From the authors of Rumoured comes another twisted thriller featuring a celebrity couple at the centre of a horrifying cold case – perfect for fans of A Flicker in the Dark and The Perfect Marriage.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Scandal by Kelly and Kristina Mancaruso, which releases on September 8th 2026.
They had the perfect marriage. Until she was found alive…
2020. During a friend’s birthday trip, Kaleigh Creedy’s life was torn apart when she and her two friends, Emma and Leila, were violently attacked in the middle of the night. Only Kaleigh managed to escape.
2025. Now married to a famous footballer and a rising star in her own right, the former beauty queen has tried to put the terror of that night behind her. But just when Kaleigh thinks she’s safe, the unthinkable happens…
Emma is found alive, and her version of events doesn’t match Kaleigh’s.
Her perfect life is unravelling, the tabloids are circling, but who will you believe?
From the authors of Rumoured comes another sensational thriller featuring a celebrity couple at the centre of a horrifying crime. Perfect for fans of A Flicker in the Dark, The Perfect Marriage and Luckiest Girl Alive.
Excerpt from Scandal by Kelly and Kristina Mancaruso
Charlie
Nottingham, UK
Friday 28 February 2025
The pub is heaving, as it usually is when the football is on. Everyone sipping beer, laughing, caught up in the excitement of the weekend’s first FA Cup qualifier. They’re too caught up it seems, to notice the girl who’s just stumbled through the swinging staff door, covered in blood.
Perhaps, like me, they assume she’s a hallucination. I haven’t screamed yet, haven’t dropped my pint. Although my jaw’s gone slack.
I blink, trying to convince myself the girl is a figment of my imagination. But she’s still there when I open my eyes. My gaze shifts to her hand, to the broken bottle. Red wine, not blood, I tell myself.
But the thick droplet that falls like syrup from the shard of green glass tells me otherwise.
The jovial atmosphere at Oak & Arrow starts to shift to one of confusion and panic as others notice her. Chatter dies down. Laughter is replaced by whispers and gasps of horror. Glass shatters to the floor.
I fixate on the girl, my analytical brain taking everything in more carefully this time, assessing her like one of my patients. I try to guess how old she is, but it’s difficult to tell. She could be fifteen, could be thirty. The feral, wild look in her eyes makes me wonder if she’s suffering some sort of psychotic break or is on a drug-induced rampage. But then I take in her cut-up feet. Her greasy hair. Her frail body. The way her hand trembles as she clutches the glass like a weapon. Defensively, not offensively.
She is a victim. This is a crime scene.
I exhale, ready to intervene. As a psychologist, I’m trained to deal with people under severe stress. But it’s usually in a safe place like my office or a hospital. Not at the scene of the crime, the epicentre of the trauma. I understand how crucial this moment is. How right now, the girl’s body and mind will be in overdrive, desperately trying to figure out how best to protect herself. It’s not as simple as fight or flight. It’s an incredibly complex system of electrical currents computing how to safeguard its host. It could be deleting files, rewiring itself, shutting down…
I approach slowly, hands up to let her know I’m not a threat.
“It’s alright,” I say softly.
The words seem to comfort her, but she’s still on edge. The tangy stench of copper and urine stings my nostrils as I inch towards her.
“It’s alright,” I repeat.
But before I can reach her, boisterous cheers erupt from the other side of the bar. The girl recoils in fear, stumbling backwards into a table. A hot fury courses through me at the oblivious men celebrating the goal, unable to avert their attention from the match for even a moment. I try to get the girl to focus on me again.
“It’s alright,” I say for the third time, desperate to keep her calm.
She opens her mouth as if to scream, or to say something, but then her eyes roll back and she collapses to the floor.
“Someone call an ambulance,” I shout, dropping down next to her. “Now!”
I press my cold fingers to her neck, then her wrist, both splattered with what I deduce is someone else’s warm blood. My eyes flit to the door behind her, dread pooling in my stomach wondering what horror lies behind it. But my uneasiness quickly turns into something much more disconcerting as I study the girl and notice the three small butterflies tattooed on her wrist.
It’s her.
