Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 99917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
He takes another step into the room, ignoring the gun completely.
The men with him position themselves near the door, watchful and ready. They’re professionals, that much is obvious. Not hired muscle, but trained operatives. The kind of men who could disarm Patricia in seconds if given the opportunity. Yet they wait, taking their cues from Hector, patient as their employer.
“You know,” Hector continues conversationally, “I always assumed Richard was in on it with you, Patricia. The deaths. The cover-ups. It was quite a cozy little arrangement.”
Richard flinches, and he seems to shrink further into himself, shoulders hunching as if to ward off the words.
“Although now I can see it seems you were the mastermind behind it all,” Hector says, his eyes narrowing. “My brother’s death. Elizabeth’s drowning.”
My head snaps up at that, the pieces falling into place with sickening clarity. Not just my mother. Not just me. How many fucking lives has this woman destroyed? How far does her web of manipulation extend?
“What do you mean, her father’s death?” The words tear from my throat, rough with the effort of controlling my rage.
Hector’s gaze shifts to me, something like respect flashing in his eyes. “David Marlowe. Lilian’s father. Patricia made sure he was out of the picture. Freed herself up to join with Richard.”
The fireplace pops loudly once, twice.
The sudden sound makes everyone jump, except Patricia and Hector. Their eyes remain locked in silent combat, decades of hatred compressed into a single, unblinking stare.
“You’re lying,” Patricia hisses, but there’s panic edging into her voice now. The gun wavers slightly in her grip before steadying again. “David died in an accident. A car crash.”
“Did he?” Hector’s voice is soft, dangerous. “Just like Elizabeth accidentally drowned? Just like Arson needed to be institutionalized? Just like Lilian happened to develop a heart condition that required medication that kept her compliant?”
Each accusation lands like a physical blow, the truth of each impossible to deny. The pattern is too clear, too consistent to be a coincidence.
“You killed my father?” Lilian whispers, the words barely audible over the crackling of the fireplace.
For the first time since I’ve known her, I see genuine fear in Lilian’s eyes.
Not just anger, not just betrayal, but fear—raw and primal. She’s looking at her mother like she doesn’t know her at all. Then again, why the fuck would she? The woman standing before us isn’t the careful, composed Patricia Hayes, philanthropist and devoted mother she plays. This is someone else entirely. Someone who’s been hiding in plain sight for decades.
Patricia’s expression hardens, all pretense of the concerned mother finally dropping away. The transition is chilling to witness—the mask of humanity slipping to reveal something cold and reptilian beneath.
“I did what was necessary,” she says coldly.
The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees. There’s something inhuman in Patricia’s eyes now, something calculating and merciless that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I’ve seen that look before—in the eyes of the doctors at the institution who saw me not as a person but as a subject.
A problem to be solved. An inconvenience to be eliminated.
“Tell me, Patricia,” Hector says, taking another step forward, ignoring the weapon entirely. His shoes press into the worn carpet, deliberate and unhurried. “Are you going to shoot me? Add one more body to your count?”
The tension in the room is thick enough to choke on. Patricia’s eyes dart from Hector to Richard to Lilian, calculating her odds, her escape routes. I can almost see the wheels turning behind her eyes, weighing options, assessing threats. She’s backed into a corner, literally and figuratively, but cornered animals are the most dangerous kind.
“You know,” she says, swinging the gun toward Lilian, “I think I’ll start with the person who decided not to listen. The one who brought this all down around us.”
My muscles coil, ready to spring, but I force myself to remain still. One wrong move and Lilian gets a bullet. The distance between us is too great, the gun too steady in Patricia’s hand. I’d never reach her in time. The knowledge burns in my gut, acid and bile rising in my throat.
“I wouldn’t,” Hector says calmly. “That’s the only shot you’ll get off before someone takes you down.”
He gestures around the room—at me, at Aries, at Drew and his friends, at his own men by the door, all of us coiled and ready to spring the moment she gives us an opening. The odds are overwhelmingly against her, and Patricia knows it. I see it in the slight widening of her eyes, the barely perceptible tightening of her jaw.
She backs herself further into the corner, desperation edging into her movements. The firelight casts her shadow long and distorted against the wall, a monstrous silhouette that better matches the true nature of the woman than her carefully maintained appearance.