before he drifted off. He’d pretended not to notice, a secret sweetness blooming in his chest.
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Ashley, like her mother, was beautiful. The kind of beautiful that made men want to marry her. He’d been drawn to her, captivated even, but he’d always looked down on her background, her past. That’s why he’d never gone public with their relationship. He didn’t want his friends joking about how he and his father had fallen for the same woman, mother and daughter. It wasn’t something he was proud of. He’d enjoyed being with her, the moments of intense connection, but he’d always known he wouldn’t marry her. He’d thought he was in control. After all, his family had done so much for her. She’d always been obedient, compliant.
Three years. He’d almost forgotten the spirited,
independent girl she’d been before him. Now,
she was done. Just like that. She didn’t want
him. Just friends. Just like he’d wanted. Just
<
friends. Forever.
Ethan pulled the velvet box from his pocket.
The 11.8–carat diamond, meant for her birthday
tomorrow, mocked him with its brilliance. He
handed the phone and the box to the waiter.
“Thanks for the phone. I don’t need this
anymore. You can have it.” He spoke calmly, his
voice even. The stunned waiter tried to refuse,
but Ethan was already gone.
- 17.
I’d made plans with David to celebrate my
birthday after the dinner at the Millers‘. He
walked me to the car, looking handsome in the
black cashmere coat I’d bought him. I could see
the disappointment in his eyes, so I kissed him quickly. “Wait for me. Hot pot tonight?”
He nodded, pulling me into a longer kiss. We
didn’t break apart until the Millers‘ car arrived. I
watched him from the back window as we
<
11:27
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drove away. He stood there in the falling snow,
a solitary figure, until he disappeared from sight.
Ethan wasn’t at the party. He’d said he wanted to end things on my birthday, but that wasn’t necessary anymore. After our phone call, there was no way he’d come crawling back. It was for the best. We were back to being friends.
Something felt off when I arrived at the Miller house. It was eerily quiet, almost devoid of staff. A prickle of unease ran down my spine. I thought of Mrs. Miller’s chilling expression that night. I stopped, pulling out my phone. I called David, letting it ring three times before hanging up. It was a code we’d established while
watching a show, a signal for danger or
uncertainty. He would understand. He would
come.
- 18.
<
The maid escorted me inside, then disappeared.
Mrs. Miller was sitting on the sofa, wearing a
pale grey cheongsam. She smiled, beckoning
me over for tea. She looked her usual kind self. Had I been imagining things?
“Come, Ashley, have some tea with me.”
The fragrant steam rose from the jade–colored liquid. I took a sip. Mrs. Miller stood. “I almost
forgot your present. I’ll be right back.”
I stood up with her, and the room spun. She
caught me. “Ashley, what’s wrong? You look
pale. Let’s go upstairs. You can rest in your old
room. I’ve kept it clean for you.”
I couldn’t open my eyes, my body weak and
heavy. I felt myself being guided, but it wasn’t
Mrs. Miller anymore. I struggled to see, but my
vision was blurred. Then, a familiar voice.
“Achlow you’re Con morn hoautiful than your
Г
“Ashley, you’re even more beautiful than your
mother was…”
“Mr. Miller?” I gasped, a jolt of terror shooting
through me. But the brief clarity faded as the
drug took over. The room spun again, and I was
pushed onto a bed. The door clicked shut.
- 19.
Mrs. Miller stood downstairs, staring at the
closed bedroom door. Years ago, Ashley’s
mother, Helen, had screamed and begged from
behind that same door, pleading for help. Mrs.
Miller hadn’t gone up then either.
Helen had been a single mother, beautiful and
vulnerable, working for the Millers when
Richard, Mrs. Miller’s husband, had taken an
interest in her. It hadn’t been seduction, it had
been coercion. Helen had fought back,
threatened to report him. But she had a
daughter, Ashley, whom she adored. Richard
<
had used her as leverage, and Helen had
backed down.
Mrs. Miller had watched her husband’s
infatuation grow, consumed by hatred and
resentment. But she’d endured it, swallowing
her tears and rage. The driver had been a
distant relative. She’d orchestrated Helen’s
death. Richard had eventually figured it out, his
rage turning violent. But because of Ethan, and
the pressure from Richard’s father, the
marriage remained intact, a hollow shell of its
former self.
Helen was dead. To protect the family name,
and her standing with her son, the story had
been twisted. The victim became the villain, the
murderer handsomely rewarded for his silence.
Richard left DC, continuing his life of privilege.
Mrs. Miller adopted Ashley, treating her like a
daughter. People praised her kindness, her
compassion. Ethan respected her even more.
But only she knew the truth. She was broken.
<
She was crazy. Perhaps she’d kept Ashley alive
for this very moment. Helen’s daughter’s
screams would be even more satisfying.
She didn’t understand. How could a mother
seduce her husband, and then her daughter
seduce her son? She’d tolerated Ethan’s fling
with Ashley. It had been a secret, a nothing. But
now, he was talking about marriage. And
Richard…he hadn’t given up on Ashley either.
She couldn’t let that happen. Ashley had
brought this on herself.
- 20.
Screeching tires shattered the silence. Mrs.
Miller whirled around. David and Ethan burst
through the door, racing upstairs almost
simultaneously. The bedroom door crashed
open. Richard scrambled off the bed, his
clothes disheveled, his face and body covered
in scratches.
<
Ethan stopped dead in the doorway. “David,
take her to the hospital.” He turned away,
unable to look inside.
