Chapter 16
PARKER
It feels like it’s been a century since I was here at the Carter Estate in Lake Norman, North Carolina.
The SUV crunches over the crushed shell driveway, and my chest tightens with each rotation of the tires.
It’s been years since I’ve seen these oak trees dripping with Spanish moss, since I’ve smelled the particular blend of salt air and old money that clings to the Carter estate like expensive perfume.
“Mommy, is that Aunt Sienna’s house?” Noah presses his face against the window, amber eyes bright with recognition.
“It’s Uncle Charles’s house too,” Liam corrects, practical as always. “And Lottie and Jimmy’s. Remember?”
“I know that,” Noah protests. “I just meant—oh! There they are!”
Through the window, I can see Sienna and the twins spilling out of the main house, and the boys are already unbuckling before I can stop them.
The second the SUV stops, they’re out and running, Noah launching himself at Jimmy while Liam and Lottie collide in a more reserved but equally enthusiastic hug.
My chest loosens watching them. At least this part isn’t new. At least they have each other.
Charles appears beside my door, opening it with that big brother protectiveness he’s never quite shaken. “Welcome home, Parks.”
“Home,” I repeat, testing the word. It tastes strange after six years of exile.
“Come on.” He offers his hand to help me down. “Mom’s inside. Fair warning—she’s in full hostess mode despite everything.”
“Of course she is.” I smooth my hands over my jeans, suddenly aware of how casual I am compared to the grandeur looming before us. “And Aria?”
His jaw tightens. “Being Aria. I’ll handle it.”
The main house looks exactly the same—white columns and black shutters, and the weight of generations pressing down like atmosphere.
But walking through the front door feels different without Dominic’s presence poisoning the air.
The foyer still smells like lemon polish and fresh flowers, but the arrangements are sympathy offerings now, not the carefully curated displays he demanded.
“Aunt Parker!” Lottie barrels back inside, dragging Liam by the hand. “Can we show them the library? Please? The ladder slides and everything!”
“We saw it on FaceTime,” Liam says, but there’s excitement in his voice. “But Jimmy says it’s better in person.”
“Stay together,” I say automatically. “And don’t—”
“Touch anything expensive, we know,” Noah finishes, grinning. “Everything here is expensive, though.”
“Just be careful,” I amend, and Sienna laughs softly beside me.
“They’ll be fine. Jimmy knows where everything is, and the staff adores them already.” She links her arm through mine as the four children disappear toward the library in a thunder of footsteps. “How are you holding up? Really?”
“Ask me after the funeral.” I let her guide me deeper into the house, toward the sitting room where I can hear voices. Familiar ones. “Is Mom—”
“Parker!” My mother sweeps into the foyer like she’s making an entrance, all elegant bones and honey-blonde hair swept into a perfect twist. Evelyn Carter, still beautiful, still commanding, still capable of making me feel simultaneously loved and inadequate with a single look.
“Finally. I was beginning to worry your flight was delayed.”
She pulls me into a hug that smells like her signature Chanel and feels like coming home and running away all at once.
“We hit some traffic,” Charles says diplomatically, though we both know the real delay was me sitting in the SUV at the estate gates for ten minutes trying to convince myself to actually drive through.
“Well, you’re here now.” Mom pulls back, her sea-glass green eyes—so like mine, so like Charles’s—scanning my face with a mother’s precision. “You look tired. Have you been sleeping?”
“Mom—”
“And those boys of yours.” Her expression softens genuinely. “They’ve grown so much since Sienna’s last visit. Liam looks more serious every time I see him, and Noah—”
A door slams upstairs. Hard enough that the crystal chandelier shivers.
“—is still a bundle of energy, I’m sure,” Mom finishes, but her voice has gone tight. Careful.
Another crash. The unmistakable sound of something expensive hitting a wall.
“WHERE IS CHARLES?” Aria’s voice shrieks down from the second-floor landing. “CHARLES CARTER, GET UP HERE THIS INSTANT!”
I watch my brother’s jaw clench, that particular muscle jumping, which means he’s fighting for control. Sienna touches his arm gently, and he takes a breath.
“She’s refusing to leave,” Mom says quietly, like she’s discussing the weather. “I had the staff begin packing her belongings this morning as you instructed, Charles. She’s...not taking it well.”
“I can hear that.” Charles starts toward the stairs, but I catch his arm.
“Let me come with you.”
He looks at me, surprise flickering across his features. “Parks, you don’t have to—”
“She’s making a scene on the day before Dad’s funeral, disrespecting the staff, and disturbing four children who are trying to have a normal moment together.” I square my shoulders. “I’m not letting her ruin this day more than it’s already ruined.”
Something like pride flashes in his eyes. “Okay. But let me do the talking.”
We climb the stairs together—Charles in front, me behind, just like when we were kids sneaking downstairs for midnight snacks. Except now we’re heading toward confrontation instead of cookies.
Aria stands at the top of the second-floor landing, all platinum blonde hair and designer mourning clothes that probably cost more than a car.
She’s twenty-nine now—five years younger than me—and she’s been playing the grieving widow since Dominic died, despite the fact that everyone knows their marriage had long evolved into a business transaction dressed up in white lace.
“Finally!” She spots Charles, and her voice shifts from shriek to something she probably thinks is seductive.
“Baby, this is ridiculous. Your mother and that awful woman she hired to ‘help me pack’“—she uses air quotes that would be comical if they weren’t so entitled—”are trying to throw me out. On the day of my husband’s funeral!”
“Ex-husband,” Charles corrects, his voice flat. “Technically. The divorce was finalized three days before he died.”
I didn’t know that. Based on the way Aria’s face goes pale then red, she didn’t want anyone to know that.
“That’s just paperwork!” she protests, descending a few steps toward us. “We were working things out! He told me he made a mistake! We were going to—”
“Aria.” Charles’s voice carries that particular authority he’s learned to wield—the one that reminds everyone he’s not just my twin brother anymore, he’s the head of the Carter family.
“We discussed this. You have two options: move into one of the guest houses on the property, or move off the property entirely. Those are your choices.”
“But this is my home!” Her voice cracks convincingly. If I didn’t know better, I might almost believe she cares. “I gave up everything for Dominic! I was his wife!”
“His will is ironclad, Aria. Your marriage ended before he died. Any additional support you’ve been receiving has been because Mom didn’t want you completely despondent and abandoned,” Charles says. “You’ll receive the settlement outlined in the divorce decree. That’s generous, considering.”
“Generous?” She laughs, sharp and bitter. “Do you know what I had to put up with? What he put me through? I deserve—”
“You deserve exactly what was legally agreed upon,” I cut in, unable to stay silent anymore. “Nothing more.”
Aria’s gaze snaps to me, and her expression curdles into something ugly. “Of course you’d say that. Little Parker, finally crawling back home now that Daddy’s dead and can’t disapprove of your life choices anymore.”
The barb hits its mark, but I don’t flinch. “Aria—”
“Where have you been for six years?” she continues, descending another step, getting braver. “Oh, that’s right. Playing house in California, pretending you’re not a Carter, raising those bastard children without even telling anyone who their father is.”
“Watch your mouth,” Charles snaps, but I put a hand on his arm.
“It’s fine.” I keep my voice level, professional. The same tone I’d use with a difficult client who’s trying to get a rise out of me. “Aria, you’ve been asked politely to relocate. Charles has been more than fair—”
“Fair?” She laughs again. “This coming from the woman who abandoned her family? Who ran away rather than face her responsibilities?” She takes another step down, and now she’s close enough that I can smell her perfume—something cloying and too sweet.
“At least I had the decency to stay and take care of Dominic in his final years. Where were you when he was dying? Oh right. Too busy being independent.”
“That’s enough,” Charles says, his voice going cold.
But Aria isn’t done. She’s worked herself into a full performance now, tears gathering in her expertly lined eyes. “You can’t just throw me out like I’m nothing! I have rights! I was his wife, and this house, this family—I’m part of it!”
“You were married to our father,” I say quietly. “Not to this family. And now that he’s gone, so is your claim to any of this.”
“How dare you—” She moves toward me, hand raised like she might actually try to slap me, and something in me snaps.
I catch her wrist before she can make contact, my grip firm but not painful. Years of self-defense classes in California are paying off. “Don’t.”
“Let go of me!” She tries to yank free, but I hold steady.
“Aria, you need to leave.” Charles moves to my side, presenting a united front. “Now. The truck is already loaded. You can go to the guest house, or you can go somewhere else, but you cannot stay here.”
“If you want me gone, you’ll have to make me!” She’s fully hysterical now, pulling against my grip, her voice rising to a shriek that probably carries all the way down to the library where four children are trying to have a normal afternoon. “You can’t do this! I won’t let you!”
She lunges toward Charles, arms outstretched, and I see what she’s trying to do—throw herself at him, make a scene, maybe try to seduce her way back into his good graces. It’s pathetic and desperate, and I’m done watching it.
I step between them, catching both her wrists now and spinning her around smoothly.
The move is one I practiced a hundred times in my living room while the boys napped, preparing for threats I hoped would never materialize.
My hands secure her arms behind her back—not painfully, but firmly enough that she can’t break free.
“Let go! Charles, make her let go!”
“Walk,” I say calmly, guiding her toward the stairs. “Your dramatics are unnecessary.”
“You can’t do this!” But she’s stumbling forward because she has no choice, her designer heels clicking frantically against marble. “Charles!”
My brother just watches, something like admiration flickering across his face as I escort Aria down the grand staircase like a bouncer removing a drunk patron. The staff have wisely made themselves scarce, though I catch glimpses of faces peeking around corners.
The front doors are open—the moving truck visible in the circular drive, already mostly loaded with her belongings. Afternoon sunlight streams through, painting everything gold and merciless.
“This is assault!” Aria shrieks. “I’ll sue! I’ll tell everyone what you did!”
“Please do,” I say pleasantly, steering her through the doorway and out onto the front steps. “I’m sure they’d love to hear about how you refused to leave the home of your ex-husband after being asked politely multiple times.”
We clear the threshold, and I release her with a small push—just enough to get her away from the door. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make my point.
She stumbles in her ridiculously high heels, careening forward—
—directly into someone standing at the base of the steps.
Strong hands catch her shoulders, steadying her automatically. For a split second, she freezes—not from the stumble, but from the touch. Her face does something complicated. Something that looks almost like hope before it crumbles into something else.
Then just as quickly, those same hands push her away. Not gently. Not carefully. Like she’s contaminated. Like touching her physically hurts him.
“Watch it,” a voice growls. Deep. Rough. Familiar in a way that makes every nerve ending in my body light up like a warning system.
Silas.
Aria’s still standing there, staring at him. She opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, but he’s already looking past her. Through her. Like she doesn’t exist.
He’s staring at me. Not at Aria, stumbling in her heels, crying and cursing. Not at Charles, standing in the doorway behind me. Not at anything else in the world except me.