Engaged To A Coldhearted Murderer

My fiancée smiled as she showed me the "intruder" she had dealt with in the ER.

I looked past her to see my mother beaten unconscious on the floor.

And on the gurney next to her lay my seven-year-old brother, cold, blue, and dead.

Brittnie clung to my arm, beaming with pride.

"I handled it, Cannon," she chirped.

"That gold digger tried to claim this bastard was your son. But I made sure they wouldn't bother us again."

My blood turned to ice.

She was holding my mother' s emerald brooch, a family heirloom, convinced it was her engagement ring.