The room was exactly as I had left it four years ago.
Bare, cold, and tucked away in the farthest corner of the second floor, right next to the servant's quarters.
I didn't have much to pack. A few faded dresses, a worn coat, and the tarnished silver locket my mother had given me when I was a child.
That was before she decided Candice was the daughter she truly wanted.
I tossed the meager belongings into a small duffel bag.
Zip.
That was it. My entire existence in the Mercer household, reduced to a single bag.
I paused, looking at the sterile walls. A lingering ache throbbed in my chest.
It wasn't sorrow for leaving.
It was the final, suffocating confirmation that to Richard and Evelyn Mercer, I wasn't a daughter. I was a tool. Disposable trash meant to be used and discarded when convenient.
The terrified eighteen-year-old girl who had cried and begged for her parents' love four years ago was officially dead.
Good riddance.
I slung the duffel over my shoulder and walked down the dimly lit hallway.
The house was quiet, the staff already dismissed for the evening. As I approached the grand staircase, a sliver of yellow light spilled across the Persian runner.
It came from the cracked door of my father's mahogany-paneled study.
I wouldn't have stopped if I hadn't heard my name.
“…Lorraine is stupid enough to just keep her head down.”
It was Ashton.
His voice lacked the arrogant, booming confidence he had displayed in the living room earlier. Now, he sounded petulant. Bitter.
I pressed my back against the cold wall, inching closer to the crack in the door.
“You worry too much, Ash,” Candice's voice drifted out.
Gone was the fragile, breathy tone she used to manipulate my parents. Her voice was sharp, calculating, and dripping with venom.
“She’s a country bumpkin. She doesn't know how the capital works.”
“I don't care about her,” Ashton hissed.
The sound of his heavy footsteps pacing the room reached my ears.
“I care about Brandon! The man is a half-dead cripple. He’s a burned, paralyzed freak with six months to live, yet the Sinclair elders still refuse to officially name me the heir!”
He let out a frustrated breath.
“They're holding out hope for a miracle. It's humiliating!”
“Then we don't wait six months,” Candice said smoothly.
The sound of liquid pouring into a crystal glass echoed in the quiet study.
“We speed up the inevitable.”
Ashton stopped pacing. “What are you saying?”
“I'm saying his daily medication is heavily regulated, but accidents happen, darling,” Candice murmured.
“A slight dosage increase in his pain management IV. His heart is already weak. He goes to sleep one night and simply doesn't wake up.”
A heavy silence fell over the room.
Then, Ashton let out a low, dark chuckle.
“If he dies suddenly, the Sinclair elders will demand an investigation. They’ll tear the estate apart looking for someone to blame.”
“Let them,” Candice laughed softly.
“Who do you think they'll blame, Ash? The loyal, grieving younger brother? Or the disgraced, bitter new bride who was forced into his bed against her will?”
The sheer cruelty of the plan hit me like a physical blow.
“That's why you pushed so hard for her to take your place,” Ashton realized, awe in his voice.
“You didn't just want to avoid marrying him. You needed a scapegoat.”
“Exactly,” Candice purred.
“When Brandon dies, Lorraine takes the fall. She goes to prison for murder. You inherit the Sinclair empire, and I become the Matriarch. It’s the perfect arrangement.”
In the shadows of the hallway, my blood ran to absolute ice.
They weren't just throwing me to the wolves. They were actively tying the meat around my neck.
Four years ago, Candice had framed me for stealing company secrets, resulting in my exile.
Now, she was planning to frame me for murder.
I didn't gasp.
I didn't cry.
My hands didn't even shake.
Coldly, methodically, I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my phone.
I opened the voice memo app, hit the red record button, and held it near the crack of the door.
I let it run for another minute, capturing Ashton and Candice discussing the exact logistics of bribing one of Brandon’s private nurses.
Once I had enough, I stopped the recording.
I saved the file to a secure cloud server, and slipped the phone back into my pocket.
I now held the key to their absolute destruction.
It was time to go. I took a step back, turning toward the stairs.
Creaaak.
The old wooden floorboard beneath the Persian runner groaned loudly under my heel.
The voices in the study stopped instantly.
“Did you hear that?” Ashton whispered sharply.
“Hide,” Candice ordered.
The study door swung open.
I didn't run.
I stood perfectly still at the top of the stairs, my duffel bag slung over my shoulder, my expression an impenetrable mask of calm.
Candice stepped out into the hall.
When she saw it was me, the brief flash of panic in her eyes vanished, instantly replaced by a smug, triumphant smirk.
She glanced back into the study to ensure Ashton was out of sight, then pulled the door shut behind her, stepping into my personal space.
She didn't bother putting on her sweet, sickly act. There was no one around to perform for.
“Leaving so soon, Sister?” Candice whispered.
Her eyes raked over my cheap clothes with utter disgust.
“I was just packing.”
“Good,” she sneered, stepping closer until I could smell her cloying, expensive perfume.
“Because you don't belong here. You never did.”
She tilted her head, her eyes filled with dark amusement.
“I have your parents. I have your fiancé. I have your life, Lorraine. And there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.”
I looked down at her.
She was shorter than me, petty, and rotten to her very core.
“Are you done?” I asked flatly.
Candice’s smirk widened into a malicious, teeth-baring grin. She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear.
“Good luck surviving your wedding night with that monster,” she whispered, her voice dripping with poison.
“Try not to die too quickly. It would ruin all my plans.”
I didn't flinch.
I didn't give her the satisfaction of a reaction.
I just looked at her, my eyes entirely dead, reflecting nothing but the abyss she was about to fall into.
“Goodbye, Candice,” I said smoothly.
I turned on my heel and walked down the grand staircase.
