Chapter 1

Bitter House. They got that about right, didn’t they?

The house stands tall and desolate against the gray sky. Gray stone, white accents, with sharp angles and a fierce spire that towers several feet over the rest of the house. It’s grand, spacious, and filled with sadness. Just…not for the reasons you think.

The newspaper lies in my front seat, the article about my grandmother and her amazing, selfless life face up.

The problem? It’s nothing but lies.

Whoever wrote it clearly didn’t know her at all, only what she wanted people to know. Which isn’t unusual. No one knew her. Not even the children she raised. She wanted it that way. She was an enigma, a mystery. A giant question mark. A ghost that floated through that house and her life without ever making contact with anyone.

The funeral that was supposed to happen in a private ceremony yesterday—the one filled with close friends and family? It didn’t exist. If it had, there would have been no one to come. No one who cared enough to say goodbye. In fact, as far as I know, Vera slipped out of the world without anyone noticing at all.

No one’s lives will change in the slightest with her gone except for mine, and only out of a sense of obligation I don’t fully understand.

When I received the news that my grandmother had passed away and that her house—Bitter House—was left to me, my feelings were conflicted at best.

On one hand, she raised me when she didn’t have to, when I had nowhere else to go, but on the other, she was hardly warm. She was nothing like my mother, and I’m still trying to process my feelings about that.

When I graduated from high school, my grandmother all but dumped me on the porch steps of Bitter House with my bags and not so much as a goodbye, and I haven’t heard from her since. Not once.

So finding out the family house was left to me is a surprise at the very least. I make my way down the winding drive, the tall, menacing manor in front of me, iron gate behind me.

As soon as the gate swung closed minutes ago, I felt my throat tighten, and I’ve yet to take a normal breath.

I pull the car to a stop at the end of the long, paved driveway and stare over at the house where I grew up. How many nights did I spend looking out that window right there, second one from the right on the top floor, wondering if there was really life outside of it? If I’d ever actually be able to get away from Bitter House and its influence.

If I’d known the reality of what life would look like on my own, I’m not sure I would’ve been in such a hurry to leave.

I check my phone and spot a text from my best friend, Ana.

Hope you made it okay. I’ll manage everything here until you get back, so don’t worry. Let me know if you need anything, even if it’s just to vent. Always here.

I type out a response quickly, wishing I could explain to her how strange this feels. I’ve tried to, of course, but it’s not something you can put into words. Bitter House and the memories that come with it are heavy and thick, and wading through them is like swimming through batter. I’m not sure I know how I feel enough to understand it, let alone explain it to someone else, even to the person who knows me the best.

Made it safely. Thanks for taking over work for me. If you need anything or get behind, I’m just a phone call away and can always work from here if I need to. Miss you already. I’ll be back as soon as I can.

I step out of the car without gathering my bags. I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying. Edna, the executor, said it was important that I come back before I make the decision whether to sell. If I do—which I really think I will, since I have no desire to ever live within these walls again—she wants me to see the place, go through whatever things I’d like to keep, and give her permission to donate the rest.

She didn’t have to work too hard to convince me, though. Despite all of my conflicted feelings, regrets, and anger about the things that happened at Bitter House, it was still my home once. I’m, for lack of a better word, bitter about how things happened here. I’m angry and empty that Vera could cast me aside so easily, that she didn’t think I even deserved an explanation as to why.

I hate that I ever trusted her, that I let myself rely on her. And, maybe more than anything else, I hate the fact that I still care. That despite the icy, detached way my grandmother raised me, it still matters to me that she was my grandmother. I need to come back here to say goodbye, to find closure on my own terms, maybe even to try to make sense of what seems impossible to understand.

I can’t say goodbye to her without coming back to Bitter House, to the place where she shattered my already broken heart, and I have to say goodbye, even if it comes with a side of good riddance.

I cross the front lawn, walking on the grass and up the front steps. At the front door, I twist the key in the lock. The silver key had been included in the envelope Edna sent over, and it still feels foreign in my hand. I haven’t attached it to my key ring, wanting to do nothing that might allow me to consider staying in this place, calling it home once again.

I push open the front door and step into the foyer, breathing in the familiar scent. It’s lilac and dust—years of history and memories hidden within that smell—and it makes me feel sad and nostalgic and suffocated all at once.

With the door closed behind me, I tuck my hands into my pockets and stare around at a space that once felt like my entire world. A space that seemed to contract and expand based on my grandmother’s moods, but despite its enormity, it never felt large enough to contain me.

She’s everywhere in this place, though, even now that she’s gone. Even as her body is currently being cremated and I know she’ll never be anywhere else ever again, she’s here. In the wallpaper she changed every few years. In the art she had hung on the wall, the curtains adorning the windows, and the light fixtures that remain permanently covered in dust.

In the study, which was always more decorative than functional, I sit down at her oversized desk, running my hands across the wooden top. There’s so much here, I don’t even know where to start when it comes to sorting through things.

I wanted to think I might be able to accomplish everything in just a few days, a week tops—which is what I had told Edna, but I think we both know that’s not going to be the case. The house is full, top to bottom, with odds and ends that Vera collected over the years. There are so many bedrooms and bathrooms and sitting rooms and rooms I have yet to explore. It’s going to take me weeks, if not months or years, to go through everything and make a decision on what to keep. Some of it is really valuable, while other things might hold sentimental value.

If there’s anything left of my mom’s, I want to be sure I find it, which means I need to take my time. Every decision left to do with Bitter House is mine.

Though that isn’t new information, I feel more alone than I ever have as I stare around the empty room processing it for what seems like the first time. The emptiness of the house, the silence of it, weighs on me.

I’m digging through the drawers of the desk, trying to decide what should be kept and what can be discarded when I hear the front door open.

My heart stalls.

I should’ve locked the door, but the gate keeps everyone out, so it didn’t cross my mind.

“Edna?” I call, standing up as I move toward the empty doorway of the room I’m currently in, studying it for signs of the intruder.

My mouse-quiet and cautious footsteps slow even more as the person comes into view. My breathing catches in my chest, a ball of oxygen refusing to move another inch until I wake up from this dream.

Nightmare.

Because that’s what it is. What it has to be. There is simply no other explanation.

“Bridget.” A word, not a question. He doesn’t look surprised to see me at all.

I swallow, dusting a hand over my stomach as fury heats under every inch of my skin, like a marshmallow smoldering over a fire. “What the hell are you doing here, Cole?”

He looks just like he did before. Darkness incarnate. Dark hair that is entirely too full and perfect. Dark eyes, and if I was close enough, I’d be able to see the flecks of amber that decorate them, like they’re waiting to catch dragonflies and hold them forever. Waiting to catch anything that will fall into their trap.

Thankfully, I was never so foolish.

The beard is new, I realize, as he runs a hand over it. His brows lift as he smirks at me, then looks away with a scoff. “She didn’t tell you.”

Again, not a question.

“What do you mean? Tell me what?”

I don’t like being on the end of a conversation that holds no answers. Desperately don’t like it when Cole knows more than I do.

He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Vera left me Bitter House.”

“No, she didn’t.” The response is instant. Knee-jerk. It’s impossible. He’s lying. Why is he here? What does he want? “Are you crazy? Call your mom. She’s the executor. The house is mine.”

He holds up a finger, looking so freaking arrogant I want to smack him. “Actually, it’s ours. She left it to both of us.” His lips quirk with the threat of a smile. “You call my mom and ask. I’ll wait.”

“You’re lying.” He has to be lying. This doesn’t make any sense. I was never supposed to have to see him again.

“Oh, come on. You know me better than that.” He gives me a cocky grin and turns, walking down the hall and away from me without another word.

This already terrible day has just been amplified by a thousand, and he couldn’t care less. He doesn’t want this house, doesn’t care about Bitter House except maybe to extract money from its sale. But clearly he’s taking pleasure out of driving me mad.

I won’t let it happen. There has to be a simple explanation. A way to fix this.

Grabbing my phone, I search for Edna’s name in my recent call log and select it. Within seconds, she answers, as if she’s been expecting to hear from me.

“Bridget,” she says with a cheery voice. “Hello, honey. Did you make it there alright?”

“Why is Cole here?” I ask, avoiding the niceties.

She lets out a slow sigh. “I…Bridget, I didn’t know. I had no idea Vera had left him half of Bitter House until I saw the will. I was just as shocked as you are.”

“It’s impossible,” I sputter. “You’re serious. She…she left it for both of us. Why? Half the house? How is any of that supposed to work? I don’t understand. Why? Why would she do this? She knows we don’t get along. Could she really have wanted to be this cruel?” It’s a stupid question, one that doesn’t require an answer. Vera was cruel through and through. I shouldn’t be surprised that her final act was to further twist the knife.

I hear a soft exhale of breath, like she’s trying to decide how to respond. Eventually, her answer comes. “I don’t think she was doing any of this to be cruel, sweetheart. Truly, I don’t. This was… I wish I had an explanation. I wish she had told me something, given me a heads-up, so that I could help you both through this, but I have to believe this was her way of making things right. Of trying to help you both.”

Vera has never helped anyone but herself, but pointing that out will only make things worse right now. “What are we supposed to do?” I ask her. “What are we supposed to do with the house, Edna? How is this supposed to work? Can’t you just talk to him? Tell him this isn’t right? We all know we can’t stay here together, and if he won’t agree to sell it, what happens?”

“Well…” She pauses, thinking. “If you don’t want the house, if you have no plans to stay there, perhaps you would consider giving it to him. Letting him buy you out of your half.”

My vision blurs with anger. Even though, just minutes ago, I was sure I didn’t want to stay here, the idea of giving it to Cole is unthinkable. I would sooner burn it to the ground. “Absolutely not. How can you ask me to do that? Why didn’t you tell me about this before I arrived? Warn me that this was happening? That he would be here.”

Her voice goes soft and breathy. “We both know why I didn’t. I’m sorry, but if I had told you Cole would be there, you wouldn’t have shown up, and I needed you to help me handle things. Both of you.”

“So you lied to me? You set me up?” Tears well in my eyes over yet another betrayal. That seems to be all this house brings me.

“I wasn’t trying to lie. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I can only do what the will asks of me, and I’m trying to navigate uncharted waters myself. Vera had it stated very clearly that you and Cole were to be given equal shares of the property. I’m sorry, honey. I know this is a difficult time, and I never meant to make it worse for you?—”

“Difficult time,” I scoff.

“Bridget, please?—”

“I have to go.”

She doesn’t argue. We both know there’s no point. What’s done is done, and now, once again, I’m left to pick up the pieces of my grandmother’s decision.