The morning light through the taxi window felt like an accusation.
Chloe sat huddled in the back seat, the cheap dress reeking of stale perfume and a stranger's scent. Her stomach churned with a nausea that had nothing to do with the cab's jerky movements through New York traffic.
She pulled her phone from her clutch. The screen glowed with dozens of missed calls and frantic texts from Mrs. Peterson, the family's housekeeper.
The latest one made her heart plummet.
Miss Chloe, come back! Something terrible has happened!
"Can you go faster, please?" she urged the driver, her voice a hoarse whisper. A thousand terrible scenarios played through her mind, but none felt as real as the violation she had just endured.
The taxi pulled up to the familiar Long Island villa, the house her mother had raised her in. It looked the same, but everything felt different now.
She paid the driver and stumbled out. The front door flew open before she could reach it.
Her stepsister, Jennifer Blanchard, stood there, a vision in a pristine white dress. Her face was a mask of perfect, feigned concern.
"Chloe! You're finally back! We were worried sick!"
Jennifer rushed forward, arms outstretched for an embrace. As she got closer, her nose wrinkled in disgust at the smell of alcohol and sex clinging to Chloe. A flash of triumphant malice lit her eyes before being quickly hidden behind a veil of crocodile tears.
Chloe shoved her away. "Don't touch me."
She pushed past her into the living room.
Her stepfather, Richard Hayes, and his wife, Laura Blanchard, were seated on the main sofa. They wore expressions of grave solemnity, like judges waiting to pass sentence.
"Chloe, where have you been?" Richard asked, his tone dripping with paternal disappointment. "A young woman shouldn't be out all night..."
Chloe ignored him. Her eyes scanned the room, searching for the only person who mattered.
"Where is my mother?" she asked, her voice raw.
Jennifer glided to her side, linking her arm through Chloe's. She began to sob theatrically. "Oh, sister, you have to be strong... Aunt Miranda..."
Laura picked up a document from the coffee table and held it out. "This is the notice from the hospital. Miranda... she had a sudden heart attack. They couldn't save her. She passed away last night."
The words were a physical blow.
"Impossible." Chloe snatched the paper. The black ink of the death certificate swam before her eyes, a venomous snake striking at her heart.
The world tilted. Her body swayed, her legs threatening to give out.
Jennifer was instantly there, "supporting" her. She leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper only Chloe could hear. "Don't blame me, sister. Blame your mother for not handing the company over to Dad. Oh, and how did you like last night's 'gift'?"
The whisper cut through Chloe's shock like a bolt of lightning. The perfume. The drink. The hotel room. It was all a setup.
A tidal wave of rage and betrayal crashed over her grief, obliterating it. Chloe's head snapped around, her eyes turning to ice.
CRACK.
The sound of the slap echoed through the silent room. Chloe had put every ounce of her strength into it, leaving a bright red handprint on Jennifer's perfect cheek.
Jennifer stared, stunned, before her face crumpled and she let out a piercing wail. "Daddy! Look at her! She hit me!"
"You ungrateful brat!" Richard roared, jumping to his feet and pointing a trembling finger at Chloe. "Your mother just died, and you're acting like a lunatic!"
Chloe laughed, a harsh, broken sound. "A lunatic? You conspire against me, you murder my mother, you try to steal her legacy, and you have the nerve to call me a lunatic?"
"What are you talking about!" Laura shrieked. "Jennifer is your sister! How could you say such a thing!"
"Sister?" Chloe's laugh grew colder. "I don't recall my mother ever giving birth to a daughter for you, Aunt Laura."
Laura's face went white.
Richard, his face purple with rage, finally bellowed the truth. "That's enough! Jennifer is my daughter, and she is your sister! You will accept it!"
He had finally admitted it. In his fury, the long-held secret was out. Jennifer was his.
Chloe looked at the man she had once, reluctantly, called a father. The years of pretense had fallen away, revealing the ugly, greedy creature beneath.
The loyal old housekeeper, Mrs. Peterson, rushed out from the kitchen, placing herself between Chloe and the furious family. "You people have gone too far!"
"This is none of your business, you're just a servant!" Richard snarled, shoving her aside.
Chloe caught Mrs. Peterson before she could fall. She looked at the pack of wolves standing before her. There were no tears in her eyes. Only a fire that threatened to burn them all to the ground.
