But Jax, Zay, and I left all that behind the start of our senior year when we moved out of our homes and into our own place and started our own business. Our parents weren’t happy at all, mostly because it made them look bad, as if their children didn’t want to be part of the family anymore. Which is completely true. And if I’m being honest, what happened this morning is exactly what I’ve been expecting to happen since the day we moved out.

It started with my wicked wench of a stepmom knocking on the front door of our two-story home in the small neighborhood we live in. While the place isn’t a dump, it’s also nowhere near close to the mansion I grew up in, which is what I wanted—to remain lowkey and live a normal life. Well, for the most part. Our job choice is anything but normal. But hardly anyone knows about what we do.

The Raven Three. That’s what we call our company. And our job business description includes hacking, digging up intel, tracking someone down, and pretty much anything that has to do with solving a mystery for someone. We’re basically a private investigative business, although we don’t call ourselves that. We learned all our skills from the best, too, since my father has several private investigators on hand for his business. Having grown up around it, we got to learn the trade, and now we use it to our benefit. We have to remain anonymous as possible, though, which we do.

Creating the business allowed us to move out of the house and gave us a chance at attempting to live a semi-normal life, minus the whole PI thing. But I should’ve known better. You can’t be a Hathingford and live a normal life. No, in order to be one, you have to be corrupt—it’s how my family got and kept their wealth and status. And everyone with the last name has to play their part, something I am reminded of when I step out onto the front porch of my home.

She didn’t even knock, which causes me to startle.

“Holy shit,” I breathe out with my hand pressed to my chest as I stumble back.

Once I see who it is, I start to turn to go back in the house where I plan on locking the door and staying in there until she leaves.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she tells me with a warning tone. “Unless you want this,” she pauses, her tone oozing with sarcasm as she eyeballs the house, “lovely little set up of yours to be over.” She grins as I grit my teeth and stay put.

A few of my neighbors are wandering around and eyeballing the scene. I don’t blame them. On top of her shiny red Porsche parked out front, she’s wearing a red dress, a leather jacket, and a diamond necklace. If I didn’t know better, I’d guess she was going out clubbing, but this is how she always looks—overly dressed with sparkly things decorating her. She’s kind of a sparkly thing herself, being about fifteen years younger than my father. The only reason she married him was for his money and power. She doesn’t love him, doesn’t care that he sleeps around, doesn’t care about anything except what she wants. And she’ll do anything to get it.