Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

LILITH

By the time I finished my burger, it was nearly seven. The bar top is full of patrons and almost every booth is occupied. Only a few people recognized me with my new pink hair. I’m still getting used to it myself. I’d always wanted to color it pink, but I was too scared it would look ridiculous. The sudden loss of both of my parents made me realize that life is too short not to do everything you ever wanted. It’s still hard for me to push beyond my self-imposed boundaries, but I’m working on it.

Bram’s burger is long gone, but he stayed as I savored every last bite. The conversation with him came easy. We weren’t talking about anything of significance, but it was nice to just talk to someone who didn’t treat me like I was a piece of glass that could shatter at any given moment. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to just be Lilith… not Lilith the girl whose parents just died.

After three long hugs and a promise to Kitty I wouldn’t be a stranger, as soon as she turned her back, I pulled the only cash I had on me, a fifty dollar bill, out of my pocket and stuck it under my empty coffee cup.

“Oooooh. She’s gonna be so mad.” Bram leaned down and whispered.

“Yep.” I laugh quietly, power walking to the door. “Which is why I’m getting out of here.”

With just a crack of the door left open behind us, I hear Kitty yell, “Lilith Sharpe! You little shit.”

My heart is so full it feels like it could burst at any given moment. I’ve only been in Magnolia Ridge for a couple hours and I already know I made the right decision by coming here. The tall, dark, handsome man peeking down at me with a devastating smile sure doesn’t hurt matters.

“Give me your phone,” he says, holding his hand out to me. I don’t even hesitate to hand it to him. Once it’s in his hand, he looks down, and then holds it back up so the front screen is facing me. As soon as the facial recognition unlocks it, he swipes and taps a few times, before handing it back to me. “Now you have my number. Call me if you need anything while you’re here. Day or night.”

My stomach flutters at his words. There isn’t a single ounce of flirtation laced in them, but it’s been a hot minute since I’ve gotten a guy’s number.

“Thank you, I will,” I tell him despite knowing damn well I will never use his number.

With that, he nods and walks across the lot to an army

Introducing myself to him was hard enough and knowing that he’s Clara’s son basically makes him off limits. I may never have met her boys, but Clara Wilde has always been a fairy god-mother of sorts to me.

Clara was the first one to figure out that I wasn’t just “writing in a journal” like I claimed to be when I was seventeen. She convinced me to let her read what I’d written so far and encouraged me to share it with my father. If it weren’t for her, I never would have had the courage to share it with him. After all, my dad was the incredible horror writer Irving Sharpe. His books have seen multiple bestsellers lists, there have been movie and television adaptations, and his fans are fiercely devoted.

All of those reasons are why I chose to publish as Lilith Rose. I am the first person to admit that I can accredit my success to knowing the right people who helped me get into an otherwise very hard door to open. I didn’t want to give people the ammo to say that I’d only gotten a publishing deal because of who my father was. And that might have worked… until my parents got wine drunk and went live on social media, gushing about how proud they were of me.

I couldn’t even be mad at them. Not only was it incredibly sweet, but my own followers and preorder sales multiplied by thousands overnight. News outlets wanted dad and I on their shows together. My debut novel was a number one New York Times Bestseller. And, sure, I’ve been called a nepo baby here and there, and at first, it bothered me. I wanted to stand on my own two feet, for my books to speak for themselves, but if I’m only known as Irving Sharpe’s daughter for the rest of my life, that’s okay with me.

Suddenly for the first time in weeks, I know what I have to do.

Once I’m settled in my seat, I plug the address for the rental house in the car’s dashboard GPS and go the first, and most repeated, number on my missed call list. Placing my phone on speaker, I plop it down into my lap and brace myself for the lecture of a lifetime from my agent.

“Lilith!” Jean exclaims.

“Hi, Jean,” I respond sheepishly, suddenly feeling incredibly embarrassed about dodging her calls for the last few weeks. “Listen, I’m so sorry I haven’t been calling you back. It’s just been-”

“A shit show?” she finishes for me. “I know, honey. I haven’t wanted to leave anything too in depth on your voicemail, but your aunt is trying to retain future royalties from your father’s books. Her stance is that you already make enough from your own books, you don’t need his too. The office was served a couple days ago.”

Just when I think these people can’t stoop any lower, they go and prove me wrong.

“What do you need me to do?” I ask. Jean was my dad’s agent for his entire publishing career. This may not be a personal attack on her, but she’s going to take it personally. “I promise I’ll start answering my phone more.”

“For now, can you just draft a statement saying how none of them have been a part of your lives and you are not giving up your rights as the sole beneficiary of your father’s estate?” she asks. “And, would you give our lawyers permission to use the will as evidence? Between the will and your statement, it should be an open and shut case.”

“Yes, of course, whatever you need,” I assure her. Dread pools in my stomach, as I drudge up the courage to ask my next question. “What about my manuscript? I know it’s late. How much of the advance is the publisher asking for back?”

“Oh, sweet girl,” she says softly. “None of it. Everyone knows about your parents. Normally, I wouldn’t put it past them to still be pressing for submission, but both you and your father have made them an ungodly amount of money. There’s been some talk about pushing the release, but nothing is finalized yet.”

A flood of relief washes over my entire body. As the dashboard GPS alerts me that my “destination is in one mile on the right,” the tightness in my chest loosens ever so slightly.

“Oh, since someone other than the people that are here should probably know where I am,” I begin. “I came down to Magnolia Ridge.”

“You know, I had a feeling,” Jean chuckles.

“I’m just about to pull into my rental,” I tell her. “But I swear, I’ll be better about answering your calls.”

We exchange goodbyes just as it comes through the car speakers that “the destination is on your right.”

Pulling the car into the long winding driveway, I’m at a loss for words when I see the dark, Victorian style mansion sitting atop a hill.

This place looks nothing like anything else I’ve ever seen in Magnolia Ridge. I’d come here every summer for over a decade, and I didn’t even know it existed. Which is crazy to believe given the mass of building. Crowden Manor, as it was listed, was no longer inhabited by the family, according to the property manager I spoke to last night. As I get closer to the house, I cannot imagine why anyone would ever give up a property like this. The stories these walls must hold.

Once I’ve parked the car, I approach the front of the house. They keyless entry doesn’t match the overall aesthetic of the house, but as I punch in the code to unlock the door, I find myself thankful I don’t have to make senseless small talk to get the key.

Don’t get me wrong, meeting Bram and getting to see Kitty again was wonderful, but after traveling all night, the time spent at the diner, and making the phone call to Jean, my very limited social battery was already depleted.

I should probably go grab my luggage and get myself settled in before I crash, but first, let’s have a look around.