Chapter 1

My husband, Preston finally agreed to spend Christmas with my family.

I was so happy that I booked the red-eye flight that same night.

But by midnight at the airport, his seat was still empty. My phone buzzed two minutes before takeoff.

Babe, I'm so sorry. The investors flew in unannounced — emergency board meeting. I'll make it up to your parents next year, I swear.

I wasn't even mad. Seven years of marriage had trained me out of that.

I texted back a quick okay and decided to swing by his parents' place in Pinecreek instead. Christmas Eve dinner with the in-laws. He'd appreciate it.

Six hours later, I was standing on the front porch of the Hayes house in Montana, arms full of gift bags — a humidor of Cubans for his dad, a bottle of Macallan 25 for the cousins, a cashmere wrap for his mom. The whole back of my car was packed with it.

I was about to ring the bell when I heard his father laughing inside.

Come on, sweetheart, sit down, sit down. Let me get you another glass.

A woman's voice answered, light and pleased. Dad, you're spoiling me.

The shopping bags hit the porch with a hard thud.

The door cracked open. A woman stuck her head out — late twenties, silk robe, hair loose, holding a glass of red wine like she owned the place.

Can I help you

Her tone was already a slap. She looked me up and down, then sneered.

Christmas Eve and you're skulking around someone's porch What, you here to steal the packages off the steps

I knew her face. It took me a second, but I placed it.

Seven years ago, when Preston was hiring his first round of staff, this girl had walked into the interview. He wanted to pass — said her résumé was thin.

I told him she had hustle. I'd been the one who told him to give her the job.

Preston's father called from inside.

Honey, who is it Quit messing with the porch pirates and come finish your wine.

One sec, Dad! Just chasing some trash off the lawn.

She turned back to me, smiling now. Sweet as poison.

I opened my mouth. Couldn't get a word out.

Honey. He'd called her honey.

She stepped forward when I didn't answer, irritation flashing across her face.

I asked you a question. Do you have any idea whose house this is

She straightened her shoulders. The smirk turned into something uglier — proud, contemptuous.

My husband is Preston Hayes. CEO of Hayes Tech. So unless you want me calling the sheriff, get the hell off this porch.

I'd been bracing for it the whole walk up the steps. Hearing it out loud still hit like ice water down my spine.

I had to force the words past my throat.

You said Preston Hayes is your husband.

Are you deaf

I lifted my chin and stared her down.

That's funny. Because I'm Vivienne Hayes. Married to Preston seven years ago. License filed in California, signed in front of a judge.

She laughed in my face.

Sweetie, the whole town knows the Hayes daughter-in-law. That's me. Serena Croft. Has been for years. So whatever scam you think you're running, pick another house.

Her voice carried. The neighbors were already drifting out onto their porches, Christmas lights blinking behind them.

Who's that woman yelling on the Hayes porch

That ain't Serena, is it Where's Serena

Serena's right there, that's the wife. They come every Christmas, real sweet couple.

Some homeless girl trying to scam the rich folks, you ask me. Christmas brings the crazies out.

Each word landed cold.

Seven Christmases. Seven excuses. The investors flew in. The Series B is closing. The team needs me. I'd believed every one of them. I'd felt sorry for him.

I'd quietly wired a hundred million of my own money into Hayes Tech under shell investors so he wouldn't drown — ninety percent of that company's revenue traced back to patents I wrote in our basement.

He'd been bringing this woman home every Christmas. To my in-laws. Pretending to be her husband.

Serena tilted her head, savoring it.

Listen carefully, you broke little nobody. One phone call to Hayes Tech and I can ruin your entire life. Don't test me.

Ruin my life.

Seven years I'd buried my last name. Seven years I'd turned down my father's company to write code in a basement so this man could chase his dream. I built Hayes Tech into the biggest name in the Valley, and this woman was standing on my front porch threatening me with it.

I didn't think. I swung.

My fist caught her square in the mouth. Bone crunched. She went backwards into the door frame with a scream, blood pouring down her chin onto the white silk.

She's hitting me! Somebody help!

That's the Hayes girl! She's beating up Serena!

Three or four men came stumbling off the neighboring porches, beers still in their hands, faces red.

Get the crazy bitch off her!

They were on me in seconds. I got an elbow into someone's ribs before two of them pinned my arms and a third drove me down onto the frozen porch boards. The cold burned through my coat.

Serena wiped the blood off her chin and looked around. Her eyes locked on a snow shovel propped against the railing.

She picked it up.

You stupid bitch. You actually thought you could come at me

She raised it over her head.

The front door banged open behind her.

Preston stepped out onto the porch. He saw me on the ground, the blood, the shovel — and the color drained out of his face all at once.

Vivienne. What the hell are you doing here