Chapter 2: The Cost of Vengeance

Lila’s father, Rick Quinn, had now hitched himself to the mayor’s campaign, climbing the ranks fast. His standing was now equal to my father’s.

The town buzzed with talk of Rick’s ambitions—cocktail parties, fundraising dinners, his name on every pair of lips at City Hall. He was everywhere. He and my father were rivals now, locked in a battle for power that spilled over into every corner of Maple Heights.

Naturally, my dad didn’t dare cross him.

Politics in a town like ours was a blood sport. My father knew better than to make an enemy of Rick Quinn, especially with so much at stake.

Wiping the blood from my knife, I quietly reminded my father:

"In about two hours, it’ll be dark. Rick Quinn will send people to look for his wife and daughter. Don’t worry, Dad—no one saw them come into the Sinclair place, but plenty of folks saw two well-dressed women heading up the mountain to leave flowers at the old church."

I spoke with the calm certainty of someone who’s thought through every angle. My father’s face went slack, the reality settling in.

My father, shaking, got up from the floor. When he looked at me, his eyes were full of fear and hatred. He wanted to kill me. Instead, he helped me clean up.

He muttered under his breath, hands trembling as he gathered rags and bleach. The hatred in his eyes was almost physical, a force that pressed against me with every step he took.

The official story was that Mrs. Quinn and her daughter were attacked by muggers on their way up the hill to pray. Mrs. Quinn was stabbed several times protecting Lila and died of her wounds. Lila barely made it out alive. Neat, tidy, and just believable enough.

The police bought it, of course. In a town like Maple Heights, folks preferred their scandals neat and tidy. The papers printed the story, neighbors whispered, and life moved on—at least on the surface.

As Lila was carried out of my house, her eyes bloodshot, she glared at me with pure hatred:

"Morgan Sinclair... you’ll pay for my mother’s life..."

Her voice was raw, ragged, filled with a fury that bordered on madness. I met her gaze, unflinching. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

I almost laughed.

The sound bubbled up, sharp and cold. There was nothing left between us but ashes.

"If you ever show your face around me again, I’ll tell the world who your real father is. Do you really think you’ll live long enough to get your revenge?"

My words were a promise and a warning. Lila’s face twisted, her resolve crumbling. She knew I meant every word.

It wasn’t until late that night that my father came back, his shirt still stained with dust and blood.

The house was quiet, the only sound the ticking of the grandfather clock. He slammed the door behind him, footsteps heavy as he stormed into the living room. I didn’t flinch.

He found me at the desk, finishing the books.

I didn’t look up, letting him stew in his anger. The ledgers were neat, every column perfectly aligned. I’d made sure of it.

He glanced at the white cloth beside me, eyes rimmed red, and demanded:

"After doing something so vicious, how can you even bear to live?"

His voice was hoarse, thick with emotion. He looked at me like I was a monster, something he’d never meant to create.

"Donna killed my mom. She deserved to die. Why should I pay for a murderer’s crime?" I set down my pen and looked up at him. "You’ve been crying, Dad. So Donna really was your true love after all—no wonder you spent so much money on her and her daughter all these years."

I let the words hang in the air, watching his face contort with shame and anger. The truth hurt, and I wanted him to feel every ounce of it. He deserved it.

"The house is surrounded. Even if you don’t take the hint, you won’t live to see morning."

His threat was empty, a last-ditch effort to assert control. I could see the fear behind his bravado, the way his hands shook.

I handed him the ledger I’d just finished. Let him see what he’d built.

The book was heavy, the weight of decades of secrets pressed between its covers. I slid it across the table, meeting his gaze without flinching.

"These are the fake accounts you kept all these years to hide your support for Donna and Lila. You want to kill me to hide your shame, but secrets always come out."

I spoke quietly, but there was steel in my voice. I wanted him to know I held all the cards now.

"If I die, these records—along with your own confession about your affair and how you caused Mom’s death—will end up at the district attorney’s office."

I watched his eyes widen, the realization dawning on him. There was no way out—not for him, not for me.

"When that happens, will you be able to keep your job, the Sinclair family’s future, or even your own life?"

I let the question hang, the threat implicit. He looked away, unable to meet my eyes.

He just stared at the books, hollow.

For a moment, he looked old—older than I’d ever seen him. The fight had gone out of him, replaced by a hollow resignation.

"You planned all this from the start..."

His voice was barely a whisper, thick with disbelief. He sounded like a man who’d finally realized he was beaten.

I smiled. "I killed Donna, but you’re the one helping me cover it up. Now we’re both stuck in this together."

My smile was cold, triumphant. For the first time, I saw fear in his eyes—a fear that had nothing to do with what I’d done, and everything to do with what I might do next. Good.

My father looked at me like I was a stranger, like he was afraid of me. "You used to be so kind—how did you turn so cruel?"

He shook his head, as if searching for the daughter he’d lost. I met his gaze, unblinking.

Why, he wanted to know. Why indeed.

Before leaving, my father pointed at me and spat:

"Poisonous woman! That’s all you are—a venomous snake!"

Poisonous woman... How long had it been since I’d heard that? It almost made me smile. The phrase felt familiar, almost comforting. It was the name they gave me when they didn’t know what else to call the darkness I carried. I wore it like armor.