Prologue
AMELIA
Puffin Island, with its windswept cliffs and rugged coastline, had once been a place of belonging and stability for Amelia Brown.
But now, with every inch of it carrying memories of her father, taken too soon in a tragic yacht accident, it was a place of sadness and grief.
Ethan Brown had loved her with his whole heart, and nourished her love of the written word, first teaching her to read, then how to write with passion.
But now he was gone, and Amelia was alone.
Her stomach churned as she ascended the narrow, creaking staircase leading to Edgar Carmichael’s office.
The old solicitor had been a fixture of Puffin Island for as long as anyone could remember, and his office, tucked above an antique shop on Anchor Way, was small and unassuming, and its faded sign hanging precariously from a rusty chain outside was the only hint that it was there.
Despite its modest exterior, this was the hallowed ground where countless Puffin Island family legacies had been determined, and today it would see her own fate decided.
The smell of coffee hit Amelia as she stepped into the dimly lit room.
Edgar’s office was a time capsule, every surface adorned with signs of a life spent in quiet contemplation.
Shelves sagged under the weight of thick legal volumes and dusty files from cases long closed.
The large oak desk was the room’s centrepiece, its surface covered with papers, but still meticulously organised.
To the left of the desk, a small window allowed slivers of the afternoon light to seep in.
Edgar had been a friend of her father’s for many years.
Dressed in a worn but neat suit, he was in his late sixties, with salt-and-pepper hair that curled in an unruly way at the nape of his neck.
His pale blue eyes, sharp and discerning, were half-hidden behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that were perpetually slipping down his nose.
Edgar had lived on the island all his life and established himself as the go-to solicitor for nearly all of the island’s residents.
He knew every family’s history and every bit of gossip, the fact that he kept himself very much to himself making him the ideal keeper of secrets.
‘Amelia,’ he said, standing as she entered, his voice kind but subdued. ‘I’m terribly sorry for the circumstances. Please, have a seat.’
Amelia managed a thin smile and sat down. Feeling anxious, she looked at him. ‘Thank you, Edgar. I just … I don’t understand any of this. The accident, this will reading, everything feels wrong.’
He nodded, his face solemn. ‘I understand. Your father’s passing was a shock to all of us.’
Before Amelia could respond, the door to the office creaked open again, and in swept Vivienne Langford, looking every bit the villain Amelia had come to know her as.
She was dressed all in black, her raven hair cascading down her back in glossy waves, her lips painted the colour of fresh blood.
The sharp clicking of her heels on the wooden floorboards echoed in the small room like a death knell as she walked to her seat with an air of self-assurance, her dark eyes glimmering as she cast a brief, dismissive glance at Amelia.
‘Ah, Edgar, darling,’ she purred, her voice thick with faux warmth. ‘I trust this won’t take too long?’
Amelia stiffened in her seat, her gaze locked on the woman who had come between her and her father.
Vivienne had waltzed into Ethan Brown’s life like a storm, sweeping him away with her charm and ambition.
As a successful literary agent, she knew how to get what she wanted, and she’d set her sights on Amelia’s father – and now, apparently, on everything he owned.
Edgar cleared his throat and gestured for Vivienne to take a seat. ‘We’ll begin shortly.’
Vivienne sat with the grace of a cat, her legs crossed and her hands resting elegantly on her knee, a slight smirk playing on her lips.
Amelia’s blood boiled as she watched Vivienne’s smug composure, knowing full well that this woman had been the catalyst for everything that had gone wrong in her relationship with her father just before he passed away.
The fights, the distance, the final estrangement; all of it led back to Vivienne.
Edgar fumbled with a stack of papers on his desk, clearly uncomfortable with the tension filling the room. After a long pause, he looked up, adjusting his glasses as he prepared to read the will.
‘As you both know,’ Edgar began, his voice steady but heavy with the weight of what he was about to reveal, ‘this is the last will and testament of Ethan Brown. It was drawn up and signed six months ago.’
Amelia’s heart hammered in her chest. She had no idea what to expect, but surely her father had not forgotten her.
He had always promised that the family home – their home – would one day be hers.
It was their sanctuary, the place where they had shared countless memories.
It was inconceivable that he would leave it to anyone else, especially Vivienne.
Edgar continued reading, his voice monotone as he listed the various assets and minor bequests. Amelia barely registered the details, her mind already racing ahead to what truly mattered – the house. Her childhood home perched on the cliffs, overlooking the endless ocean. It was a part of her soul.
Finally, Edgar reached the critical part of the document.
‘To my beloved daughter, Amelia Brown, I leave my personal savings, investments and all possessions contained within my private study.’
Amelia exhaled, a small relief easing the tightness in her chest. She would have some of her father’s things, at least. But then Edgar’s voice wavered slightly as he continued, and her heart sank once more.
‘And to Vivienne Langford,’ Edgar read slowly, as if questioning the words himself, ‘I bequeath the family home, Dune House, in its entirety, along with the surrounding estate.’
There was a deafening silence in the room as Amelia’s world seemed to tilt on its axis. For a moment, she thought she hadn’t heard correctly, that her mind had somehow twisted Edgar’s words. But the sickening reality settled in quickly. Her father, her own father, had left the house … to Vivienne?
She stared at Edgar, disbelief etched across her face. ‘No,’ she whispered, shaking her head. ‘That can’t be right.’
Edgar set the papers down, his hands trembling slightly. Even he seemed shaken by the contents of the will. ‘I … I’m sorry, Amelia. This is what your father signed. But this will wasn’t made with me.’
‘Ethan decided to use my solicitor.’ Vivienne’s smirk widened, her red lips curling into a grotesque smile of triumph.
She leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs with the grace of a queen, and gave a small, satisfied click of her tongue.
‘Well, it seems Ethan knew what was best after all,’ she said, her voice dripping with condescension.
Amelia’s fury erupted like a volcano. She shot out of her chair, her hands clenched into fists. ‘You! You manipulated him! You’ve been in his life a matter of minutes. This isn’t what he wanted … I know it!’
Vivienne’s dark eyes gleamed with a flash of something sinister, but she remained outwardly unfazed by Amelia’s outburst. ‘Really, Amelia, such dramatics. I understand you’re upset, but the will is clear. Dune House is mine now.’
‘I’ll contest this,’ Amelia shouted, her voice shaking with emotion. ‘I don’t care what it takes. I will not let you steal my family home!’
Vivienne stood, her long coat swishing as she moved. She straightened, towering over Amelia and looking down at her with cold amusement. ‘You can try, darling. But the law is on my side. And, as you know, I’m very good at winning.’
She flashed a final, venomous smile before turning on her heels and sauntering towards the door.
Amelia watched her go, rage and despair crashing through her like waves in a storm. The sound of Vivienne’s heels echoed long after she’d left the room, each click a reminder of the power she now held.
Edgar sat in stunned silence, staring at the will in front of him, his brow furrowed in disbelief. ‘Amelia,’ he said softly. ‘I … I don’t understand it either. This isn’t what I expected from your father. I’ve known him for years, and this … this doesn’t make sense.’
Amelia sank back into her chair, her body trembling. ‘He wouldn’t do this to me,’ she whispered. ‘There’s something wrong. I have to fight this, Edgar. I can’t let her win.’
Edgar nodded slowly, his expression troubled but determined. ‘We’ll look into every option,’ he said. ‘I promise you that. We won’t let this go without a fight.’
As Amelia sat in the quiet office, the weight of what had just happened pressed down on her like a suffocating fog. She’d lost her father, and now, it seemed, she was losing everything he’d promised her.