The Tutor by Courtney Psak (EXCERPT)

Hello, dear readers! Today we have a taste of a domestic thriller set in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods of Florida. Told from the points of view of three generations of women, The Tutor is a novel about the dark side of privilege, the long shadow of family, and how far some women will go to protect who and what they love. It unpacks legacy, motherhood and identity in one gripping read.

Rose is a dedicated wife to her husband Grant, and devoted mother to her son James. Having recently moved to a grand mansion in glamorous Palm Beach, Rose is keen to do whatever she can to help James fit in to his new life.

As part of these efforts, she hires a tutor to help James with his academics. Isabel is young, smart and beautiful. Not only does she get along with James, she gets results. But when Isabel starts getting a little too close for comfort, Rose can’t help but think that Isabel is looking for more than just tutoring. Can Rose uncover exactly whom she’s let into her house, or will this turn out to be an irrevocably deadly lesson?

Read on for a tantalizing preview from the point of view of our main protagonist Rose, as she tries to settle into her new life, with all its attendant guilt:

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Rose awakens to the sound of a gunshot, causing her to let out a gasp as she jumps upright. It takes a few moments to realize that it’s not real. It’s only from her dream. The same one she gets practically every night. The screaming and crying, followed by a loud gunshot and then nothing Rose forces herself to lie back down in bed, but she is reminded of the hidden cameras she discovered in the New York apartment.

The question is, why did Evelyn have them? Does Grant know about them? She doubts it, so they must have been there back when Evelyn was living in the apartment. Maybe as a safety precaution after Harrison died and she was living alone? But then why still have them active? Why would you want to spy on your son and his wife? Rose shuddered then, realizing they were for her. I know all about your past.

Rose’s gaze falls on an oil painting of likely a relative from the early 1800s. The man, in his mid-forties, is dressed in equestrian attire with a jutting chin and barrel chest puffed out as he sits on a chestnut-colored horse. He holds a rifle at his side and there is an obedient foxhound at the horse’s feet. Rose squints, studying the painting, noticing a hint of red. Are the eyes in fact cameras, watching their every move?

She thinks of the oil painting at the penthouse that Evelyn wouldn’t let go of. Was it all some sort of façade? Rose lifts her head to examine the painting further, but she soon realizes the moonlight is catching the paint, causing the shine she’s seeing.

Rose wants to ask Grant about the cameras, but it’s a weird thing to bring up. She only knows about them because she was snooping around his mother’s room. That’s not putting her at a good starting point.

She tosses and turns until Grant seems to moan in frustration. She isn’t sure if he is annoyed with her or if he is dreaming, but she figures she might as well get up. It’s still dark outside, though she wouldn’t have known it with the heavy curtains. The clock reads four thirty in the morning. It took her until three to fall asleep to begin with. Like a person camping in the woods on the first night, every sound she hears has her on high alert.

Rose slips her legs off the bed and creeps to her closet to put on her painting smock. She thinks of Lina’s warning. If she doesn’t sell in his next art show, that’s the end of her career. Another point of stress that will keep her from getting any sleep.

The door to her bedroom opens with a loud whine and she winces, trying to make up for the sound by tiptoeing along the hallway; the creaks are muffled a bit by the Persian-style runner.

When Rose reaches the top of the steps to the studio, she can see a long stream of moonlight stretch across the floor.

Out the window, the sky has cleared, and the stars are twinkling against the midnight blue ocean.

Rose flicks on the light, squinting as her eyes adjust. The room looks like a blur now. As she acclimates to the light, she once again scans the room for hidden cameras. She feels so exposed, like being in a fishbowl.

A shudder runs through her as she remembers Evelyn’s off- handed comment to her on her wedding day. I know all about your past.

Did she really? Someone like Evelyn must’ve had a background check done on her, the same way that Rose had looked up Evelyn and the family, though hers was merely a Google search.

But Evelyn can’t know everything about her. Rose is the only one alive to tell that story.

Rose thinks of how upset Evelyn was when Harrison was brought up at lunch yesterday. In the evening, Rose tried to look up Harrison Caldwell on the internet. There was a brief Wikipedia page about his accomplishments and career, but other than an obituary, Rose saw nothing about how he’d died. No cause of death or anything. But that’s how these rich people survive, right? If it’s worth enough to you, you can erase your past. Looks like Rose isn’t the only one with a secret.

Rose pulls the closet door open to find a step stool and a stack of canvases in various sizes.

She tilts her head, afraid to even touch a canvas. She thinks about Evelyn’s comment earlier: how Rose is to remember this gesture as Evelyn will want something in return. But at the same time, she needs a place to work. Her career is on thin ice as it is. And truthfully, she’s genuinely grateful to have a studio in the house, rather than have to rent somewhere. If that were the case, she’d likely never see James or Grant, which is one of the reasons for his hostility about her work in the first place. At least now Rose can sneak up here at night and try to get her art back on track.

She shakes the thought away and pulls out a canvas to set up on the easel. Rose tries to get in touch with what she’s feeling. It’s how she works best. She identifies anxious, displaced, and she ponders the word for a minute. Helpless. Somber tones, she concludes, setting up her palette. She clears her throat and begins to paint.

Rose has her earbuds in, listening to her inspiration playlist, the sun now streaming brightly through the tiny window. What stares back at her from the canvas are impassive and understated tones of blue, blurred shapes of gold and faded purples. She sighs.

Lina would hate it. She’s going to have to do a lot to fix this up. A hand grips her shoulder, and she is startled out of her trance.

When she turns around, James is staring at her. He looks so dapper in his sports coat, tie, and tan dress pants. Then her face falls when she realizes that it’s the first day of school. She quickly pulls out her earbud.

“I thought you were going to drive me to school?”

Rose checks her watch, eyes widening in surprise. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been at it since four thirty this morning.” She looks between her canvas and James. “I’m almost done.”

“It’s already seven thirty.”

She puts a hand on her forehead, frustrated. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”

“I’ll just have Grant drive me.”

Rose hesitates for a minute. She does want to take him, it’s his first day of school. But then she hears Lina’s regretful voice telling her that if she doesn’t do well, she’s done for. James seems to read her face and before she can say anything, he speaks. “It’s not a big deal. I’m sure Grant can do it.”

“Are you sure?” Rose asks guiltily. “I promise I’ll pick you up from school today. I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

“I’m sure.” He turns to leave.

“Come here, give me a hug.” She puts her arms out.

He hesitates. “I can’t get paint all over my uniform.”

Rose looks down at herself. He’s right, she is covered from head to toe. She gets so caught up; she loses all sense of things. “How about a kiss, then?”

James begrudgingly walks towards her, pecking her quickly on the cheek.

“Have a good day. I love you.” Once she can no longer hear his footsteps, she starts working again.

Rose continues to paint but after a few minutes, she stops. She should’ve insisted on bringing him to school. Quickly, she removes her mock and hurries down the steps, bursting through the front door, only to watch as the black Range Rover drives away, dust rising from the gravel.

Rose traipses heavily up the stairs like her feet are made of lead. When she gets back to her studio, she throws the smock back on and takes in a deep, slow breath, trying to get back to the place she was earlier, but after a few more minutes, her paintbrush falls to the side.

She hasn’t been a very good mother, she realizes.

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From The Tutor by Courtney Psak. Copyright © 2025 by the author and reprinted by permission.

The Tutor by Courtney Psak was published today November 11 2025 by Hodder & Stoughton and is available from all good booksellers, including