Chapter 3

Holden carried Serena out for medical attention and left Quinn with a single parting line: "Sort yourself out."

He didn't come back for the rest of the night. Quinn didn't care. She found the first aid kit and dressed her own head wound, then went to sleep alone.

The next morning, she picked up the cake she'd made herself and drove to the cemetery.

Today was Abby's birthday. It was also the anniversary of her death.

Three years ago, Abby had woken up early for preschool and pressed a kiss to both Quinn's and Holden's cheeks before she left.

"When I get home, I want a cake that Mommy and Daddy made together!" she'd announced.

Back then, Quinn and Holden had already been fighting over Serena, and their sharp little girl had sensed it — she was doing her small, clumsy best to patch things between her parents.

Quinn had melted completely. She'd promised.

Then Abby died.

She died on a bridge, in fire and light. She'd heard her parents' voices in those final moments. She'd believed, with everything she had, that they were coming for her.

The birthday cake had been three years late. So late that Holden had long since forgotten he'd ever promised it.

That's alright, Quinn thought. At least I haven't forgotten.

When she arrived at the cemetery, she found two people already standing at Abby's grave.

A small boy was crouching in front of the headstone, dragging a crayon across the photograph with cheerful, deliberate strokes. His voice was light and mean: "I'm not sharing Daddy with anyone. If I draw her into an ugly monster, Daddy won't like her anymore."

Serena stood beside him, satisfaction plain on her face: "Don't worry, sweetheart. She's dead. She's not competition."

"It's not like I didn't earn this. I reached out to Holden's old enemy myself, planned the whole thing three years ago. Now Holden has only one child left — you. The Blackwood fortune will be ours."

As she spoke, the photograph was scrawled beyond recognition. The laughing little girl in that picture seemed to lose her brightness, her smile dimming into something sad and lost.

Quinn's ears rang. She moved before she could think, shoving the two of them away from the grave.

The boy stumbled and fell, bursting into loud sobs.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

The voice hit her from behind. Quinn didn't turn. She picked up the cake she'd carried all this way and smashed it directly into both their faces.

Serena let out a shriek. "Holden, help me! Mrs. Blackwood is trying to kill us!"

"We only came to see Abby, to apologize — and she attacks us! She wants us dead! Why are you punishing Noah? He's innocent!"

Holden came sprinting across the cemetery, grabbing Quinn's arms. "Are you insane? He's a child!"

"I don't just want to hurt him," Quinn said, her eyes blazing red, her control gone. "I want Serena dead. They killed Abby. I want them both in the ground next to her!"

A crack.

The force of the blow snapped her head sideways. Holden had hit her — a real, open-palmed strike, thrown with everything he had. Her ears rang. The handprint appeared on her face almost immediately. The corner of her mouth split open, and blood began to run.

Holden stared at his own hand. Something uncertain moved through his eyes. He almost looked like he didn't believe he'd done it.

"Quinn, I—"

Quinn pressed a hand to her face. Her eyes were raw with hatred. "You love Serena so much — why won't you just divorce me and let me go?"

The word "divorce" snapped something in him. His face turned dangerous: "Out of the question. I lost you once. I will never let you walk away again."

"Marcus — take my wife home. She doesn't leave that room without my order."