Chapter 1 - His Father Was Supposed to Be DeadOctavia Vale believed the house finally belonged to her.
That belief was why eleven-year-old Milo Cole was moving across the center of the grand foyer on his hands and knees.
His palms pressed against the elegant runner.
His knees dragged forward beneath worn trousers.
Beside him walked Atlas, the family’s enormous black dog.
One leash ran from Octavia’s gloved hand before splitting into two branches.
One clipped to Atlas’s collar.
The second connected to the loose harness around Milo’s chest and shoulders.
His airway was completely free.
That wasn’t the point.
The point was humiliation.
Guests stood along both sides of the magnificent Charleston foyer.
Nobody spoke.
Some looked horrified.
Others simply looked away.
Milo’s father, Colonel Warren Cole, had supposedly been killed three weeks earlier during an overseas military mission.
Since the official notification, Octavia had changed.
Or perhaps, Milo thought, she had simply stopped pretending.
“Keep moving.”
Milo’s hands stopped.
His eyes were wet.
“No.”
Octavia pulled lightly on the central lead.
Atlas moved.
Milo refused.
His knees remained planted on the rug.
“Don’t make this more embarrassing than it already is.”
Milo looked up at her.
“You’re the one making it embarrassing.”
A few guests shifted uncomfortably.
Octavia’s jaw tightened.
That morning, Milo had discovered why these people were in the house.
They were not there for another memorial gathering.
They were there because Octavia intended to sell Rosewood Hall.
The mansion his father had repeatedly told him could never be sold without approval from the Cole family trust.
Milo had said that in front of everyone.
Octavia had called him a spoiled little liar.
He had answered:
“My dad said this house isn’t yours.”
That was when the leash appeared.
Agnes Whitmore, the longtime house manager, suddenly rushed forward.
She dropped beside Milo.
“Mrs. Octavia, stop this.”
Octavia looked down.
Agnes reached toward the loose harness.
“He’s still a child.”
Octavia smiled coldly.
“Child?”
Her gaze moved toward Milo.
“Perhaps someone should remind him he is no longer master of anything.”
Milo’s face tightened.
Agnes whispered:
“Don’t.”
Octavia ignored her.
“His father is dead.”
Milo looked away.
The words still hurt every time.
Octavia bent slightly.
“You think this house still belongs to you…”
Her smile sharpened.
“…just because your name is Cole?”
Milo froze.
Agnes slowly looked up.
Something about the sentence frightened her.
Not the cruelty.
The property.
“What have you done?” Agnes asked.
Octavia’s eyes flashed.
“Be careful.”
Agnes stood.
“What have you signed?”
For the first time, Octavia looked uncertain.
Then—
BANG!
The massive front doors slammed open.
Every person in the foyer turned.
A voice thundered through the mansion.
“GET YOUR HAND OFF MY SON!”
Silence fell instantly.
Octavia spun around.
The color vanished from her face.
Colonel Warren Cole stood in the doorway.
Alive.
Military uniform.
Travel bag still over one shoulder.
A healing cut crossed his brow.
His face was exhausted.
His eyes were not.
Someone gasped.
Another guest whispered:
“Oh my God.”
“Colonel Cole?”
“He’s alive.”
Milo didn’t move.
Both hands remained on the rug.
He looked slowly toward the doorway.
His lips parted.
“Dad…?”
Warren saw him.
His son.
On his knees.
Beside the dog.
A leash branching toward both of them.
For one terrible second, Warren did nothing.
Then the shock left his face.
His jaw tightened.
He crossed the foyer.
Octavia released the lead.
“Milo.”
The boy pushed himself upright.
Then ran.
Warren caught him.
Milo slammed into his father’s chest.
“You’re alive.”
“I’m here.”
“They said you died.”
“I know.”
“You’re really here?”
Warren closed both arms around him.
“I’m here.”
Atlas barked once and pushed against Warren’s leg.
Warren looked at Octavia over Milo’s shoulder.
“What were you doing?”
Octavia opened her mouth.
“This is not what it looks like.”
Agnes gave a stunned laugh.
Warren released Milo only enough to examine him.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Did she hurt you?”
Milo looked toward Octavia.
That hesitation was worse than yes.
Warren stood.
“Agnes.”
“Yes, Colonel.”
“Take Milo upstairs.”
“No!”
Milo grabbed Warren’s sleeve.
“Don’t send me away.”
Warren’s expression changed.
“I’m not sending you anywhere.”
Octavia tried to speak.
“Warren, you need to understand what has happened since—”
“I was reported dead three weeks ago.”
His voice was quiet now.
Far more dangerous than the shout.
Octavia swallowed.
“Yes.”
Warren reached inside his coat.
He removed a sealed envelope.
Several guests recognized the logo of a Charleston real-estate law firm.
Warren held it up.
“I landed at Joint Base Charleston ninety minutes ago.”
Octavia stared.
“Before I came here, an attorney gave me this.”
Nobody moved.
Warren continued.
“It’s a contract to sell Rosewood Hall.”
Octavia’s face changed.
Milo looked between them.
Warren stepped closer.
“The problem is…”
He tapped the envelope.
“…the sale agreement has my signature.”
Octavia’s lips parted.
Warren’s eyes never left her.
“The signature is dated last Thursday.”
Silence.
“I was officially dead last Thursday.”
One of the guests stepped backward.
Another stared at Octavia.
Warren lowered the envelope.
“So before we discuss what you were doing to my son…”
His voice became almost a whisper.
“…you’re going to explain how a dead man sold his house.”
Octavia said nothing.
But across the foyer, Agnes was staring at someone else.
A man near the staircase.
Nolan Vale.
Octavia’s biological son.
May you like
And the moment Warren noticed where Agnes was looking—
Nolan quietly slipped his phone into his pocket.
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