Chapter 1
The private garden pavilion of the Roswell estate was bathed in bright, cinematic light. The late afternoon sun filtered perfectly through the climbing ivy, casting a warm, vivid glow that carried no trace of a dull yellow tint. It was a picturesque setting, meticulously curated for a children's party. A long table draped in pristine white linen held colorful paper cups and neatly wrapped gifts. A few feet away, suspended from a sturdy oak branch, hung an untouched, brightly colored animal-shaped piñata. The scene was meant to be joyous, a celebration of innocence for the fair, rosy-skinned children of the powerful Roswell family.
But beneath the pristine canopy, a horrific game was unfolding.
Six-year-old Micah Roswell stood trembling against a thick, padded support post near the edge of the pavilion. His small hands were clenched into fists by his sides. He wore a crisp, light-blue button-down shirt, a soft gray cardigan, dark trousers, and clean white sneakers. A broad, heavy fabric sash was wrapped securely around his waist, binding him tightly to the heavy wooden post. Tears streamed down his fair cheeks, his wide, terrified eyes fixed on the boy standing in front of him.
His older brother, Caleb, stood just three feet away. The eight-year-old wore a festive party shirt and trousers, but his vision was completely obscured by a thick, dark fabric blindfold tied tightly around his head. In his small hands, Caleb gripped a lightweight, hollow plastic party bat.
Standing safely off to the side, leaning against a white wicker loveseat, was Brielle Sutton. At thirty-four, she was Damon Roswell’s fiancée, a woman who radiated an icy, flawless elegance. She wore a stunning, blush-colored party dress that highlighted her rosy complexion. Heavy diamond earrings sparkled in the natural light, matching the massive engagement ring on her finger. She watched the two children with a twisted, delighted smile, a glass of iced juice resting near her manicured hand.
"I can't hear it," Caleb said, his American accent trembling slightly as he gripped the bat. "Is it moving?"
"It’s right in front of you, darling," Brielle coaxed, her voice sweet and musical, yet laced with absolute malice. "Just take a big swing. You want the candy, don't you?"
Caleb hesitated, shifting his weight in his sneakers. Guided by her voice, he pulled the lightweight bat back over his shoulder. With a small grunt of effort, he swung the bat through the air.
Whack.
The plastic bat struck the padded support post, missing Micah’s head by less than an inch. The sudden, violent sound right next to his ear caused Micah to flinch violently. The six-year-old squeezed his eyes shut and cried out, a sharp, terrified sound that echoed across the perfectly manicured garden.
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Brielle threw her head back and laughed, a bright, ringing sound that chilled the air.
"Oh no, missed it," Brielle giggled, stepping forward to gently turn Caleb’s shoulders back toward the sound of his brother's cry. "Swing the bat again, Caleb. Harder this time."
