Chapter 6: The Foster Family Arrives

Half a month later, a black sedan purred up our driveway, the kind with chrome so shiny you could see your future in it.

A woman stepped out—richly dressed, her hair twisted up and pinned with diamonds. She didn’t bother to smile, eyes cold and hard.

"So you’re my husband’s mistress, Aubrey Foster?"

I stared at her, lost for words.

"Who is your husband?"

She laughed, a low, sharp sound. Then she stepped closer, her manicured fingers gripping my chin.

"Still pretending? My husband is the third son of the Foster family—Caleb Foster."

The woman’s name was Lillian Grant—daughter of the State Treasurer. The man she spoke of was Caleb Foster, third son of Judge Foster. Both names carried weight in these parts, the kind of weight that could crush you if you stood in the wrong place.

She wore a diamond hairpin so bright it hurt to look at, and a velvet jacket that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. At her side stood a petite maid in a red dress, a chunky gold bracelet flashing on her wrist. The girl’s eyes swept over me, nose wrinkling.

She snorted, barely bothering to hide her laugh behind her hand. "Ma’am, I told you you were worrying too much. Look at her—country as a John Deere cap at Sunday service. You came all the way out here for this? She’s got nothing. That bracelet—my grandma wouldn’t wear it."

"Don’t worry, ma’am. Bring her in, treat her like a stray, send her packing when you’re done."

Her words cut sharp as a box cutter, meant to sting. Lillian relaxed, letting herself smirk.

"You have sharp eyes. Enough, my husband’s waiting. Let’s go."

At her signal, two big women moved forward, hands like vices locking on my arms.

"What are you doing? Let go of me!"

Their grips tightened. I struggled, heart thumping wild, but they held on.

Lillian glared at me, lips curling. "Enough with the act. Caleb isn’t here. Stop embarrassing yourself. Country girls don’t get to throw fits in my presence."