Chapter 5

Dad made one last plea: "Mr. Hale, we can talk about the wedding again—the kids have always been close; don't let a little misunderstanding..."

"Wedding?" Mr. Hale barked out a laugh, as if it were the most absurd thing he'd heard.

"Edward, as of today, the Hales are cutting all ties with the Thornes. My son would rather stay single for life than get involved with your kind of family—it's downright cursed."

Second sister crumbled. The alliance she'd banked her future on—the Hale family prestige, the merger of empires—evaporated in the time it took to check a dead boy's pulse.

"Marcus, please—" She grabbed his sleeve. "I didn't know—I swear I didn't know he was actually—"

Marcus pried her fingers off, one by one, with surgical precision.

"You threw scalding water on his face." His voice was soft. Almost gentle. "I saw the burns. Still fresh. And you're telling me you didn't know."

Second sister's legs gave out. She sat on the stairs like a puppet with cut strings.

The police arrived first. Then the ambulance—though there was nothing left to save.

They sealed off my room. Yellow tape across my door. Officers took photographs of everything: the bare mattress, the broken backpack in the corner, the trash can full of dumped food.

And the wheel. They photographed the wheel.

A detective picked it up, examined it, and asked: "What is this?"

Mom's mouth opened and closed. For once, no words came.

Eldest sister answered. Her voice was mechanical, practiced—the same tone she used for business presentations. "It's a decision-making tool. For household fairness."

The detective turned it over. "There are scratch marks on the underside. And residual magnetic traces near the pointer pivot."

He looked at Alex's bracelet. Then back at the wheel.

"I'll need to take this into evidence."

Alex began to cry. Not the cute, theatrical tears he'd perfected over the years—the kind that made Mom rush over and the sisters coo.

These were real tears. Panicked, hiccupping, snot-streaming tears.

"I didn't—I didn't mean for him to die! I just wanted to win! Mom said—Mom said it was just a game!"

Mom's face went white. "Alex, sweetheart, stop talking—"

"She told me where to put the magnet! She said it was our secret! She said Zachary wouldn't mind because he was from the countryside and didn't need nice things!"

Every word was a nail in a coffin—but not mine. Theirs.

Dad stood in the middle of the living room, coat still on, luggage still by the door. He looked like a man who'd walked into his own house and found it was someone else's nightmare.

"Victoria," he said to Mom. "Is this true?"

Mom's jaw trembled. "Edward, you don't understand—I was protecting this family—"

"By killing our son?"

The word "our" hit the room like a thunderclap.

Because in three years, that was the first time anyone had called me "ours."

Floating above the chandelier I'd once admired, I watched the family I'd dreamed of collapse in on itself.

I wish I could say it felt like justice.

It didn't.

It just felt cold.