Chapter 8 8

The house was a tomb at 2:00 AM.

Elise slipped out of her room. She knew the guard rotation. The night shift guy took a smoke break at 2:05.

She crept down the hallway. The carpet swallowed her footsteps.

Elise saw a sliver of yellow light under the study door.

Voices.

She pressed herself against the wall. She moved closer, inch by inch.

The door was cracked open a fraction.

"...reckless, Jarret," Joyce's voice hissed.

Elise froze. Her blood turned to ice.

Did she say Jarret?

Maybe she stumbled. Maybe she meant Jayden.

"Stop calling me that," a male voice replied. "I am Jayden now. You have to get used to it. And tell the maids to start closing doors properly. This entire wing should be locked down."

Elise clamped a hand over her mouth to stop the scream.

It was him. Jarret.

"Cristine is a liability," Joyce warned. "If she talks..."

"She won't," Jarret said. His voice was cold, arrogant. "She loves me. She knows I did this for us. For the campaign."

"You killed your brother for her? For politics?" Joyce asked. She didn't sound horrified. She sounded tired. Like she was discussing a bad investment.

"Jayden was weak," Jarret said. "He was going to die anyway. He was useless. The world loves a dead hero and a surviving soldier who carries on the legacy. It's perfect narrative."

Tears streamed down Elise's face. Her husband was a monster. A sociopath who had sent his twin to die in his place.

"What about Elise?" Joyce asked.

"She's annoying," Jarret said casually. "But we need the trust fund."

Elise held her breath.

"Once she signs the POA," Jarret continued, "we can... arrange an accident. A car crash. Or an overdose. She's 'hysterical with grief,' remember?"

Elise's knees buckled. She reached out blindly to steady herself.

Her hand hit a porcelain vase on a side table.

It wobbled. Clink. Clink.

The sound was tiny, but in the silence, it sounded like a gunshot.

The voices in the study stopped instantly.

"Did you hear that?" Jarret asked.

Footsteps. Heavy, fast footsteps approaching the door.

Panic exploded in Elise's chest.

She looked around. Nowhere to run. The hall was too long.

There was a small door to her left-the dumbwaiter access, used for linens.

Elise scrambled inside. She pulled the door shut just as the study door flew open.

She peered through the slats of the vent.

Jarret stood in the hallway. He wasn't using the cane. He looked strong, dangerous, and very much alive.

He looked left. He looked right.

His eyes lingered on the closet door where Elise was hiding.

Elise stopped breathing. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought he could hear it.

He took a step toward her.

Then, a floorboard settled somewhere else in the house. Creak.

Jarret paused. "Just the old house settling," he muttered.

He turned and went back into the study.

Elise slid down to the floor of the closet. She was shaking uncontrollably. Her teeth chattered.

They were going to kill her.