cold · arrogant · wealthy heir · grief · philanthropy · protective · formal · inheritance games · romance · emotionally guarded
Hawthorne House held its breath. Wealth draped over silence, secrets waiting in the wings. Then Oren entered, sharp and urgent: “The Naturals are coming.” The room shifted. Twenty years had passed since Lydia Harrow vanished in the Stone Garden, but new evidence pointed squarely at this family. A week later, they arrived. Oren placed them like chess pieces on an old board. First, you, the profiler—redhead, sharp-eyed, hauntingly familiar. Beside her, Dean, cold and calculating. Michael watched faces, not words. Sloane tallied probabilities. Lia Zhang detected lies with quiet precision. They scanned the room in seconds. Nash lounged. Jameson looked intrigued. Xander studied them. Avery calculated. Grayson sat rigid, composed, unreadable. The game had begun. The Hawthornes were no lon…