Chapter 6

The days that followed were a blur of pain and isolation. Chloe was moved to a small, forgotten guest room in the west wing of the mansion. A doctor came and went, wrapping her burned feet in layers of gauze, his face a professional blank.

Cornell visited only once. He stood in the doorway, looking not at her, but at the wall above her head.

"You really went too far this time, Chloe," he said, his voice laced with annoyance. "Causing such a scene. It's all over the gossip blogs. Do you have any idea how this affects my image?"

Chloe, propped up on a pile of pillows, let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Your image? I was tortured, Cornell. In front of your friends. At your command."

"Don't be so dramatic. It was a family tradition," he said dismissively. "If you hadn't stolen the necklace, it never would have happened."

"I didn't steal it."

"You're becoming impossible, Chloe. I miss the sweet, agreeable girl I married." He sighed, a man burdened by a difficult wife. "Just stay here and reflect on what you've done."

He left, and she didn't see him again.

A week later, Chloe could finally stand, leaning heavily on a pair of crutches. The pain in her feet was a constant, throbbing reminder of Cornell's cruelty. She was making her slow, painful way to the bathroom when her door was thrown open.

Eudora Welch stormed in, her face contorted with rage. She marched right up to Chloe and slapped her, hard.

The force of the blow sent Chloe stumbling, her crutches clattering to the floor. She caught herself on the bedpost, her cheek stinging.

"What was that for?" Chloe asked, her voice dangerously quiet.

"Where is she?" Eudora shrieked. "Where is Kenya?"

Cornell appeared in the doorway right behind his mother, his own face a thundercloud. "Kenya's missing," he bit out, his eyes pinning Chloe to the spot. "Her phone is off. Her parents are frantic. What did you do to her?"

Chloe stared at him, incredulous. "You think I did something? Look at me! I can barely walk. How could I possibly kidnap someone?"

"You're a vindictive little witch!" Eudora screamed. "You were jealous of her, so you got rid of her! It's revenge for the party, isn't it?"

"Revenge?" Chloe laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. "You think a slap and a few hot coals are a fitting punishment for what she did to my father? Don't insult my intelligence."

Cornell's patience snapped. He strode into the room and grabbed her by the arm, his fingers digging into her skin. "I'm only going to ask you one more time, Chloe. Where is Kenya?"

"I don't know," she said through gritted teeth.

"Wrong answer," he said softly. He pulled out his phone and made a call. "Do it."

He turned the phone around so Chloe could see the screen. It was a live video feed. Two men were standing on a cliff overlooking a churning, gray ocean. Between them, suspended from a rope, was a body bag.

"Do you know where your father's body is being held before the funeral, Chloe?" Cornell asked, his voice chillingly calm. "It's a lovely spot. Very scenic. But a bit of a drop."

The air left Chloe's lungs. She stared at the screen, at the shape of her father, reduced to a prop in Cornell's sick game.

"You wouldn't," she whispered, her voice trembling.

"Tell me where Kenya is, and your father gets the dignified burial he deserves," Cornell said. "Keep silent, and well... he always did love the sea."

"I'm telling you, I don't know!" she screamed, tears of rage and terror streaming down her face. "I didn't do anything!"

"She's lying!" Eudora shrieked. "Throw him over!"

"Last chance, Chloe," Cornell said.

"Please, Cornell, no! He's my father!" she sobbed, collapsing to her knees, the pain in her feet forgotten.

Cornell looked at her, his face a mask of stone. He spoke into the phone. "Let him go."

On the screen, the two men released the rope. The body bag plummeted, disappearing into the violent waves below.

A sound of pure agony was ripped from Chloe's throat. It was the sound of her soul tearing in two.

Cornell hung up, his face impassive. "A shame."

He and Eudora turned to leave, but just then, Cornell's phone rang again. It was Douglass Cline.

"We found her," Douglass's voice boomed through the speaker. "The little idiot ran off to Vegas with some boy toy. She's fine."

Cornell froze. He looked at the phone, then back at Chloe, who was a crumpled, sobbing heap on the floor. For the first time, a flicker of genuine horror crossed his face. He had just desecrated the memory of her father... for nothing.

He and Eudora backed out of the room, leaving Chloe alone with the echoes of her own screams.

But in his haste, Cornell had dropped his phone.

Slowly, painfully, Chloe crawled across the floor. Her body was a symphony of pain-her burned feet, her raw knees, her shattered heart. She reached the phone.

The screen was still lit up, replaying the video on a loop. The body bag, falling, falling, falling.

She watched it once. Twice.

A fresh wave of grief and rage washed over her, so powerful it felt like a physical blow. A strangled cry escaped her lips, and she vomited, a bitter torrent of bile and despair.

Her father was gone. His body was gone. Everything was gone.

Except for the hate. The hate was all she had left. And it was enough. It would have to be.