THE HART LEGACY SERIES

Some families pass down recipes. Some pass down heirlooms.

The Hart family passes down secrets.

Book 1: Secret Santa Stalker

When Lila Hart's office Christmas party turns deadly, she discovers the mother she thought died fifteen years ago is alive—and has been watching her all along. Now Lila must survive a night of terror while uncovering the truth about her family's twisted past.

Book 2: The Facility Years

Some families are bound by love. The Harts are bound by lies, manipulation, and murder.

They said she was gone.

A vegetable.

Brain dead.

They were wrong.

Book 3: The Perfect Mother

Lila's mother Eleanor is awake, recovered, and determined to be part of her pregnant daughter's life. But when Lila's therapist dies suspiciously and her birth control is sabotaged, she realizes Eleanor's love comes with a deadly price: her baby's life.

A twisted series about dangerous mothers, the daughters who survive them, and the legacy that binds them across generations. Perfect for fans of Freida McFadden, Ruth Ware, and anyone who thought their family was complicated.

Book 2

Some families are bound by love. The Harts are bound by lies, manipulation, and murder.

They said she was gone.
A vegetable.
Brain dead.
They were wrong.

For fifteen years, Eleanor lay motionless in the bed at Oakwood Facility while doctors pronounced her consciousness extinct. But Eleanor was awake. Aware. And planning.

From her hospital bed, she built an empire of secrets. She manipulated staff. Moved money. Bent rules until they broke. And all the while, she waited.

This is the story of those years.
Of patience turned to power.
And of a woman who learned to hide in plain sight.
A monster perfecting her revenge.

The Facility Years is a chilling standalone short story in The Hart Legacy series—perfect for fans of ​​​​​​​psychological thrillers, the villain’s POV, unreliable narrators, and the question: what is someone capable of when they have nothing but time?

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Book 1

I thought the Secret Santa gift was a joke. I was wrong.

Someone at my office Christmas party knows about my past. The past I've spent fifteen years running from. The past I've medicated away until I could almost believe it never happened.

The snow globe on my desk proves otherwise. It's a perfect replica of my childhood home—right down to the crooked porch light. No one here should know that house. No one here should know what happened there.

But they do.

And when my coworker is found dead in the supply closet with another "gift" on her chest, I realize this isn't about Secret Santa anymore.

The blizzard has trapped us in the office overnight. Fifteen people. One killer. And me—the target of someone's twisted holiday game.

The problem? I can't remember that Christmas Eve fifteen years ago. The medication has made sure of that. But as the night wears on and the gifts keep appearing, fragments of memory start to surface.

Terrible memories.

Memories that suggest maybe I'm not the innocent victim everyone thinks I am.

Maybe I never was.

A darkly festive psychological thriller for fans of Freida McFadden and Lucy Foley. Because the best Christmas stories are the ones that shatter.

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Book 3

My therapist says I'm experiencing postpartum psychosis.

The problem? I'm only six months pregnant.

I don't remember getting pregnant. I don't remember moving into my mother's apartment. I don't remember breaking up with my boyfriend.

Eleanor says I asked for her help. My bank statements say I've been transferring her money for months. The doctors say memory gaps are normal.

But I found the photographs in her closet. Pictures of another baby girl. One who drowned thirty years ago while Eleanor sat nearby, reading.

My grandmother's journal told the truth: "If Eleanor wakes up, run. What happened to Lily wasn't an accident."

My grandmother spent fifteen years keeping Eleanor locked away. I thought she was being cruel.

Now I'm trapped in my mother's apartment, carrying a baby I don't remember conceiving, losing hours I can't account for.

Eleanor has four months until my due date.

I have four months to remember what happened the night I got pregnant.

Because this baby isn't mine.

It's her second chance at Lily.

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