Chapter 2: The Great Escape Plot

Neither Mariah nor I are unhappy with our roles.

After all, the Linwood family basically runs city politics—nobody dares cross them. And Victor Blackwell rules both the underground scene and the business world, ruthless and feared by all. Victor could get a table at any restaurant, no reservation needed, just by dropping his name.

In Maple Heights, their names open every door—and close plenty, too. Being their women meant we never had to worry about money or safety. Well, as long as we played by their rules.

If there’s one thing they have in common, it’s that they’re loaded.

We’d gotten used to living like trust fund kids—bottomless brunches, spa weekends, a wardrobe that would make Vogue jealous. We joked that if being miserable meant shopping sprees, we could suffer a little longer.

For three years, Mariah and I played our parts as heartbroken women, while secretly living the high life and spending money like there’s no tomorrow.

We had a secret code for our shopping trips—"therapy session." Our version of self-care meant maxing out black cards, splitting a bottle of Veuve in the back of an UberXL, and debating which pair of Louboutins was more tragic. Once, we even bought matching goldfish just to prove we could keep something alive.

But now, everything has changed.

There was a shift in the air, like the calm before a summer storm. We both felt it—the story was about to take a dark turn.

The heroine, Savannah Rivers, has come back.

Her name was whispered at every society party, her photo splashed across tabloids. The one woman both our men would burn the world for. She was Maple Heights’ answer to Paris Hilton—beautiful, magnetic, and always at the center of the drama.

According to the plot, Mariah’s husband Harrison is Savannah’s most loyal protector. As for my boyfriend Victor, well—Savannah is his unattainable love, his "white moonlight." He’d defy heaven and hell for her, even give up his life for her happiness.

Savannah was the type of woman who made men write bad poetry and women question their self-worth. She was trouble with a capital T—think Blair Waldorf meets Taylor Swift in her heartbreak era.

"If we don’t run now, it’ll be too late," Mariah said. "Savannah’s no pushover. She called me on purpose, then vanished, making Harrison think I kidnapped her."

Mariah’s eyes were sharp, her voice low. She’d always been good at reading people, but now she looked genuinely scared. Her hands twisted in her lap, knuckles white.

"Harrison’s one thing—at worst, he’ll just freeze me out. But what about Victor? That guy’s capable of anything."

I shuddered, a chill running down my spine.

The memory flashed in my mind: Victor at that party, his eyes cold as he ordered one of his own men punished for a sideways glance. I’d never seen violence up close before. The shock had left me sleepless, replaying the scene over and over.

She was right. Back then, when Victor took me to a party, just because one of his guys looked at me the wrong way, Victor broke his legs and dumped him in the river.

That night, I barely slept. I realized then—Victor wasn’t just jealous, he was dangerous. I was a placeholder, and placeholders are disposable.

I’m just a stand-in, and Victor is that unhinged.

Sometimes, I wondered if he even saw me at all, or just the shadow of someone else.

If he really thinks I hurt his white moonlight, Savannah, even nine lives wouldn’t be enough.

I pictured the headlines: "Heiress found floating in Maple River." No thanks.

We have to go.

Hurting my feelings is one thing, but risking my life? Absolutely not.

My voice shook, but my resolve was steel. I wasn’t about to die for someone else’s tragic love story.

Seeing my resolve, Mariah asked, "Have you saved enough money?"

She raised an eyebrow at me, smirking like she already knew the answer.

I shook my head. "Nope. But I know you have, so I’m planning to use yours."

I grinned, giving her my best puppy-dog eyes. We both knew she’d say yes.

Mariah: "..."

She groaned, but couldn’t hide a smile. That’s the thing about true friendship—you can count on each other, even when you’re being a little shameless.

Luckily, we’re real best friends. Mariah was already ready to bankroll me.

She tossed me her spare credit card, muttering about how I owed her a lifetime supply of Starbucks. I slipped it into my wallet, mouthing a silent thank you. Ride or die, that’s us.

Once we confirmed we had enough stashed away, we started planning our escape.

We sat cross-legged on her bed, laptops open, Google Maps up, plotting every detail. Plane tickets, fake IDs, burner phones—the works. It felt like prepping for a heist, except our loot was freedom.

After some brainstorming, only one plan would work: faking our deaths.

We’d watched enough true crime documentaries and binge-watched every season of Law & Order to know how to disappear. The trick was making it look just believable enough, but not so neat that anyone got suspicious.

There’s no other way. After three years, Mariah and I are the closest women to the two most powerful men in Maple Heights. We know too many secrets about the Linwood and Blackwell families. If we don’t die, even if Harrison and Victor let us go, there are too many other eyes watching in Maple Heights.

Mariah ticked off names on her fingers—bodyguards, drivers, family lawyers. "Too many people would talk. We have to vanish for good."

"Who dies first?" I asked Mariah, trying to sound casual even though my stomach was a mess of nerves. In stories, the first to go usually gets the best eulogy.

She said, "Me first, you after."

She said it like she was offering to take out the trash. Classic Mariah.

"Why not me first?" I protested. "I want to die first."

I pouted, only half joking. Being the second to go meant I’d have to deal with all the loose ends.