han Ayleen remembered. Pushing it open, she was met no

ts, Vernon and Meryl Cross, sat side-by-side on the beige sofa,

ra Rasmussen. Her hand was resting possessively on her sligh

ed her purse on the floor. "You wan

een, we've been hearing things. The Bradleys are not happ

ned her mouth to tell them the truth, to tell them a

face a cold, emotionless mask. "It's Do

ared at Alessandra, who simply raised a perfectly

tening into a cloying, manipulative plea. "Do the graceful t

ople who had raised her. She tried to summon a memory of love, of gratitude for the sacrif

on the banister. "She's right, Ayleen. The family needs the Bradley in

es, and she was the carcas

fering a glass of water, her face a mask of concern. The contrast between their

d, her voice dangerously quiet, "to

ffee table. "Alessandra is the woman Don loves. She is

rp, edged with hysteria. Tears pricked her eyes, but she blin

eck. The Cross family heirloom Meryl had given her on

offee table. It landed with a small, shar

er face contorting with rage. "Af

l dissolve your trust fund," Vernon t

her voice ringing with a strength she didn't kn

alse sympathy. "Ayleen, darling. Don't be so stubbor

can have the man you stole," she said, her voice dropping to a

smug expres

een turned and walked toward the front door. Meryl was sobbing now,

pen and stepped out into the cool night air

ands shaking, but her eyes

one and sent a single

e signing the

cutting through the darkness. She was leaving more than just a ho