People Like Us

by Kiersten Modglin

Genres: Domestic Thrillers; Psychological Thrillers

Synopsis

In the intoxicating circle of influence and celebrity surrounding her ultra-rich in-laws, Astrid is an outsider. When she and her husband, Simon, return to the Morning family’s lavish estate for his sister’s wedding, she seizes the opportunity to finally prove she belongs.

As the family members set to work preparing for the ceremony, Astrid’s efforts lead to her uncovering an old radio hidden in the back of a closet. Curious, she turns it on.
Then, the nightmare begins.

Across the static-filled line, a young girl calls for help.
But is the threat real? The Mornings have dealt with cruel pranks before, and they’re certain someone is trying to trick Astrid into revealing the wedding location, or worse.

If she doesn’t heed their warnings, she might just tumble headfirst into a meticulously laid trap. But as the wedding day draws nearer and tensions escalate, she can’t shake the feeling they’re wrong. And when she crosses a line in her search for answers, even Simon can’t hide the doubt lingering in his gaze.

She must make a choice; if the girl is actually in danger, Astrid is running out of time.

In the grand, sun-soaked halls of Morning House, Astrid fears the secrets looming in the shadows. The cracks have begun to show, and in choosing between her own intuition and her new family, the very ground she walks on will crumble.

From the moment she married Simon, all Astrid wanted was the family she’s always dreamed of, but as terrifying truths are unearthed, it becomes undeniable: if she digs too deep into the Mornings’ world, she might find herself buried instead.

Perfect for fans of The Family Secret, Don’t Go Down There, and Bitter House, Modglin returns with a dark, utterly propulsive locked-room thriller, crackling with tension and dripping with wealth, whispers, and unbridled power.

Release date: May 15, 2026

Publisher: Bitter House Publishing

Print pages: 231

Sample

CHAPTER ONE Morning House is just what it sounds like—pure sunshine in abundant architecture. The nearly seven-thousand-square-foot, buttery-yellow, Victorian Gothic mansion smiles at us as we round the curve of the driveway, as bright, elegant, and commanding as the family behind the oak front door. Next to me, Simon takes my hand, bringing my knuckles to his lips and pressing a kiss to my skin. The move warms something deep inside me, and I close my eyes, letting it sink in. “You’re sure you’re okay?” I open my eyes, studying his face, the lines of worry near his eyes as he flicks quick glances my way. “I’m perfect,” I promise. “You’ll let me know if this all gets to be…too much?” I pat his hand with my free palm. “I’m really happy for Marlie. It’s going to be a great week.” A smile touches his lips, but the worry isn’t completely erased. Just hiding. I stroke his hand with my thumb, drawing slow circles as we get closer to the house. In the backyard, the cedar gazebo is dripping with blue wisteria, the strands blowing in the breeze as if beckoning us forward, celebrating our arrival. Simon parks the car and gives me one final look. He nods. I nod back. Finally, the smile takes over his full face, a low laugh rumbling from the back of his throat. “Let’s do this,” I say, wrinkling my nose at him. Outside, the world smells like light somehow. Happiness. It’s the only way I know to describe it—the joy buzzing in the air like an electric current, peace dripping down my skin like warm honey. Simon unloads both our bags from the trunk and meets me at the end of the walk. The narrow, winding path is lined with flat paver stones surrounded by phlox, each plant perfectly trimmed and well-loved. At the door, we don’t knock; we simply walk inside. The house is just as I remember from our last visit. The scent of a cleaner lingers in the air, something fresh and floral. On the white-oak sofa table along the wall, a paisley lamp rests, already lit, though it’s just past noon, and the house is drenched in sunlight, making it unnecessary. “They’re here!” My sister-in-law’s voice greets us before we see her. Seconds later, she rounds the corner and appears at the end of the hall. A bright smile splits her face when she sees us, and she picks up her pace only slightly. Both arms go around Simon’s neck first. “I knew it. I told Mom you’d be late.” “Oh yeah? D’ya make any money on that bet?” Simon eases back, scrubbing a hand through her hair. She swats him away before turning to wrap me in a hug. “I’m so glad you made it.” “Congratulations.” I breathe in the scent of her Tom Ford cologne, layered tobacco and wood. She found the perfect combination years before we met and has never strayed from it. “We’re so happy for you. And your hair is stunning. It suits you.” She squeezes me once more before breaking away and rolling her eyes. Her dark hair has been cut into a stylish pixie, making her olive eyes stand out even more than usual. Marlie’s gorgeous enough I suspect she could get away with any look, and in the two years I’ve known her, I think I’ve seen her try to test that theory. “Thanks. Warren didn’t think I’d be brave enough to do it before the wedding, so…” She shrugs, as if to say that’s enough reason to cut your hair days before your wedding, and I guess when you’re Marlie Morning, maybe it is. “Warren doesn’t know you like we do,” Simon says with a playful nudge to her arm. “And thank god for that,” a gruff voice calls. “He’d head for the hills.” All heads in the hallway turn, and a nearly carbon copy of my husband rounds the corner. Simon’s older brother, Duncan, appears. His dark hair is a similar shade of brown to the rest of the Mornings, so dark it’s nearly black, though his has a bit more warmth than the rest thanks to living near the coast and spending his days in the water. When it catches the light just right, you can see it, the ends of his hair turning a shade of red like they are now as he moves down the hall and pulls us both into a hug at once with his massive arms. He leans back, pretending to cry as he throws an arm around Simon’s shoulders and moves to stand beside him. “Our baby girl’s growing up, man.” Simon jumps into the charade without needing to be prompted further, turning to face Marlie with a forlorn expression, eyes nearly watering. “Never thought we’d see the day. It seems like just last week she was still peeing in the bathtub.” “Oh, fuck off, both of you.” She scowls, a line creasing between her eyes. “Well, look at that. Not even five minutes in and already you three are fighting like hens,” comes a deep, easygoing voice. Pierce Morning, the Morning patriarch and my father-in-law, appears all at once, his tone soft and thoughtful, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. His dress shirt looks casual, a white button-up hanging open over a crisp T-shirt, but they probably cost as much as my monthly car payment. “Hens? That’s sexist,” Marlie cries, mock offended. “A bunch of cocks then,” Duncan jeers. “More like it?” “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, brother?” The oldest Morning child, Preston, is next to round the corner of the now-crowded hallway. “Eh, it’s been a few years since I had a bunch,” Duncan says with a wink. “But my birthday is coming up. Maybe Vic’ll be into the idea again. She certainly enjoyed herself last time.” “Children’s ears are coming,” my mother-in-law calls, her voice singsong but warning. “Hopefully you didn’t just bring the ears,” Simon teases, beaming at his mother as she comes into view. She stops next to her husband, tossing her raven hair over her shoulder. It looks as if she’s just gotten it cut recently, though maybe she’s just gotten another blowout. The length is the same as I last saw it, but there’s not a split end or awkward piece in sight. She rests a hand on our nephew Jett’s shoulder, leaving him with Pierce, then moves forward, zipping right past her youngest son to hug me first. Her scent is feminine and light, so gentle it’s almost unnoticeable. Unlike her daughter, Rachelle Morning changes her perfume weekly. Her rotating lineup could make a collector cry. She presses her cheek against mine with a soft kiss. Pulling away, she keeps hold of my arms and looks me over. “How was the drive in? We were worried the weather would slow you down.” It’s Simon who answers. “We left a few hours earlier than planned, just in case. But it was all overhyped. Just a few showers.” “And yet, you were still late,” Duncan points out. “Yeah, well, your brother is on his third cup of coffee for the day,” I say, explanation enough. Simon chuckles and wraps an arm around my waist. “All right, now where’s my new brother-in-law?” “Planning to bolt,” Preston teases. “Don’t worry, sis. We locked him in the basement for ya.” Duncan’s face twists with a sly grin. Marlie rolls her eyes. “Oh, haha. No one’s bolting.” Her face warms. “Except maybe you when you find out you’re going to have to get your hands dirty and put those scrawny arms to work.”

Simon’s eyes narrow as he turns his head, studying Pierce. “Get my hands dirty? What’s she talking about?” A long sigh escapes from Marlie. Her voice launches across the room without warning, as if she’s been holding it in for ages, waiting for us to ask. “The caterer leaked the wedding location.” “What?” Simon and I ask at nearly the same time, horrified. His palm tightens against my waist. “They were vetted and everything, of course,” Rachelle says, drawing our attention from the distraught bride. “But someone talked to someone else. You know how it goes. Anyway, it means we can’t use the lighthouse anymore.” Her face is pure stone. “So, we’ve pivoted. The press thinks Marlie’s getting married at the lighthouse on Saturday, but once they realize she’s not there—as quickly as that morning—they’ll be searching for alternative locations. Which is why she’ll be getting married here at the house Friday evening instead.” My stomach drops. I know my sister-in-law well enough to understand the work she’s put into this wedding, which means I know how devastating this must be for her. I also know if there’s anyone in the world who can arrange and plan a brand-new wedding in less than a week, it’s the Mornings. “I had Abigail fire the caterers, obviously, and Caleb has the house down to bare-bones staff this week so there are no additional leaks, but that means it’s all-hands-on-deck to get the place ready.” Simon gives a sharp nod and releases my waist, Morning-mode activated. “Sure. What does that mean? What do you need me to do?” “Well, we’ll all have tasks,” Rachelle says with a small shrug, glancing around the room. “The house has to be cleaned, and we need to reorganize up and downstairs into dressing rooms for the bridal party and groomsmen.” “That’s where Warren is, by the way,” Marlie says. “Helping Caleb with some of the blocking for how we’ll want it set up.”

I let the news wash over me. Cleaning all of Morning House on our own will be no small task, but I want to do it. It feels special, in a way, working toward something so important together. A light sparks in my chest. This is exactly what families are for. “And we decided the actual ceremony will be in the yard next to the pond,” Rachelle says. “Then the reception at the guest house. We’re having movers arrive to take some of the furniture into storage until after the wedding. Anything that isn’t needed or is in the way is gone.” “In the house or the guest house?” Simon repeats, looking out the window. “Both,” Rachelle says, “but it’s mostly the guest house. We need the open space.” I’ve heard mention of the guest house once or twice but have never seen it for myself. Morning House itself is large enough we’ve never needed to venture further. Actually, there are even parts of Morning House I haven’t seen. “What’s the matter, Simon? Still scared of the old place?” Duncan teases, eyeing his brother. “Fuck you,” Simon grunts. “What’s the matter?” Duncan laughs. “Scared?” I ask, watching Simon. The room falls silent, all eyes on me. Simon straightens. Rachelle brushes my arm with her hand. “Ignore them,” Pierce says firmly, still standing by Preston near the middle of the hall. “Ignore him,” Simon agrees, pinning Duncan with a glare. “When I was young, my brothers used to tease me about the guest house being haunted. You know, because they’re assholes.” Duncan’s face splits into a grin so wide it must hurt. “Were we teasing, though? Or is that just what you tell yourself so the nightmares stop?” “Enough,” Rachelle says, her voice firm. “We don’t have time for this. Let’s get your bags put away and sit down for lunch, okay? Caleb had Camille leave us plenty of meals for the week.”

Simon glances back at our bags where he left them by the door, and Rachelle reads his expression easily. “All-hands-on-deck this week, remember? No staff. It won’t kill you.” With that, Marlie drapes an arm through mine, and we follow the rest of the Mornings out of the hallway. “Welcome home,” she whispers, giving me teasing eyes. I smile, wondering if it’ll ever really feel like my home too. We’re all around the table dining on Tuscan chicken sandwiches when Rachelle reveals that we’ll be drawing for which room will be our responsibility to clean and prepare for the wedding. She brings out a blue wineglass filled with wooden coffee stirrers. “And before we start, I just want to say thank you to all of you again. If there were any other choice, we’d…well, of course, we’d figure something else out. It’s just, you know, the short notice and terrible timing…” She looks down, not finishing her thought. “So, here we go.” “Can’t we just call dibs or something?” Simon asks, brows drawn down. “We’re not toddlers.” “Oh, really? Could’ve fooled me,” Marlie teases. “Hey. Look. Out of the kindness of our hearts, we’ll let Marlie scrub the toilets,” Duncan says, hand to his chest. “You, my sons, all are really, very funny. This is the fairest way,” Rachelle says, holding the cup out and giving it a shake. “Bride first.” Without caution, Marlie’s hand darts forward and she retrieves a stick, pulling it back to her. “I got number three. What’s that?” “Oh, right. One second.” Pierce pulls his glasses from the pocket of his dress shirt, leaning back to decipher a document on his phone. “That would be…the sunroom for cocktail hour.” Marlie looks pleased, relaxing back in her seat. 

The glass is held out to Warren, her fiancé, next. Warren is Korean, with perfect skin and a kind smile. Most often, he’s staring at Marlie with an expression that makes me think he still hasn’t accepted she’s actually marrying him. I get the impression he’s waiting for her to say it’s all been an elaborate prank. “Groom next,” Rachelle says. Warren pulls a stick and glances at Pierce. “Eight.” Pierce checks the list. “That’s the…oh, lucky. The basement, which you’ve already started on for the women’s dressing room.” “Make it nice for me, babe.” Marlie leans across and kisses his cheek. It continues like that, Rachelle passing the cup from person to person as we all choose which task we’ll be assigned to. Duncan’s wife, Victoria, chooses the dining room and kitchen to decorate for the rehearsal dinner. Duncan draws the landscaping. Preston is assigned the entire top floor, which will be used for the men’s dressing room, and his wife, Polly, will be setting up for the ceremony outside. When it comes to us, Simon draws the stick for the guest rooms, cleaning them up for anyone who might stay at the house. There are just two sticks left. Rachelle sticks her hand in the cup, mixing them up thoroughly, then withdraws her hand. She told us earlier she won’t be drawing, since she’ll need to coordinate and oversee the entire project, stepping in where needed. I pull my stick out without much thought, reading the number aloud. “Six.” Pierce checks his list. “The guest house. For the reception.” Next to me, I swear I feel Simon straighten. The guest house. That’s…a lot. “Excellent,” Rachelle says. “The movers will do the heavy lifting, of course. We’ll just have you box everything up and clean and decorate once it’s empty.”

“What? Everyone else got rooms.” Simon gives a disbelieving laugh under his breath. “You can’t expect Astrid to clean an entire house. It’s at least a two-person job.” “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. It’s basically one room,” Pierce says, dismissing his concerns with a flick of his wrist. “Yeah.” I jump to agree. “I’m sure I can manage. It’s fine, Simon. I want to help. I’d rather be busy than restless. Seriously, it’s fine.” Pierce nods. “See, she’ll be fine. And, of course, we can have someone else chip in if needed.” He pauses, studying his list again. “That leaves me with setting up the theater for the wedding video.” He puts a fist in the air as if at a protest. “Teamwork.” When I meet Simon’s eye, cold dread washes through me. I’ll be spending the week in the guest house alone, which normally wouldn’t bother me. I meant it when I said I want to help—I do. I like working, helping. Feeling part of something. Part of them. But clearly, it bothers him. And I think his issue stems from somewhere deeper than just the size of the job. Why? When Rachelle meets my eyes, it’s with an encouraging smile on her lips, and I do my best to smile back, even as the dread sinks deeper into my core. ...