Page 1 of Burning Daylight
PROLOGUE
JULIETTE
Thirteen Years Old
I’m not supposed to be here.
I crouch in place while my nanny Beverly and our chef Aaron carry in groceries and gossip like they’re reporters forThe Rosebrook Rag.
Beverly would kill me if she knew I was eavesdropping.
Especially since today is my fitting for the annual Founders’ Gala that happens every year at Verona University.
“Do you think Marcus Montgomery knows his wife is fucking Craig?” Aaron asks her.
“Please. Worst kept secret in Rosebrook Falls.”
“You don’t think that’s why Marcus killed?—”
Beverly smacks his arm. “Hush. Don’t speak about the dead. It’s uncouth.”
Chef Aaron throws his hands up, palms out. “I’m just asking. It’s weird Marcus ishere, right?”
Beverly shrugs. “I don’t have time to care about that, and neither do you. Help me find that little rascal Juliette.”
I press myself deeper into the shadows beneath the stairs. It’s a lot of nothing under here, just a dark corner with a lamp that flickers and staged books with blank pages.
But it’s the only spot in this entire mansion that feels like home. The only place I can go where I’m not choreographed to perfection.
School. Piano lesson. Etiquette class. French lesson. Rinse. Wash. Repeat.
That’s my life.
But today is Sunday, and it’s the only day I get to hide away and write.
That’s what Iwasdoing until the two gossips across the hall started yammering like they are.
My brows scrunch. I’ve seen Marcus Montgomery over the years at the Founders’ Gala or any other event that requires I dress nicely and play the part of a perfect Calloway kid, but the loathing of the Montgomery name is bred into my entire family’s veins from the moment we are born.
Evenhateseems like too nice a word.
So, Marcus being at our estate? It’s…odd.
Beverly and Aaron disappear around the corner, and I snap my notebook of stories shut, darting from my hiding spot and sneaking to the wing where my dad’s home office sits.
When I get there, I peek through a tiny slat between the door and frame to the room, adrenaline flooding through me when I see him and Marcus.
I shift my weight, and the hardwood creaks, echoing off the tall ceilings. My pulse pounds like a drum as I ease open the door just enough to see better.
When neither of them notice, I let out a shaky exhale.
My father is all starched suits and perfectly placed smiles so sharp they can cut you like a knife, and tonight is no exception. Even in his own home, he looks battle ready, just waiting for the right time to bend your will to his.
His black hair, the same color as mine, is combed back and styled, and his thick eyebrows bunch together until it looks like a caterpillar is on his face. He’s frowning as he stands rigid, his pale knuckles turning white where they press against the top of his big desk.
Marcus looks similar, but somehow totally different.
Where Dad is stiff and polished, Marcus Montgomery is…fluid.
