Such a Perfect Family
January 2026
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Such A Perfect Family Excerpt
By Nalini Singh
“Do you know if your wife has a life insurance policy?” Detective Ackerson asked.
I’d been ready for her to resort to her tactic of switching topics, but not for this particular question. My answer was startled—and honest. “I don’t think so? We never discussed life insurance, so if she has a policy, it’ll be from before we met.”
“How about a will?”
“Yes, we did it a couple of days after our wedding.”
“Why the rush?” Ackerson leaned across the table, her tone sliding into abrasive. “You’re both in your twenties, plenty of life left to live.”
I lifted my shoulders. “My father’s a lawyer. He suggested it.”
“Odd thing for a man to suggest to newlyweds.”
I shrugged again and left it at that, even though Ackerson paused and stared. Poor Ackerson. She had no idea I’d grown up in this environment—and while the game player was my mother, it was my father who’d taught me how to withstand it. Because Anand Advani had been caught between his slavish devotion to his wife and his paternal need to protect his second son since the day of my birth.
“People want to fill silences,” he’d said to me when I was nine, and freshly emotionally bruised after an interaction with the woman who only had enough love in her for one son.
“Long pauses are a favorite tactic of anyone who wants to get information out of another person—just wait until the other party cracks from the awkwardness or gets nervous. Don’t fall for it again, Tavish. Don’t show her your heart.” A pause. “Or you won’t survive her.”
Today, I deliberately didn’t maintain the eye contact. Some cops read that kind of contact as a challenge and got aggressive. But neither did I look around as if unable to settle. Rather, I looked down at the table as if lost in thought.
There’s no such thing as justice. It’s all legal chess. First one to checkmate wins.
My father’s words. My mother’s thoughts.
The problem was that my former employer wasn’t the only other player in this game. If Jason Musgrave got wind of the murders of the Prasad family, and of my involvement with Diya, Ackerson would have herself a font of nasty innuendo and accusations.
If I could’ve murdered anyone, it’d be the man who’d done all he could to make my life hell. The only problem was that I’d be the chief suspect as soon as the bastard turned up dead—or went missing. Still, it was nice to dream.
“I’ll need a copy of the wills.”
“We did one together. Never got around to putting it in the Prasads’ safety-deposit box.” Despite my cooperative tone, my mouth was dry, my temples beating with a pulse that felt so big I was afraid it was visible. “The lawyers in LA will have a copy. I can get their name from my dad—he set it up. We just turned up and signed.”
“And your wife was fine with all this?”
“Why wouldn’t she be?” I scowled, my frustration real. “Look, I don’t know what you’re getting at, but there’s nothing weird in the will. Just the two of us giving our stuff to each other, and a few sentimental items to our friends or family.”
Though when Ackerson read the will, she’d see that it was Diya who’d made ninety percent of the sentimental bequests; I’d put only one name in there, the bequeathed item a particular piece of art from Susanne that I thought should go back to the Winthorpe family. “Most of the assets coming into the marriage were mine.”
I knew I’d made a mistake, that I’d spoken too much, when her eyes gained a sudden feral spark. “Balance has changed now, though, hasn’t it?”
“What?” My brain was lagging, my nerves eating up my thoughts.
“The Prasad family’s lawyer has confirmed that the doctors left everything to their children in equal shares. One of those children is most likely dead, his body all but obliterated. The other is clinging to life—but Diya Prasad has already become the beneficiary by being the sole survivor. If she dies, it all goes to you.”
My face burned, my leg threatening to pump up and down. Of all the possible avenues on which Ackerson could’ve pinned her suspicions, the financial one was the absolute worst.
Susanne. Jocelyn. Virna.
My history could bury me.
Copyright © 2026 by Nalini Singh
Coming soon
A man with a deadly past marries into the perfect, respectable family in this riveting thriller from New York Times bestselling author Nalini Singh . . .
A woman buried.
A woman broken.
A woman crashed.
A woman burned.
And the man who knew them all.
Love at first sight, a whirlwind Vegas wedding, a fairy-tale romance.
For forty three days, Tavish Advani has been the happiest man in the world—until his new life turns to ash, his wealthy in-laws’ house going up in a fiery explosion. His badly injured wife lies in a coma, her family all but annihilated.
Tavish thought he left the sins of his Los Angeles life behind, but it’s not so easy to leave behind an investigation into the deaths of several high-profile women—all of whom he professed to love. Tragedy and death follow him no matter where he goes . . . but this time, he knows he’s innocent.
Desperately trying to clear his name as the authorities zero in, he begins his own investigation into the fire—and learns that his wife’s picture-perfect family may have been nothing but a meticulously constructed mirage. The truth is much darker than anything Tavish could’ve imagined . . .