The day my biological parents finally brought me home to the Blackwood estate, I spent most of the afternoon staring at the girl who had spent the last twenty years living my life. She looked fragile, like expensive bone china. I looked at her and thought: She’s so frail. One clean cut and she wouldn’t even have the breath to scream. Then I glanced out the floor-to-ceiling windows. Killing is the easy part; it’s the disposal that’s the headache. But this garden… the soil in the back lot looks soft. Perfect for a shallow grave. I didn’t realize it then, but my parents’ faces went paper-white the second those thoughts crossed my mind. As for the other three, I mused, my gaze shifting to my “new” family. I’d have to take them out one by one. The brother will be the problem. I cut my eyes toward Sebastian, my older brother. He was leaning against the mantle, watching me with a calculated intensity. A frontal assault would be sloppy. Better to wait until he’s asleep. One quick strike to the carotid. Clean. Efficient. Serena, the girl who had been occupying my bedroom for two decades, started sobbing. Her tears were perfectly timed, shimmering like dew. “Sloane… I can tell you hate me. Is it because I’m here? I’ll leave, I promise…” I barely heard her. I was drifting again, my mind back in the dark places it usually inhabited. If I killed her now, there are too many witnesses. I’d have to eliminate everyone in the room. Four bodies? That’s a lot of heavy lifting. My back would never forgive me. When I finally snapped back to reality, I found my parents and Sebastian staring at me with expressions of pure, unadulterated horror. Suddenly, Serena let out a sharp cry and collapsed at my feet, clutching her ankle. “Sloane! Why did you push me?” Stupid girl, I thought, looking down at her. If I had actually laid a hand on you, you’d be on your way to the morgue, not the carpet. My parents moved faster than I expected. They practically lunged at her, dragging her behind them as if I were a live grenade. “Serena, stop!” my mother cried out, her voice trembling. “Don’t say another word!” 1 My mother pulled Serena behind her with such force that Serena stumbled. The girl looked stunned; she had clearly expected a different reaction. Her eyes welled up again, looking toward my mother with a wounded pout. “Mom, I…” But my mother wasn’t looking at her. She was staring at me, her eyes filled with a primal sort of wariness, the kind you show a predator that has wandered into your living room. I tilted my head, genuinely curious. I didn’t understand where that fear was coming from. Serena wasn’t ready to give up the spotlight. Her voice dropped to a soft, tragic whisper. “Dad, Mom… I don’t blame her. I’m sure she didn’t mean it. I just lost my balance…” “Right,” my father muttered, his voice strained. “Serena, go to your room. Now.” Serena froze. She bit her lip, looking back and forth between them, before reluctantly retreating toward the stairs. She didn’t go all the way up, though. She lingered at the landing, peeking through the banisters. My father caught Sebastian’s eye and gave a subtle nod. Sebastian didn’t say a word. He pulled out his phone and began scrolling rapidly, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Let’s get her settled,” my father whispered to my mother, his voice barely audible. My mother blinked, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace. She turned to me. “Your… your room is on the second floor. Let me show you?” I didn’t answer. Once I’m in “the zone,” I don’t talk much. I just followed her up the stairs. She had chosen a room for me that was directly across the hall from the master suite. She pushed the door open to reveal a massive, expertly decorated space. It was clear they had spent a fortune preparing for my arrival. My mother hovered at the threshold, seemingly afraid to step inside. “We put you here so you’d be close to us,” she said, her voice thin. “If you need anything in the night… anything at all… you can just call for us.” I scanned the room, my mind instinctively mapping the layout. Three blind spots for the security cameras. The window overlooks the lawn—a bit of a drop, but easy enough to scale if I need a quick exit. The walk-in closet is oversized. Plenty of room to hide a body. And they put me right across the hall? Do they really want to make it that easy for me to pay them a midnight visit? My mother’s face turned the color of ash. I opened my mouth to ask if she was feeling alright, but the sound of footsteps interrupted me. Serena was back. She was carrying a silver tray with sliced fruit, a sweet, practiced smile plastered on her face. “Sloane, I brought you some snacks. I thought we could talk, maybe get to know—” “No!” my mother barked, stepping between us. “She’s tired, Serena. She needs her rest. Go back to your room.” Serena’s smile faltered. She looked at our mother, then at me, her eyes wide with disbelief. This was the woman who had spent twenty years indulging her every whim, a woman who had never said “no” to her. Did blood really run that much thicker than water? Serena tightened her grip on the tray, her knuckles white. “Of course. Rest well… sister.” She turned and fled, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood. I stood there, watching her disappear around the corner. I had no intention of doing anything tonight; the cross-country trip had left me exhausted. “I’ll leave you to it,” my mother whispered, backing away. “Call us if you need anything.” I nodded slightly and shut the door. I lay down on the bed, closing my eyes to find some peace, but I couldn’t help but notice the footsteps in the hallway. They were rhythmic. Precise. Every fifteen minutes, someone walked past my door. Patrolling? I wondered. Are they afraid of an intruder, or are they afraid of me? The frequency is too predictable, though. Fifteen-minute intervals are plenty of time to get work done if you know how to move. The footsteps outside my door paused for a beat, then hurried away, faster than before. 2 My mother came to fetch me for dinner personally. She knocked three times—soft, hesitant taps. “Dinner is… it’s ready. If you’re hungry.” “I’ll be right down,” I said, opening the door. In the dining room, the atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a steak knife. My father sat at the head of the table, Sebastian to his left, and Serena in the seat usually reserved for my mother. When I entered, Serena stood up, beaming. “Sloane! Sit here, I saved you a spot right next to me!” My mother froze. My father’s hand tightened around his silverware. I ignored the tension and sat down. Serena immediately began piling food onto my plate. “You have to try the sea bass,” she said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “I bet you didn’t get fresh seafood like this at the state home, right?” I arched an eyelid and took a bite of the fish. Condescension wrapped in a charity complex. A classic power play, I thought. But it doesn’t matter. Dead girls don’t need to worry about social standing. My mother’s fork clattered onto the table. She bent down to retrieve it and stayed down there for a long time. Serena kept going, her eyes turning misty. “Sloane, why aren’t you talking? Don’t you like the fish? Or… do you not like that I touched it?” “I’m just not much of a talker,” I said slowly. The tears come so easily. She’s a natural performer. Does she really have no sense of self-preservation? Staging a provocation like this is a dangerous game. Strangulation would be too messy; it often causes a loss of bladder control. A blade is much cleaner. Less to scrub out of the rug. My father’s spoon hit his bowl with a loud clink, splashing soup across the white linen cloth. Serena was in full swing now, her voice trembling. “Mom, Dad… I don’t think she likes me. Did I do something wrong?” My mother sat up, her face ghostly. She stood, walked over to Serena, and practically hauled her out of the chair by her arm. “Serena, move. Sit over by me.” Serena looked bewildered. “Mom? What—” “Now,” my mother commanded. She dragged Serena to the other end of the table, putting three empty chairs between us. Then, my mother took the seat directly between Serena and me, acting as a human shield. Serena opened her mouth to protest, but caught the look on our father’s face and went silent, staring sullenly into her soup. Two minutes later, she “accidentally” knocked over her water. The liquid surged across the table, heading straight for my lap. “Oh my god, Sloane! I’m so sorry! I’m such a klutz!” Serena cried out, her voice loud and panicked. “It’s fine. I don’t mind,” I said. Liar. That was a deliberate trajectory. “Enough.” Sebastian stood up. He looked at Serena, his eyes cold—colder than I’d seen them yet. “Go to your room, Serena.” She gasped. “Sebastian, I—” “I said, go to your room.” Serena realized she had lost the room. She threw down her napkin and ran out, her theatrical sobs echoing through the foyer. 3 The next morning, Sebastian was already in the living room when I came down. He was staring at his phone, his jaw set. When he saw me, he flipped the device facedown and stood up. “Breakfast is on the sideboard,” he said curtly. I could feel him watching me. I watched him right back. He took the late shift last night. The patrol frequency changed to twenty-minute intervals. They’re rotating guards. He’s the only one with real situational awareness. He’ll be the hardest to neutralize. I’d have to wait until he’s in deep REM sleep. It’s the only way to ensure a clean finish. Sebastian’s expression shifted—a flash of something like pain or terror—but he said nothing. I narrowed my eyes. Something was definitely off with this family, but I wasn’t here to solve their psychological puzzles. After breakfast, I went for a walk in the gardens. I sensed my mother wanting to follow me, but she stopped at the patio door, her hand hovering over the handle. The sun was bright, the roses in full, violent bloom. I walked to the farthest corner of the estate, testing the density of the soil with my heel and eyeing the height of the perimeter wall. “Do you like my roses, Sloane?” Serena was standing behind me. She had changed into a sundress, her hair loose, looking every bit the innocent garden nymph. She reached out to stroke a petal. “I planted all of these. My parents gave me this garden as a gift.” Her voice dropped, the sweetness vanishing. “See that corner over there? I picked it because it’s the most secluded spot on the property. If I ever needed to hide something… no one would ever find it.” She looked at me, her eyes burning with a sudden, sharp malice. “Take the hint and get out. This is my house. You can’t just swoop in and take it.” I looked at her. Was she actually trying to threaten me? A practiced intimidation script. She’s used this before. People like her usually escalate to physical action once their words fail. I need a contingency plan. Maybe I can bait her into an attack. Self-defense is much easier to justify in court. “What are you two talking about?” My mother’s voice cut through the air. She looked frantic, rushing toward us and grabbing Serena by the wrist. “Mom! You scared me,” Serena chirped, her mask snapping back into place instantly. “I was just showing Sloane the roses.” “What did you just say to her?” My mother’s voice was shaking. “Tell me exactly what you said!” Serena’s eyes flickered with panic. “Mom, you’re overreacting. I was just—” The pivot is seamless. A born con artist. But she’s low-tier; she only knows how to manipulate through victimhood. It works on family, but it wouldn’t last a day in the real world. My mother stared at Serena as if she were seeing a stranger for the first time. I didn’t stick around for the fallout. I turned my back on them and walked back to the house. Later that afternoon, it happened. I was walking down the second-floor gallery. Serena was waiting by the stairs. As I approached, she took a dramatic step back, let out a piercing scream, and threw herself toward the edge of the staircase. It was a blatant staged fall. She even managed to shriek, “Sloane, why did you push me—” mid-air. But she didn’t hit the stairs. Sebastian had been standing at the other end of the hall. He moved like a sprinter, catching her by the arm and yanking her back just before she went over the edge. 4 Serena gasped, her chest heaving as she looked up at her savior. When she saw it was Sebastian, a flicker of genuine fear crossed her face. “Sebastian…” He looked at her with a profound sense of disappointment. “She’s ten feet away from you, Serena. Did the wind push you?” Serena turned white. She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. Sebastian’s gaze was clinical, stripping away her act until there was nothing left but the lie. A failed frame job. Amateur hour. If this were the streets, she wouldn’t have made it past the first round. If I were going to do it, I wouldn’t choose a high-traffic area with multiple lines of sight. I’d lure her. Somewhere dark, somewhere with no digital footprint. I’d make her walk into the trap herself. A disappearance is always more effective than a clumsy accident. Sebastian’s hands were shaking, but he didn’t look at me. He let go of Serena’s arm as if she were made of something revolting. “You really are a disappointment,” he whispered. He walked past her without a second glance. Before dinner, Sebastian called Serena into the study. The doors clicked shut. I don’t know what they discussed, but when the doors finally opened, Serena looked humiliated—but also strangely manic. As she passed me in the hall, I saw her pull out her phone and dial 911. Now, I was actually intrigued. What had they said to her? Downstairs, I could hear my father and Sebastian talking in low, urgent tones. “I checked the BOLOs,” Sebastian said. “The serial killers on the move right now… they’re all men.” “It doesn’t fit,” my father groaned. “We have no evidence. If we call the cops and it’s a false report, the scandal will tank the firm’s IPO,” Sebastian argued. My mother was pacing, her voice frantic. “So we just wait? We wait for her to act?” Sebastian went quiet. “I don’t know. Something… something isn’t adding up.” Just then, the doorbell rang. Serena practically flew down the stairs. She yanked the door open to reveal two uniformed officers. One was older, maybe mid-forties, looking like he’d seen too many long shifts. The other was younger, his hand hovering near his belt, his eyes scanning the room. “Who called?” the older officer asked. Serena’s voice rose to a triumphant pitch. “I did! Officers, thank god you’re here! This woman is a threat! I think she’s a murderer!”
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “555703”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel
Leave a Reply