The First Mistake

Excerpt

The mansion looks exactly as it did when I left. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was still a teenager. That Fenna was still a toddler, Sage a baby, and Oliver not even born yet. That my family still lives in this once-again abandoned mansion.

When I came to live here with Kenzi after my mom died and my stepdad kicked me out of my only home, it had needed some TLC. But this time, it looks kept up.

Not like the living nightmare it was.

I shove those thoughts aside. They’re only easier to think about than my current reality because of the length of time that’s passed. I can’t deal with the mess of my right-now life at the moment.

It’s time to face my past.

Leaving all my stuff but my purse in the obnoxiously red sports car, I set the alarm. Don’t get me wrong. It’s gorgeous, but it was Tate’s. I haven’t yet managed to separate the memory of him from the vehicle and purge the “him” parts.

The same is true of literally everything else in my life.

Moving across the country did nothing to prevent the Brannon family curse from striking again, which means there is no longer a reason to keep my distance. So, here I am, back at the family home.

Someone has clearly been maintaining the house, at least on the outside. My guess is a hired company for the sake of the neighbors. Kenzi wouldn’t want to upset anyone, so I’m sure she arranged a service. My aunt-slash-adoptive mom is always thinking of others in that way, and part of me feels bad for not telling her and Dad I’ve returned. But I need some time to myself before dealing with anyone, and that includes people I love who would want to help.

I don’t want help, love, or attention.

I’ve had more than enough attention in the previous year to last several lifetimes. I can’t deal with any more right now.

Thankfully, I’ll have this enormous place to myself. Despite the ridiculous number of rooms inside, if the full Brannon family was in the mansion, it would be impossible for me to retreat into silence and isolation.

As I walk to the front door, several new cameras catch my attention. So much for secretly spending some time alone before telling anyone I’m back in town. One of them even follows me as I move.

I can’t blame anyone for the safety precautions. Our historic home is a magnet for criminals.

Whatever. I can still tell my family to leave me alone for a while.

Staying here pretty much assures they’ll keep their distance. After what happened, no one wants to be here.

Somehow I manage to ignore the moving, tracking cameras—with any luck, they’re just for show—and slide in my old key. My breath hitches. Would Dad and Kenzi have changed the locks?

It slides with ease. Turns without resistance. Repeats for the deadbolt.

The alarm beeps, warning it will wail and contact the police department in a few seconds.

Quickly, I type in the code. Hold my breath.

Hopefully nobody changed the code without telling me.

My dad works at the police department, so I have that going for me, but I don’t want to deal with cops showing up.

The beeping stops.

The air smells like citrus and vanilla. Apparently the housekeepers still come to keep things up. There isn’t a speck of dust on anything.

As I lock myself inside, a wave of nostalgia washes over me. I could easily be walking in from the school bus before I finally convinced Kenzi to let me do school online. Thankfully I don’t have the petty drama from those days to deal with now.

Instead, I have a whole new set of traumas. Just like the last time I moved in here.

Stupid Brannon family curse.

Wonder which is worse… changing my last name back or keeping this newly cursed one.

The choice is obvious. I refuse to be associated with Tate Flanagan and his crimes. At least there’s some distance between me and the Brannon family crimes. They’re all from generations ago.

What Tate did is so fresh, I feel like I could go upstairs and shower it all off.

Not that it would bring Zara back.

Poor Zara. She was only trying to help me. There was no way she could’ve suspected what Tate was capable of.

I sure couldn’t.

Now here I am, back at the mansion having to start over at twenty-seven.

At least I have the option of starting over. Zara never will.

As much as I just want to climb into bed—any of them will do—I should check things out. Even with the alarm and cameras, people manage to find ways in. Every time Dad and Kenzi think they’ve sealed the last secret passage, someone inevitably finds another.

I won’t check out the entire house because that would take too long. I’ll just make sure nothing looks out of place in the main wing.

Wow. I forgot how pretentious that sounds but don’t know what else to call it.

Since I’m on the main level, that’s where I start and head to the enormous kitchen. Perfect as always. I continue down the hall to Uncle Jack and Aunt Carol’s old apartment. It’s weird seeing it without all their things, but it’s clear of intruders. As is everything else down here.

Upstairs, Dad and Kenzi’s bedroom is also empty of all their personal things. Only the furniture remains. The other rooms on this floor look untouched aside from housecleaning.

Then I head to my old room. It’s just as I left it. Yawning, I stand in the doorway, desperate for rest but resistant to a walk down memory lane.

I go back to my parents’ old room, one of the biggest in the house. It belonged to my grandparents before them, and my great-grandparents before that, and so on, going back generations.

When I was younger, I always wished this room was mine. Now I’m the oldest in the house.

I’m the only one in the house.

With no one to stop me, I step inside. I need the rest like never before, so I kick off my shoes and fling myself onto the bed.

It’s even more comfortable than I remember. I’ve also been sleeping in crappy hotel beds, trying to save money while making my way across the country.

I close my eyes, enjoying the silence as much as the luxurious mattress. I’m definitely going to make this my room since nobody else is using it.

Maybe creating a new life for myself won’t be so bad after all.

A chime sounds from somewhere outside the room.

It takes me a moment to realize what the sound means.

Someone has opened an exterior door.