The Fall at Hawthorne House
Chapter 01 - The Fall at Hawthorne House
Grace Collins had promised herself she would never return to Hawthorne House, the beautiful Southern home where every family smile hid a secret. But on the afternoon of her engagement, she came back with Daniel Mercer—the man she loved and the one person her father, Richard, had already decided not to trust.
Richard believed Daniel was after the Collins fortune. Grace’s elegant stepmother, Vivian, encouraged that suspicion with quiet comments and carefully timed tears. Still, Grace hoped the engagement dinner might end years of resentment. She wore her late mother’s silver locket and rehearsed the words, “Dad, I’m happy. Please be happy for me.”
Daniel reached for her hand before they left the car. “We can turn around.”
“No,” Grace said, looking at the upstairs window that had belonged to her mother. “I’m tired of letting this house scare me.”
The front door opened before they reached the steps. Richard stood beside Vivian, his face hard, as if they were arriving for a trial instead of dinner. Vivian smiled warmly, but her eyes went to Grace’s locket.
“That old thing,” she murmured. “I thought it was lost.”
Grace heard movement behind the rose bushes. She stepped away from Daniel, thinking one of the gardeners had dropped something.
Then someone whispered, “You should have stayed away.”
Grace turned. A sharp blow struck the side of her face. Her phone flew across the walkway, and she fell hard beside a loose red brick. Daniel rushed forward and caught her before her head hit the concrete again. Blood streaked her cheek and dotted her pale blue dress.
“Grace, look at me,” he begged, holding her carefully. “Stay with me.”
Richard and Vivian ran onto the porch. Richard froze at the sight of Daniel kneeling over his injured daughter. Vivian gasped, but her eyes moved first—not to Grace, but to the brick.
Richard picked it up, fury twisting his face. “Get your hands off her.”
Daniel stared at him. “I didn’t do this.”
Grace tried to speak, but pain swallowed her voice. Behind Richard, Vivian placed a trembling hand over her mouth. To everyone watching, she looked horrified. Only Grace noticed the broken strand of pearls hanging from Vivian’s wrist—and the small smear of blood near her cuff.
An ambulance siren rose in the distance. Inside the house, behind a narrow opening in the curtains, an older man watched the chaos in silence. One hand pressed against the glass. The other clutched a sealed yellow envelope.
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Across the front, in dark ink, were two words:
LAST WILL.
