Page 106 of The Sweetest Revenge

Something shifted behind Anne's eyes, a flicker of surprise, quickly masked. She tilted her head, studying me with the detached curiosity of a scientist observing a specimen. After a moment, she nodded toward the box on the bed.

"And if you hadn't gone snooping through things that didn't belong to you." Her voice dropping to a near whisper that somehow felt more threatening than any shout, "maybe I wouldn't have to kill you now."

The way she said it—'have to'—as if my murder was an unfortunate obligation. As if she were the victim in this scenario, forced into violence by my curiosity. The casual inversion of morality made me dizzy with rage and terror.

The gun in her hand caught the light, the barrel, a perfect black circle, that seemed to grow larger with each passing second—a portal to nothingness.

"The truth will come out."

She shook her head. "No, it won't, thanks to you. Even Zaiden thinks it's your mom. All I have to do is make it look like your mom was here, and he'll take care of the rest."

"Did you run Zaiden and me off the road the other day?"

"Fucking idiot," she growled. "They were supposed to run you off the road, but apparently, my son is always with you."

This woman was insane, and if I didn't get out of here, I was going to die in this house.

"Get up," she shook the gun at me.

"Why?"

"I said get the fuck up."

I held my hands up as I slowly pushed to my feet. "Okay." My voice trembled with fear.

She shifted out of the path of the doorway. "Walk—" She shoved the gun forward. "To the bathroom."

I slowly eased past her toward the door, close enough to smell her perfume—the same scent Kacie used to wear. The realization turned my stomach. "You don't have to do this." My voice emerged steadier than I felt, a final attempt at reaching whatever humanity might remain in her.

The cold press of metal against my spine was her answer. The barrel of the gun dug between my vertebrae, a precise point of pressure that sent terror shooting down my limbs. A single tear escaped, tracing a hot path down my cheek.

"Shut the fuck up and walk." Her breath hit my ear, warm and mint scented. The mundane detail seemed obscene against the nightmare unfolding.

Swallowing hard against the desert my mouth had become, I stepped into the hallway. Each floorboard creaked beneath my weight, marking what could be my final steps. My eyes locked forward on the path ahead—thirty feet of polished hardwood that seemed like miles.

My mind split in two: one part calculating survival, the other accepting death—two options crystallized from the chaos of my thoughts. I could make a run for it—a desperate sprint toward the front door, gambling that surprise might give me the seconds I needed before she pulled the trigger. Or I could move with excruciating slowness, dragging out each step, buying precious time for someone, anyone, to arrive.

The weight of the silence pressed against my eardrums. No cars on the street. No neighbors mowing lawns. No salvation approaching.

Just me, Anne, and the gun that connected us.

"Don't even think about running," Anne snarled. "There will be a bullet in the back of your head before you make it out of the hallway."

My plans evaporated. She was right. I'd be dead before I managed to turn and run. My chest rose and fell with frantic breaths.

"Walk." She shoved the cold metal barrel against my spine, the pressure just enough to bruise.

I stepped forward, each footfall deliberate and slow. My heartbeat counted down the seconds I had left. One step. Two. The hallway stretched in front of me like a tunnel to my execution, each shadow on the wall a silent witness. My mind churned through scenarios, each one ending the same way—with me dead.

I paused at the threshold, sweat beading along my hairline despite the chill settling into my bones. The bathroom loomed ahead, dark except for a weak rectangle of sunlight struggling through the small window. The light illuminated dust particles floating in the air, making them look like tiny stars in a void. I knew with absolute certainty that if I stepped across that line, it would be the last doorway I'd ever cross.

The irony of the entire situation hit me hard. I'd been punished by Zaiden for the last few months for being responsible for Kacie's death, only to find out it was his mom, and now she was going to kill me, too. The only thing that made this a little easier was that there was no way she was going to get away with this. Zaiden would be back before she could clean everything up.

Sucking in what might be my last deep breath, I hesitated at the edge of darkness. Anne's patience snapped. She shoved me hard, her strength fueled by desperation, and I tumbled forward. The world tilted as I crashed to my knees, the impact shooting pain up my legs. I rolled instinctively, finding myself sitting, vulnerable and exposed.

When I lifted my gaze, time seemed to suspend.

Zaiden stood in the shadows, a statue carved from tension. His finger rested against his lips—the universal signal for silence. But it was his eyes that stopped my breath cold with a fury I'd never seen before, even during his worst moments, blaming me for Kacie's death.

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