at least I’d learned through advice that the only way she’d managed to deal with her grief was by pretending that life didn’t exist.

She turned her head, immediately frowning seeing the clothes I’d chosen as well as the cheap bouquet I held in my hand.

Her disdain left an acrid taste in my mouth.

“I didn’t hear you come in.” At least she managed a smile if only briefly and a tiny part of the mother who’d shooed away monsters and created magical kingdoms returned. “Oh, they’re… lovely.”

Lovely. She hated them. I didn’t care. I’d tried and wouldn’t bother doing so again.

“I thought you needed a little pick-me-up.” I watched as she fingered the velvet petals.

Just before my father had died, he’d brought her pink roses.

For years, she’d kept the dried petals, protected in the filmy sheet of pink blush surrounding them when purchased.

My guess was they’d been burned during the move.

“You’re so sweet.” The light of remembrance began to fade, the blank mask I’d become accustomed to returning. I suddenly shivered, curious as to why the urgency, having me rush here from school.

“It sounded like you needed to see me for a reason.” My skin was already crawling.

“I’m fine. Just… Fine.” Yet she had a faraway look in her eyes.

She took a few seconds to inhale the scent of the roses.

Maybe I hadn’t been a good enough daughter in ensuring that she had what she needed and didn’t require a shoulder to cry on.

I just hadn’t been up for the task. I wasn’t good at lying or pretending.

Plus, she’d chosen her husband and new life over her daughter.

“Then what is it? I have midterms to study for.”

As soon as she lifted her head, her eyes darting to the side, my blood turned to ice. I should have known better. “I’m sorry, Daniella. Zane was worried about me and insisted I call you. Plus, we have a few things to discuss, and I thought it better coming from me given your hatred of your father.”

Just hearing the term made me cringe deep inside. “You mean Walter? He’s not my father.”

“Don’t be a little bitch.” The shock of her tone and the word she used hurt worse than if she’d slapped me.

“What?”

“You heard me.” She jerked to a standing position, the flowers all but forgotten. “You’ve been so ungrateful since we were given the gift of being taken into Walter’s home and his life.”

“Mom. That’s crazy. Gift?” The old argument was on the tip of my tongue.

She moved closer, her eyes turning into pinpricks. “God. I don’t know you any longer. Who do you think put food on the table and bought your clothes? Who do you think provided the money for that fancy college you’re in?”