Page 48 of Rich Little Liars

Let them gossip.

I had bigger problems than maintaining appearances.

I had to decide whether my marriage was worth saving. Whether Daniel’s betrayal was something I could forgive or if it had broken us beyond repair. Whether Roxanne had simply exposed cracks that were already there or if she’d created them deliberately.

And I had to decide what to do about her.

Because one thing was certain: this wasn’t over. Roxanne wouldn’t just disappear because I’d told her to. She’d invested too much time, too much effort, into whatever game she’d been playing. She’d want closure. The last word. Want to make sure the damage she’d started was complete.

I knew this with absolute certainty. Knew it in the way you know a storm is coming when the air pressure changes. When everything goes still and waiting.

Roxanne would come back.

And God help us when she did.

16

NOW

The crash comes just after midnight.

I’m awake, of course. Haven’t properly slept in days, even with Richard beside me in the bed upstairs. I’d slipped out an hour ago, unable to lie still any longer, and now I’m sitting in the living room with a book when the sound of shattering glass rips through the silence.

The kitchen window.

My body reacts before my mind catches up. I’m on my feet, heart hammering, phone in hand. The sound echoes through the house – sharp and violent and unmistakably wrong.

Someone is inside.

I freeze in the doorway between the living room and the hall. I desperately want to run upstairs, to wake Richard, call the police. But my legs won’t move. Won’t carry me anywhere except towards the kitchen where glass is still tinkling onto tiles.

Where footsteps are moving.

Heavy. Purposeful. Not trying to be quiet any more.

I should scream. Do something. But my throat has closed up and all I can manage is a whispered gasp that’s swallowed by the darkness.

The footsteps are coming closer.

My phone. I still have my phone. I fumble with it, trying to unlock the screen with shaking hands, trying to dial 911 before whoever is in my kitchen reaches the hall.

But I’m too slow.

The figure appears in the kitchen doorway.

Tall. Broad. Wearing dark clothes and something over the face – a balaclava, maybe, or just a scarf pulled up. I can’t see features. Can’t see anything except the shape of a person who shouldn’t be here.

‘What do you want?’ My voice comes out thin. Terrified.

The figure doesn’t answer. Just takes a step forward.

I stumble backwards, nearly tripping over my own feet. My back hits the wall beside the front door and I’m trapped. Cornered. The intruder is between me and any escape route except the door itself.

The door.

I fumble for the lock with one hand, phone still clutched in the other. If I can just get outside. Just get to the street where someone might see, might help. Or to Richard…

But the lock won’t turn. My hands are shaking too badly and the mechanism is stiff.