Burning Daylight (Defying the Stars #1)

Prologue

JULIETTE

Thirteen Years Old

I ’m not supposed to be here.

I crouch in place while my nanny Beverly and our chef Aaron carry in groceries and gossip like they’re reporters for The Rosebrook Rag .

Beverly would kill me if she knew I was eavesdropping.

Especially since today is my fitting for the annual Founders’ Gala that happens every year at Verona University.

“Do you think Marcus Montgomery knows his wife is fucking Craig?” Aaron asks her.

“Please. Worst kept secret in Rosebrook Falls.”

“You don’t think that’s why Marcus killed?—”

Beverly smacks his arm. “Hush. Don’t speak about the dead. It’s uncouth.”

Chef Aaron throws his hands up, palms out. “I’m just asking. It’s weird Marcus is here , right?”

Beverly shrugs. “I don’t have time to care about that, and neither do you. Help me find that little rascal Juliette.”

I press myself deeper into the shadows beneath the stairs. It’s a lot of nothing under here, just a dark corner with a lamp that flickers and staged books with blank pages.

But it’s the only spot in this entire mansion that feels like home. The only place I can go where I’m not choreographed to perfection.

School. Piano lesson. Etiquette class. French lesson. Rinse. Wash. Repeat.

That’s my life.

But today is Sunday, and it’s the only day I get to hide away and write.

That’s what I was doing until the two gossips across the hall started yammering like they are.

My brows scrunch. I’ve seen Marcus Montgomery over the years at the Founders’ Gala or any other event that requires I dress nicely and play the part of a perfect Calloway kid, but the loathing of the Montgomery name is bred into my entire family’s veins from the moment we are born.

Even hate seems like too nice a word.

So, Marcus being at our estate? It’s…odd.

Beverly and Aaron disappear around the corner, and I snap my notebook of stories shut, darting from my hiding spot and sneaking to the wing where my dad’s home office sits.

When I get there, I peek through a tiny slat between the door and frame to the room, adrenaline flooding through me when I see him and Marcus.

I shift my weight, and the hardwood creaks, echoing off the tall ceilings. My pulse pounds like a drum as I ease open the door just enough to see better.

When neither of them notice, I let out a shaky exhale.

My father is all starched suits and perfectly placed smiles so sharp they can cut you like a knife, and tonight is no exception. Even in his own home, he looks battle ready, just waiting for the right time to bend your will to his.

His black hair, the same color as mine, is combed back and styled, and his thick eyebrows bunch together until it looks like a caterpillar is on his face. He’s frowning as he stands rigid, his pale knuckles turning white where they press against the top of his big desk.

Marcus looks similar, but somehow totally different.

Where Dad is stiff and polished, Marcus Montgomery is…fluid.

They both radiate power, though.

Marcus is wearing dark jeans and a navy-blue sports jacket that’s open to a white T-shirt underneath, and his blond hair is the antithesis of my dad’s.

Light and mussed on top like he’s been running his hands through it.

I can’t see his eyes, but I know from his pictures in our local tabloid The Rosebrook Rag that they’re so icy, they’ll chill you to the bone.

Marcus leans against the bookshelf on the left side of the room, his ankles crossed like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“No,” he says, glancing at his nails.

“Don’t force my hand,” my dad replies, his voice tight.

It’s the same tone he uses when my brother Lance gets in trouble…which is almost always.

Marcus straightens. “Nah, fuck you, Craig. I won’t break the WayMont agreement just so you can bully people out of their homes in the HillPoint and build with him .”

My heart thumps faster. The HillPoint is on the west side of Rosebrook Falls, and it’s Montgomery territory through and through. I’m forbidden to even go there.

Dad shrugs. “People aren’t forced to do anything because of me. I simply make suggestions.”

“Yeah, well, when your suggestions aren’t followed, people end up hurt. Funny how that happens.”

“The innocent act is cute, Marcus, but it’s just us here. Nobody’s watching; there’s no need for dramatics.”

“Then don’t be a cunt.”

My father chuckles. “You know what they say—you are what you eat. How is your wife, by the way?”

A sick feeling swirls through my belly. Is he cheating on my mom?

Marcus stiffens. “Is that what this is about? You’re doing Eleanor’s bidding?”

My dad shrugs. “And what if I am?”

“You’re welcome to her pussy, Craig, but you’re testing me, trying to take everything else that’s mine.”

“And you’re putting way too much faith in a century-old contract signed by two dead men,” my father replies cooly. “Especially after my wife’s brother just died. I’d hate for tragedy to strike your side of the line.”

Marcus stalks over until he’s about two inches from my dad’s face. “Stay away from my family, Craig, or I swear to God, you’ll regret it. That is a threat.”

My chest tightens with worry, but my dad only grins and says, “I would never hurt Eleanor.”

“That’s not who I mean, and you know it.” Marcus’s voice drops to a dangerous whisper.

“Sign the papers and you’ll have nothing to worry about.”

Marcus smirks. “Are you really that threatened by me that you’ll go to these lengths? He’s a kid, he’s not even in my life. He won’t cause any problems.”

“He has your last name, so forgive me for not finding your claims reassuring,” my father replies.

“You’re delusional, and I’m not signing shit.”

My father smiles so wide it sends a chill down my spine. “Tell your guests I said hi, then.”

Marcus scoffs and spins toward the door.

My heart shoots to my throat as I stumble away, hightailing it down the hall, past the dining room, into the foyer, and up the stairs to my room. Slamming the door behind me, I flatten my back against the wood, sucking in giant helpings of air.

Once I can breathe again, I grab my notebook, flipping past the story where my mom turns into an ogre, and scribble down everything I just saw.

It didn’t make any sense, but still, I don’t ever want to forget.

When I’m done, I check that the French doors to my balcony are locked, and then I slip under the covers, throwing my comforter over my head until it feels like I might suffocate in the dark.

Eventually, I fall asleep.

Two days later, my father’s sitting at our oversized circular table in the breakfast nook, sipping his coffee and ignoring everything around him.

I stare at him, confused. Why is he home again?

That’s twice in one week. More than I’ve seen him in months.

I lean against the white marble island and take a sip of my orange juice, my eyes snagging on the TV playing the local news.

The screen’s split. One side showing a Rosebrook Rag social media post, the other the anchor’s tense expression.

A photo flashes of a mangled car wrapped around a tree, flames licking through the shattered windows and twisted metal, before the screen goes back to the tabloid’s post.

DEADLY CRASH IN HILLPOINT: ACCIDENT OR SUICIDE?

An up-and-coming artist Heather Argent and her two children are dead after a late-night crash in Montgomery territory. Cops say brake failure. Some whisper suicide.

Sources say hours before she was seen screaming at Marcus Montgomery.

Was she spiraling…or was this simply a tragic twist of fate?

Either way, Rosebrook Falls is buzzing—and we’re not done digging.

#RosebrookRag #TownWhispers #MontgomeryMess #WasItSuicide

My heart sinks.

When I look up at my father, he’s smiling.