This book opens with a bang — a literal car accident that jolts you straight into the wreckage, then throws you back in time to the picturesque calm before everything unraveled. Sophie, her partner Ben, and their baby Rufus are renovating a cottage in the Cotswolds, baking in the glow of new family life. It’s sweet. It’s slow. It’s got future Christmas card energy. And then Adam arrives.
Adam is Ben’s estranged brother, and he doesn’t just bring baggage. He brings Brooke — his too-quiet, too-thin girlfriend — and a suitcase full of secrets that start oozing into Sophie’s world the second he steps through the door. He’s charming in that calculated, skin-crawling way. Brooke barely speaks. Sophie’s instincts go off like a fire alarm. And Ben? He’s a doctor, trained in calm, but suddenly distant, defensive, and full of half-answers.
What follows is domestic suspense with the walls slowly closing in. Adam begins inserting himself into their lives — too helpful, too watchful, and just a little too interested in Sophie’s every move. She’s nine years older than Ben, navigating the beautiful mess of postpartum life, and while she loves fiercely, she’s also doubting herself more than she wants to admit. That’s what makes the gaslighting land. She doesn’t unravel loudly. She second-guesses herself to pieces.
This is one of those thrillers where you want to scream, “Just tell the truth,” every five pages. Because so much of what goes wrong here? It could’ve been stopped. One hard conversation, one honest moment, and the dominoes don’t fall. But instead, silence stretches. Secrets deepen. And Sophie’s left holding the weight of everyone else’s refusal to face reality.
Thankfully, Sophie is not alone in the chaos. Her family is phenomenal — a little too trusting, maybe, but deeply present. Her dad is a soft-spoken antiques expert with a beautiful vintage car and a knack for showing up just when she needs grounding. Saskia, her sister, is running Sophie’s wildly successful cookie company while Sophie’s on maternity leave — juggling clients, custom orders, and crisis texts like they can all be smoothed over in the same sentence. Her mom? She’s straight out of a mid-century sitcom — the kind of 1950s housewife who makes multi-course dinners, avoids conflict, and genuinely believes politeness can overcome almost anything. And Auntie Fen? Larger than life and impossible to ignore, the kind of woman who walks into a room and resets the entire emotional temperature. They’re not just side characters — they’re Sophie’s tether.
Seymour builds suspense through proximity and unease. There’s no gore, no over-the-top villain monologue. Just dread, dread, and more dread… until the moment it isn’t quiet anymore. When the final pieces click into place, it’s not subtle. It’s explosive. It’s a face-punch. It’s the kind of climax that knocks the air out of you, even when you’ve known it’s coming.
This one lands at 3 stars for me — not because it was a miss, but because it hovered in that weird in-between space where the tension simmers, the stakes are real, but the payoff doesn’t quite go full throttle. Still, it hit the mark for what it is: a slow spiral into suspicion with just enough emotional shrapnel to leave a mark.
Whodunity Award: For Weaponizing a Guest Room and Turning Family Secrets into a Full-Blown Psychological Siege
Thanks to NetGalley and Joffe Books for the ARC. This one made me want to change my locks, start a cookie business, and get my own Auntie Fen.