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  It was close to ten p.m. when she heard the front door burst open.

  With a babble of laughter, Trish and Ryan entered the house.

  “You are so, so, so bad,” she heard Trish giggle. “Was it really necessary to stop at our pub? A bottle of champagne, yes, well and good, but the brandies? Whose idea was that?”

  She giggled loudly and hiccupped. She sounded very drunk.

  “The champagne was my idea, the cognac was yours. Come on, my lovely, time to get you into bed now.”

  Ryan didn’t sound entirely sober himself.

  Cassie opened her door and stepped out into the corridor.

  There they were. Ryan had their bags in one hand, and was holding Trish’s hand in his other. She was leaning on him and laughing.

  “Hello there, Cassie. You still up? Everything good here? Kiddies all in bed?” Ryan said.

  “Everything’s fine.”

  She stared at Ryan as they passed, wondering if he had any idea how much she hated him.

  He’d destroyed her emotionally, but would walk away from this debacle squeaky clean. He’d carry on with his privileged life, and his perfect family, his beautiful house and expensive cars, doing what he wanted, screwing who he wanted. Smoothing his way with lies, with no heed for the devastation he caused.

  In that moment, Cassie changed her mind. She wasn’t going to walk out. Before she left in the morning, she would have her say to both of them. She wordlessly reentered her room.

  A few minutes later, a tap on her door made her jump.

  “Hello, beautiful,” Ryan whispered.

  Cassie stared at him, incredulous.

  How could he possibly be continuing this farce? Was he deluded?

  Clearly he was—grinning at her from the doorway like nothing was wrong at all.

  “Trish is asleep. Are you coming out for a nightcap?” he asked.

  “No,” she hissed, and turned her back on him.

  Then she felt his hand on her shoulders, massaging her in a way that previously would have sent a flood of desire and happiness through her. Now his touch revolted her and she flinched away.

  “Just one drink. Come on. I’ve missed you. I need to talk to you.”

  “All right,” she said.

  If he wanted talk, he would have it. She wouldn’t be shy about what she was planning to say.

  She grabbed her jacket—the gloves were packed—and followed him down the corridor.

  When they were out of earshot of the bedrooms, he began to talk in a normal voice, as if nothing was wrong.

  “There’s a storm brewing. You can’t see it from this side; it’s approaching from the other way. The lightning was incredible coming back. We might only have time for one quick drink outside, but it’ll be worth it for the spectacle—and the rain will be blowing over the balcony.”

  Cassie followed in silence as he collected a bottle and glasses from the kitchen.

  Outside, the wind was starting to gust, but as he’d said, due to the storm’s direction, the balcony was sheltered. The waves were crashing onto shore and in the faint ambient light she could just see the white crests of the breakers.

  This would be the last time she’d sit out here. Thinking about all the other times, what he’d said to her and what she’d believed, filled her with rage all over again.

  “My gorgeous, I’ve missed you so. Has everything been well here?”

  Ryan moved his chair closer to hers and handed her a glass.

  Cassie downed half of it in one gulp.

  “Firstly, I’m not your gorgeous.”

  He stared at her, eyebrows raised, genuine puzzlement in his eyes.

  “What do you mean? Is something wrong?”

  How had she ever believed him? Looking at him now, Cassie couldn’t comprehend how badly she’d allowed herself to be misled.

  “Ryan, I’ve had enough of your games. It’s perfectly clear you’re not trying to get a divorce.”

  He sighed.

  “Cassie, don’t be like this. Please. This is difficult enough for me as it is. Do you know—”

  “Oh, spare me!”

  She saw his face change as he picked up the blunt sarcasm in her tone, but she continued in full tirade.

  “What are you going to say? ‘It’s so hard for me having to nurse Trish through this divorce. Oh, Cassie, please understand.’

  “Well, Ryan, I do understand. The only difficult thing for you right now is coordinating your stories, because there is no divorce. There isn’t, there never was, it’s all just a complete bullshit story. You’re a liar, Ryan. A compulsive, dangerous liar and even your children know it. You’ve been stringing me along in so many ways and I believed you because I’d never met anyone like you before, and it took me a while to work out that people could actually be as blatantly two-faced as you.”

  “Cassie, stop it!”

  Ryan’s face was flushed with rage. In that moment she couldn’t believe how ugly he looked, with his narrowed eyes and twisted, snarling mouth.

  Cassie slammed her glass down before continuing.

  “I happened to open your car’s cubbyhole. What a shame you hadn’t had time to move the wire cutters you used to disable my car. I should have realized what a coincidence it was that my car was sabotaged the day before your wife came back. You were making sure you’d have an on-site babysitter for your romantic jaunts. Definitely a good way to stop me from leaving in a huff—especially since you were the hero of the day and said you’d look after me. Ryan, I have the utmost contempt for you. You should seek professional help to deal with your psychological problem. Maybe they can fix you.”

  Cassie spat out the words.

  “I’m leaving first thing tomorrow, and before I go, I’m going to bring your dear wife up to date on what’s been happening here. She and I can have a chat over a nice cup of coffee so that she knows exactly what kind of a pathological liar she married.”

  Lightning flashed above the ocean and a thunderclap shook the whole house.

  As she turned, Ryan grabbed her arm, and Cassie shrieked as he yanked her back. His fingers closed around her bicep, clamping hard, and she felt a sudden thrill of fear.

  Had she thought he’d just lie down and accept this?

  “You will not,” he spat at her. “And I’ll tell you why. If you say one word to my wife about this—if you even hint at it—I’m going to report you for child abuse.”

  Cassie stared at him, horrified. Report her for abuse? What was he talking about?

  Ryan raised his voice, almost shouting, and Cassie realized that he was far angrier than she’d realized.

  “For child abuse. I will call the social workers to come and examine the children and they will find bruises. There will be evidence for them to see, I promise you that.”

  She stared at him, appalled by what he was implying—that he would hurt them, and blame it on her. How could a father do such a thing to his own children? This wasn’t a joke, he wasn’t saying it lightly. He was stating it as fact.

  Cassie didn’t want to speak another word to him. If it had been her own safety at stake, she wouldn’t have tried, but now that he’d threatened Dylan and Madison, she had to stand up for them.

  “Ryan, please, not your own children! You can’t—” she began.

  Enraged, he shouted her down, with her arm still trapped in his vise-like grip.

  “I can and I will. While we’re about it, I’ll be shocked to discover that you don’t have the correct work permit. I’ll tell them you lied to me and I’ll cooperate fully to have you penalized, fined, and deported—after you’ve served your jail time for the abuse.”

  Cassie had no words left. The extent of his threats had silenced her. What he’d said was beyond shocking; she felt crushed by the viciousness of his intent.

  Lightning flashed, brightening the scene in blue-white for an eerie moment.

  Ryan continued in a quieter tone.

  “You stupid little girl. If you think you are go
ing to do anything to compromise my plans, you are wrong. Trish is loaning my business a large amount of cash, and I’m not letting anything jeopardize this. Particularly not your hysterical behavior. There will be no complaining, no doing anything except what you’ve been hired to do. You will shut up and grow up, and keep the children happy until I tell you that you can leave. Understand?”

  She couldn’t speak, but managed a nod.

  “So for now, you—are going—nowhere.”

  Ryan gave a final wrench of her arm before releasing it so suddenly Cassie nearly fell over.

  Her arm was throbbing, and all she could think of was getting away from him. She staggered back, found her balance, and fumbled her way through the glass doors and back into the safety of the family room.

  Her breath was coming in sharp, ragged sobs.

  She was petrified by the violent side Ryan had revealed. Under that handsome, charming façade lurked a pathological liar who was prepared to do anything—threaten, damage, and harm—to protect himself.

  What had the children gone through in the past? Had Ryan hurt them before? How could she defend them when she herself was an illegal worker who was now being threatened with deportation?

  Cassie knew she had to find a way to handle this situation, for the children’s safety, to prevent Ryan from following through on his appalling threats, but she feared it was too late. She’d lost control of the situation, and whatever trust he’d had in her was gone.

  She should have remembered Dylan’s warning, that his dad got “weird” when you tried to call him out on a lie.

  Weird was an understatement. Ryan had become totally sociopathic.

  What an utter fool she’d been to believe him, to fall for him, and what an idiot she’d been to think she could have the last word.

  All she had done was reveal her hand, and now he had her in his power.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Cassie was hiding under the bed, her hand tightly clasped in Jacqui’s.

  They could hear her father in the room downstairs. He was on the rampage, as Jacqui called it. Cassie didn’t know exactly what that meant, but she knew it sounded scary. It explained why it was important that they hide, because the word was threatening and evil, just like his actions.

  Rampage.

  It meant shouting, swearing, the smashing of glass, and Cassie knew the next day they would have to walk carefully, because the splinters could hide, sharp and deadly. She could be walking, or kneel down, only to find a piece of glass sliding into her skin, invisible apart from the pain and the dark welling of blood.

  “We’ll be OK if we can reach the sea,” Cassie whispered.

  “Yes,” Jacqui replied.

  Over the commotion, Cassie could hear the sea; the constant sighing of surf, even though she knew it was nowhere near their small apartment. The wind must be in the right direction because she could smell it, too.

  She could hear something else now; the tramp of heavy footsteps that meant her father was coming upstairs, and she squeezed Jacqui’s hand more tightly, shrinking back into that dark, claustrophobic place between the bed and the wall.

  “He’s going to hurt us this time,” she whispered. Helplessness paralyzed her as she thought about how big he was; how his angry presence would seem to fill the room as he burst inside, and how strong he could be when he was drunk.

  “We need to get out,” Jacqui said.

  “He’s coming. There’s no time.”

  “There’s time if we’re quick. Follow me.”

  She dragged Cassie out from the bed and over to the windowsill. The room was gloomy and the footsteps sounded louder. Her father must be right outside the door, and Cassie felt exposed. The room was freezing. The window was wide open and an icy breeze was blasting through it, lashing the curtain.

  “Help me,” Cassie pleaded, because the drop from the window was immense. They were high up, so high she couldn’t see the ground below, only hear that faraway sound of the sea, and her father’s angry roar.

  “I can’t,” Jacqui whispered, and suddenly she let go of Cassie’s hand. Cassie was all alone, and Jacqui was fading away, screaming with laughter as she disappeared.

  “No!” Cassie yelled, but Jacqui was gone, leaving only a trace of ghostly laughter behind.

  There was no time to get back under the bed. Her father was wrenching at the door. Jacqui had lured her out from her hiding place and now the only escape was out of the high window. Cassie stared down, terrified, knowing she would have to jump.

  “It’s a dream, you’ll be OK,” she told herself. “Jump. Just jump and wake up.”

  But something was stopping her and she couldn’t do it.

  She was cold. So cold, and the grass was wet under her feet.

  With a gasp, Cassie woke, to find herself outside.

  Where was she? The sea was so loud.

  She took a disoriented step forward and realized, to her horror, she was almost at the edge of the bluff. Another step and she would have fallen over the cliff, tumbling all the way down to where the wicked rocks waited in the darkness.

  With a cry she reeled back, twisting away from the dark drop.

  “How the hell?”

  A light rain was still falling. Her bare feet were freezing and her pajamas were damp and cold.

  She lurched back toward the house, where the outside lanterns cast a pool of light onto the paving, illuminating the icy drizzle with a golden glow.

  Cassie was shuddering with cold. This hadn’t felt like sleepwalking. It had been so real. She could so easily have jumped in her dream and then what?

  What would have happened to her?

  The front door was open and rain had blown in, spattering the hallway rug. It felt soft under her bare feet. She closed the door, thinking she should go and have a hot bath, because she was chilled to her bones.

  As she closed the front door, the events of the previous night came rushing back to her. She started shivering afresh, even though she knew it was more from shock than cold this time.

  She had unleashed a monster.

  In her anger, she hadn’t visualized the consequences. She hadn’t thought about what it might mean to Ryan to be accused of being a liar, and what lengths he’d go to in order to protect himself. She visualized him grasping Madison’s slim arm and crushing it with his strong hands, intent on causing visible bruises.

  Would he threaten Madison into silence, or force her to say Cassie had done it? Cassie couldn’t bear to think what he might be capable of.

  Additionally, she hadn’t realized how financially dependent he was on Trish. The story about his successful business had been another lie. It was struggling and in debt—the signs had all been there and she’d blissfully ignored them.

  Ryan couldn’t afford to have anything go wrong.

  Cassie feared that for the next few days, she would be in actual danger now that Ryan had dropped his pretense and shown her who he really was.

  Calling him a liar meant crossing a line, and when you crossed that line, you became his enemy and all bets were off.

  She guessed people had learned to tread carefully around him, and even enable him, rather than face the dark side of his personality, and that was why he got away with doing what he did.

  Cassie headed back to the bedroom, but as she passed the family room, she noticed the porch light was still on.

  Was the glass door open or closed? It looked open, and the room was drafty.

  Cassie headed out to check, glancing at the clock as she passed. It was a few minutes after three in the morning.

  The door was open, and Cassie was about to close it when she stopped.

  There was something—no, someone—in the chair nearest the balcony. She could see legs stretched out and a dangling arm. It was Ryan. He must have drunk himself into oblivion. She could see a second bottle standing beside the first.

  Even with a jacket, he could have serious exposure by now, passed out there in the icy cold. Pushing asid
e the thought that he deserved it, Cassie went out to wake him up.

  “Ryan,” she said, shaking his shoulder.

  His head lolled to the side.

  It was freezing out here, and Cassie was losing patience.

  “Wake up!”

  She shook him again, harder. When there was no response, with a tendril of worry taking root inside her, Cassie walked around the chair to stand in front of him.

  She stared down, horrified.

  His face was pale and hideously bloated. His blue eyes were wide open, staring sightlessly ahead. His mouth hung slack, and she saw that he’d vomited—there was a huge crimson stain running down his chin and over the front of his shirt.

  Red wine—or—?

  “Ryan!” she screamed. “Wake up, wake up, please, tell me you’re OK!”

  Take his pulse, take his pulse, she told herself, and her shaking fingers closed around his wrist.

  She couldn’t feel anything, not the faintest tremor.

  “He’s dead,” Cassie whispered.

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  Cassie backed away into the safety of the family room, unable to take her eyes off Ryan’s slumped, immobile form.

  “He’s dead,” she repeated.

  Shuddering with shock, she hugged herself, remembering how his wrist had felt when she’d tried to take his pulse. It had been clammy and icy cold, like a piece of meat and not like a wrist at all. That made her feel nauseous and she swallowed hard.

  She had to get help. She should wake someone.

  Cassie’s brain felt sluggish with shock and fright. Doing what had to be done felt impossible. She didn’t know how to call emergency services, or who should respond.

  She would have to ask someone, but not the children. They couldn’t know their father had died.

  Trish. She should wake Trish.

  Dread curdled in her stomach as she thought of what Trish’s reaction might be.

  Cassie stumbled down the corridor and knocked on the bedroom door.