The problem with coming home is that everyone still sees you as the person you were when you left. In my case, that person was a coward running from a scandal no one was allowed to talk about.
Blackwater Bay hadn't changed in five years. The same pristine colonial facades lined the waterfront, the same yachts bobbed in the harbor like gleaming white chess pieces, and the same suffocating politeness masked the vicious gossip that was the town's true currency. Money talked here, but secrets screamed.
I'd deliberately chosen a hotel instead of staying at the family estate. The Harbor View was expensive enough to keep the questions at bay but removed enough that I wouldn't accidentally bump into anyone from my old life. Six months ago, I'd been forced to return for Ivy's engagement party, an excruciating weekend of fake smiles and pointed whispers. Now I was back to handle the fallout of her fiancé's arrest.
Crisis management was my specialty, after all. Fixing other people's messes was literally my job description.
I kicked off my heels and poured myself a generous measure of scotch from the mini-bar, not bothering to check the price. The Kane family would be paying for it anyway, and considering what they were already paying for my professional services, the twenty-dollar miniature was hardly going to make a difference.
The amber liquid burned pleasantly down my throat as I stared out the window at the harbor. The sun was setting, casting long golden fingers across the water, the kind of postcard-perfect view that tourists paid triple for. All I saw was a gilded cage.
My phone pinged with a text from Ivy.
*Dinner at 8. Mother insists. Car will collect you.*
No "please." No "thank you for flying across the country to handle my fiancé's money laundering scandal." Just the expectation of compliance that had defined our relationship since childhood.
I typed back: *Working. Will come by tomorrow.*
The response was immediate: *It wasn't a request, Delilah.*
My fingers tightened around the glass. Five years away, a successful career built from nothing, and still my little sister could reduce me to that uncertain, second-best daughter with a few tapped-out words.
I didn't bother responding. Instead, I turned my attention to my laptop, pulling up the news articles about Vaughn Blackwood's arrest. Money laundering, fraud, embezzlement—the charges were extensive and damning. The evidence, according to the prosecution, was airtight. The golden boy of Blackwater Bay's financial scene had fallen, and fallen hard.
Something about it didn't add up. I'd met Vaughn several times during the engagement and subsequent wedding planning. He was arrogant, yes. Calculating, definitely. But stupid enough to leave a paper trail that a first-year FBI agent could follow? That didn't track with the shrewd businessman who'd built Blackwood Investments from the ground up.
My instincts told me there was more to the story, but my job wasn't to prove his innocence. It was to minimize the damage to the Kane family name. And if that meant letting Vaughn Blackwood burn while painting my sister as the innocent, betrayed fiancée, so be it.
I was halfway through drafting a press statement when a knock at the door interrupted my concentration. Probably housekeeping, though I'd hung the "Do Not Disturb" sign.
I opened the door ready to tell them to come back later, but the words died in my throat. Vaughn Blackwood stood in my doorway, the man I'd last seen being led away in handcuffs while my sister collapsed in carefully choreographed tears.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" I hissed, instinctively checking the hallway. "You shouldn't be anywhere near me."
"Your sister set me up." His voice was rougher than I remembered, his once-perfect appearance now edged with something dangerous. "And you're going to help me prove it."
I laughed, the sound harsh even to my own ears. "I don't owe you anything."
"No?" He stepped closer, backing me into the room. "Not even after what she did to you five years ago?"
My blood ran cold. "How do you know about that?"
"I know everything about the Kane sisters." His eyes held mine, searching. "Including which one of you actually has a conscience."
"Get out."
"Not until you look at this." He tossed a flash drive onto the bed. "Everything you need to know about who your perfect sister really is."
"I already know who she is."
"No." He moved closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating from his body. "You have no idea what she's capable of."
I held my ground, ignoring the unwelcome flutter in my stomach. "And I suppose you're going to tell me?"
"Better." His eyes dropped to my lips for just a second before returning to mine. "I'm going to show you."
The air between us crackled with tension that had nothing to do with his accusations and everything to do with the way his proximity made my skin prickle with awareness. I'd noticed it the first time we met at Ivy's engagement party—that inexplicable, unwanted pull. I'd buried it then, because he was my sister's fiancé and I was hardly going to become a walking cliché. Now he was my sister's disgraced ex, which somehow made the attraction even more inappropriate.
I stepped back, needing distance. "Why would I believe anything you have to say? You're facing serious charges, Vaughn. This reeks of desperate deflection."
"Because unlike your sister, I have proof." He gestured to the flash drive. "Bank transfers, shell companies, offshore accounts—all tied to Ivy, not me. She's been running a complex fraud operation for years, Delilah. I was just the convenient fall guy when things got too hot."
"That's absurd. Ivy doesn't know the first thing about financial crime." Even as I said it, a worm of doubt curled in my stomach. My sister had always been brilliant at manipulation. Why not money?
"Doesn't she?" He arched an eyebrow. "Your father taught her well before he disappeared with half of Blackwater Bay's investment capital. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
My father. The unmentionable topic. The man whose financial "irregularities" had nearly destroyed us five years ago before he vanished, leaving my mother to salvage the family name through carefully deployed tears and strategically liquidated assets.
"You don't know what you're talking about." My voice had gone flat, defensive.
"I know your father isn't dead like everyone believes. I know he's been communicating with Ivy. And I know she used everything he taught her to set me up to take the fall for her own crimes." Vaughn's jaw was tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "Check the drive, Delilah. If I'm lying, call the cops. Have me thrown back in jail. But if I'm telling the truth—"
"Then what?" I cut him off. "What exactly do you expect me to do?"
"Help me expose her."
I stared at him, incredulous. "You're asking me to betray my own sister."
"I'm asking you to do what you do best—reveal the truth. Isn't that what your fancy crisis management job is about? Finding the real story so you can bury it more effectively?"
His assessment stung because it wasn't entirely wrong. My job often involved uncovering the truth before anyone else could, then deciding which parts to highlight and which to obscure. But this was my family, not a client.
"Get out," I repeated, but with less conviction.
He didn't move. "Your sister framed me, Delilah. She looked me in the eye, told me she loved me, all while setting me up to take the fall for her crimes. What makes you think she wouldn't do the same to you if it suited her purposes?"
Because she already had. Five years ago, when everything fell apart, Ivy had been the one to whisper in our mother's ear, the one to plant the seeds of doubt. I'd been the family scapegoat while she played the perfect daughter, her hands as dirty as mine but somehow coming out spotless in the family narrative.
I glanced at the flash drive on the bed. "Why come to me? Why not go to the FBI?"
"Because the evidence is complex and circumstantial. It would take months to unravel, and I don't have months. My assets are frozen, my reputation is destroyed, and your sister is still out there, untouched." His eyes burned with an intensity that was almost frightening. "I need someone who knows how she thinks, who can help me find the smoking gun that will convince the authorities to look more closely at her instead of me."
"And what makes you think I'd help you destroy my sister?"
"Because you're nothing like her." His voice softened slightly. "Despite everything, you still care about the truth."
My fingers itched to pick up the flash drive, to see what evidence he had. Professional curiosity, I told myself. Nothing to do with the way his presence filled the room, making it hard to think clearly.
"I need time," I said finally. "I'll look at what you have, but I'm promising nothing."
Relief flickered across his face, quickly masked. "That's all I'm asking."
No, it wasn't. He was asking me to choose between family loyalty and what was right, between the sister who'd betrayed me and the man who had every reason to lie to me now. There was no winning move here.
Vaughn backed toward the door, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Call me when you've gone through it. My number's on the drive."
He paused at the threshold, his eyes meeting mine with unsettling directness. "And Delilah? Watch your back. Ivy knows I'm out on bail. If she suspects we're talking..."
He didn't need to finish the sentence. I knew my sister's capacity for cruelty better than anyone.
After he left, I stood motionless in the center of the room, staring at the flash drive like it might bite me. Outside, the last rays of sunlight disappeared beneath the horizon, plunging the harbor into darkness. Fitting, I thought. I was about to dive into murky waters with no guarantee of what I'd find.
I poured another scotch and picked up the drive, turning it over in my fingers. If Vaughn was telling the truth, my sister was not just manipulative but criminal. If he was lying, I was betraying Ivy by even considering his claims.
Either way, I was about to cross a line I couldn't uncross.
The knock at the door startled me. Had Vaughn come back? I slipped the drive into my pocket before opening the door, only to find a hotel staff member in a crisp uniform.
"Ms. Kane? Your car has arrived. Your mother said to remind you that dinner is at eight."
Of course. Despite my refusal, they'd sent a car anyway. Classic Kane family move—ignore boundaries, expect compliance.
"Please tell the driver I won't be needing the car tonight." I kept my voice polite but firm. "I have work to do."
The young man looked uncomfortable. "Ma'am, Mrs. Kane was very insistent. She said to tell you it's a family matter that can't wait."
Translation: my mother was playing one of her games. Probably planning to use dinner to gauge how much damage control I'd managed in the few hours since my arrival. Or worse, setting up some public reconciliation scene between Ivy and me for the town to witness.
"I understand, but I'm afraid it will have to wait until tomorrow." I reached for my wallet and pulled out a twenty. "Please convey my apologies."
The staff member hesitated before taking the bill. "Yes, ma'am." He lowered his voice. "Though between us, Mrs. Kane didn't seem like she'd take no for an answer. Said something about coming to get you herself if needed."
Fantastic. The last thing I needed was my mother making a scene in the hotel lobby. The gossip would spread through Blackwater Bay before midnight.
"Fine," I sighed. "Tell the driver I'll be down in ten minutes."
After he left, I grabbed my phone and tapped out a quick email to my assistant back in New York, asking her to dig deeper into Vaughn's case files. If I was going to look at his evidence, I wanted independent verification of the facts.
The flash drive felt heavy in my pocket as I reapplied my lipstick. I'd deal with Vaughn's accusations later. First, I had to survive dinner with the family I'd spent five years avoiding.
As I stepped into the elevator, I couldn't shake the feeling that Vaughn Blackwood's unexpected visit had set something in motion that would change everything. And not just because of what was on that flash drive, but because of the way my body had responded to his presence—a visceral, unwanted attraction that complicated an already impossible situation.
I'd come back to Blackwater Bay to manage a crisis. Instead, I had the sinking feeling I was about to become part of one.
The elevator doors closed, and I watched my reflection fragment in the mirrored walls. Delilah Kane, crisis manager extraordinaire, coming apart at the seams in the town that had broken her once before.
Some homecomings were inevitable. This one might just be my undoing.
***
Dinner at the Kane estate was exactly the performance I'd expected. My mother, Victoria, presided over the table with brittle elegance, her fingers wrapped around a crystal wine glass that never seemed to empty. Ivy sat across from me, picture-perfect in a pale blue dress that made her look like she'd stepped out of a high-end catalog, her expression one of practiced concern.
"Delilah, darling, you look tired," my mother said, her voice dripping with the kind of false sympathy that always preceded a criticism. "New York must be running you ragged."
"I'm fine, Mother." I speared a piece of asparagus with more force than necessary. "Just jet-lagged."
"Well, we're so grateful you could come home to help with this... unpleasantness." She gestured vaguely, as if Vaughn's arrest was a minor social faux pas rather than a federal case. "Your expertise is exactly what we need right now."
What they needed was a miracle, but I kept that thought to myself. "I've started drafting a statement for the press. We'll position Ivy as the blindsided fiancée, emphasize her shock and disappointment. The sympathy angle should help deflect any suggestion of her involvement."
Ivy's eyes flashed momentarily before her expression smoothed into practiced gratitude. "You always know exactly what to say, Dee. That's why you're so good at your job."
The childhood nickname felt wrong coming from her now, a forced intimacy that hadn't existed between us for years. I took a sip of wine instead of responding.
"The timing is particularly unfortunate," my mother continued. "The foundation gala is next month, and we were counting on Vaughn's contacts for the major donors."
Of course. The Kane Family Foundation—my mother's pet project and the family's primary vehicle for social redemption after my father's disgrace. The annual gala was less about charity and more about proving the Kanes still belonged in Blackwater Bay's elite circles.
"I'm sure Ivy can handle the donors," I said, watching my sister carefully. "She's always had a gift for persuasion."
Something knowing passed between us, a silent acknowledgment of the double meaning in my words. Ivy's smile tightened almost imperceptibly.
"It's been so difficult," she said, her voice catching in a well-practiced tremor. "I trusted him completely. To think that while we were planning our wedding, he was involved in something so... sordid."
I thought of the flash drive in my pocket, of Vaughn's accusations. Was my sister putting on an act, or was she truly the victim here? I'd spent years reading people's tells, uncovering the truth beneath carefully constructed facades. But Ivy had always been my blind spot—too close, too complicated to see clearly.
"The important thing," my mother interjected, "is that we present a united front. The Kane women, standing together through adversity. Again." The slight emphasis on the last word was a pointed reminder of the last scandal we'd weathered.
"Yes, well, let's hope this one blows over more quickly," I muttered.
"It will," Ivy said with surprising firmness. "Once Vaughn pleads guilty, the story will die down. Everyone loves a villain who admits his crimes."
I raised an eyebrow. "You seem very certain he'll plead guilty."
"The evidence is overwhelming, according to the prosecutor." She met my gaze steadily. "Why would he drag it out?"
"Maybe because he's innocent?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.
A weighted silence fell over the table. My mother set down her fork with deliberate care.
"Delilah," she said, her tone warning. "Let's not indulge in fanciful thinking. The authorities have built a solid case. Our concern is protecting Ivy and the family name, not Vaughn Blackwood's reputation."
"Of course," I agreed smoothly, though my mind was racing. Was that a flash of alarm I'd seen in Ivy's eyes? "I'm just considering all angles, as any good crisis manager would."
"Your job is to handle the press and public perception," my mother corrected. "The legal matters are in the hands of the family attorneys."
The same attorneys who had helped bury my father's crimes five years ago. I wondered if they knew where he was now, if they'd facilitated his disappearance while I took the blame for exposing him.
"Has Vaughn tried to contact you?" I asked Ivy, keeping my tone casual.
She stiffened slightly. "No. His bail conditions forbid it."
"That's good." I twirled my wine glass, watching the burgundy liquid catch the light. "Though men like Vaughn rarely play by the rules when they're desperate."
"What are you suggesting, Delilah?" Ivy's voice had taken on a sharp edge.
"Nothing at all. Just that you should be careful. Desperate men do desperate things." I met her gaze directly. "They might even try to shift blame to protect themselves."
For a moment, something fierce and calculating flickered in my sister's eyes—something that looked nothing like the wounded fiancée she was portraying. Then it was gone, replaced by a tremulous smile.
"That's why I'm so glad you're here," she said. "You've always protected me, Dee."
The statement hung in the air, equal parts plea and challenge. Once, I would have done anything to protect Ivy. Now I wasn't sure who needed protection from whom.
My mother cleared her throat. "Now that Delilah's home, we should discuss the foundation accounts. There are some irregularities that need attention before the gala."
"Irregularities?" I asked, suddenly alert.
"Nothing serious," Ivy cut in quickly. "Just some discrepancies in the donor records. I've been so distracted with the wedding plans and now... this."
"I'd be happy to look at them," I offered, watching her reaction closely.
"That won't be necessary," my mother said firmly. "Ivy has it under control. Besides, you have enough on your plate with the press strategy."
I nodded, though my suspicions were now fully aroused. Financial discrepancies in the family foundation, my sister's strange certainty about Vaughn's guilt, her momentary slip when I'd suggested he might contact her—it all added weight to Vaughn's accusations.
The rest of dinner passed in a blur of superficial conversation and thinly veiled tensions. By the time dessert was served, I had a pounding headache and an overwhelming urge to flee back to the relative safety of my hotel room.
"You'll stay the night, of course," my mother said as the maid cleared our plates. "Your old room is prepared."
"Thank you, but I have an early conference call with my office." The lie came easily. "The hotel is more convenient."
Disappointment tightened my mother's features. "You've always been so independent, Delilah. Sometimes to a fault."
"It's served me well in my career," I replied evenly.
"Yes, well." She sighed. "At least plan to attend the small gathering we're having tomorrow evening. Just close friends, to show solidarity during this difficult time."
A public performance, then. I'd expected nothing less. "I'll be there."
As I gathered my purse to leave, Ivy followed me to the foyer, her heels clicking sharply on the marble floor.
"Dee, wait." She reached for my arm, her fingers cool against my skin. "I know things have been strained between us, but I really am glad you're here. I've missed you."
For a moment, she looked like the little sister I'd adored growing up—vulnerable, sincere, needing my protection. Then I remembered the flash drive in my pocket, Vaughn's desperate eyes as he accused her of framing him.
"I'm just doing my job, Ivy." I kept my voice neutral.
"Is that all it is to you? A job?" Hurt flashed across her perfect features. "We're still family, despite everything."
Despite everything. Such a neat way of packaging five years of estrangement, of her complicity in the lies that had driven me away.
"Yes, we are," I agreed, though the words felt hollow. "Which is why I'm going to make sure this scandal doesn't touch you."
Her smile was radiant, relieved. "I knew I could count on you."
As the driver took me back to the hotel, I stared out at the familiar streets of Blackwater Bay, trying to reconcile the sister I'd just left with the woman Vaughn had described. Either Ivy was an exceptional actress playing the victim while orchestrating Vaughn's downfall, or Vaughn was a desperate man grasping at anything to save himself.
Back in my room, I locked the door and pulled out the flash drive. For several minutes, I just held it, weighing the consequences of what I was about to do. Looking at Vaughn's evidence meant acknowledging the possibility that my sister was capable of framing him—of committing serious financial crimes and letting an innocent man take the blame.
But not looking meant potentially allowing an innocent man to be destroyed while my sister got away with it. And if there was one thing I couldn't stomach, it was injustice masquerading as justice.
I plugged the drive into my laptop and opened the first file.
What I saw made my blood run cold.
Bank transfers. Shell companies. Offshore accounts. All meticulously documented, all pointing back to Ivy Kane as the architect of a sophisticated fraud scheme. And worse—evidence that she'd deliberately planted a trail leading to Vaughn, systematically setting him up to take the fall months before his arrest.
There were emails, too. Correspondence between Ivy and someone using an encrypted address. The language was careful, coded, but the implication was clear: Ivy had been following a plan, one designed by someone with intimate knowledge of financial crime.
Someone like my father.
I sat back, my mind racing. If these documents were real—and they certainly looked legitimate—then Vaughn was telling the truth. My sister had framed him. She'd orchestrated his downfall while playing the devoted fiancée.
My phone buzzed with a text. Unknown number.
*Did you look at the files?*
Vaughn. I hesitated before responding.
*Yes. How do I know they're authentic?*
The reply came quickly: *You're the expert. Verify them yourself. But you know I'm telling the truth. You've always known what your sister is capable of.*
I had, hadn't I? Even as I'd defended Ivy to others, protected her from consequences, part of me had always recognized the calculating nature beneath her perfect exterior. The way she used people, discarded them when they no longer served her purposes.
I'd been one of those people five years ago. Now Vaughn was.
*We need to talk,* I texted back. *Not at the hotel. Too many eyes.*
*Tomorrow. The old boathouse at Harper's Point. 10am.*
I stared at the message, feeling the weight of the choice I was about to make. Meeting Vaughn meant committing to this—to investigating my own sister, potentially exposing her crimes. It meant choosing truth over family loyalty.
But hadn't my family already shattered that loyalty years ago? Hadn't they chosen their reputation over truth, over me?
*I'll be there,* I typed, then added: *Come alone.*
His response was immediate: *Always do. Trust no one, Delilah. Especially not your sister.*
I set the phone down and turned back to the damning evidence on my screen. Somewhere in this labyrinth of financial transactions was the truth—not just about Vaughn's innocence, but about what my sister had become in my absence.
Finding that truth meant navigating treacherous waters, where family loyalty clashed with professional integrity, and unwanted attraction complicated an already dangerous alliance.
The smart move would be to walk away. To do my job as the family expected: manage the crisis, protect the Kane name, ignore the ugly reality beneath the surface.
But I'd stopped taking the easy way out five years ago, when I'd first discovered my father's crimes. I hadn't stayed silent then, despite the cost.
I wouldn't stay silent now.
Even if it meant betraying my sister. Even if it meant working with Vaughn Blackwood, the one man I should definitely not be feeling this unwelcome pull toward.
Outside my window, the lights of Blackwater Bay twinkled innocently, masking the currents of deceit that ran beneath the town's polished surface. I was about to dive back into those dangerous waters, with no guarantee I wouldn't drown this time.
But some truths demanded to be uncovered, no matter the cost. And if my instincts were right, the truth about Ivy Kane might be the most dangerous secret in Blackwater Bay.