Alyson grabbed her handbag from the back of the chair and walked toward the grand foyer.
Her heels struck the marble floor with heavy, definitive clicks, each step crushing the last remnants of her loyalty to this house.
"Stop right there! Who gave you permission to leave!" Warren roared from the dining room.
Alyson did not even turn her head.
She reached out and pushed the heavy oak front doors open.
A violent gust of wind, thick with freezing rain, blasted into the entryway.
Just as she stepped onto the threshold, a high-pitched scream echoed behind her.
It was Eleanor.
Alyson instinctively looked over her shoulder.
Chelsea was collapsed on the Persian rug, her face pale, one hand clutching her chest as she gasped desperately for air.
"Chelsea! My baby, what's wrong!" Eleanor dropped to her knees, pulling Chelsea into her arms.
Chelsea's chest heaved violently, large tears spilling down her cheeks.
"Mom... my chest hurts so much... Does my sister still hate me..."
Warren rushed forward, screaming at the butler.
"Get her pills! Call the family doctor right now!"
He whipped his head around, glaring at Alyson with a hatred so pure it burned.
"Are you happy now? Will you only be satisfied when you kill your sister?"
Alyson stood in the open doorway, the cold wind whipping her hair across her face.
She watched the pathetic, theatrical performance on the floor.
Her heart didn't ache. She just felt a deep, exhausting disgust.
She turned her back on them and stepped out onto the covered porch.
At that exact moment, a sleek black Maybach tore through the heavy rain and slammed to a halt in the driveway.
The rear door swung open.
Kenton stepped out, wearing a dark grey custom suit, his face tight with urgency.
He had clearly rushed over after receiving a call from the Holts about the dinner.
His eyes immediately locked onto Alyson standing alone on the top step.
Before he could demand to know what she was doing, Eleanor's hysterical crying drifted out the open door.
"Kenton! Come quick! Chelsea is having a panic attack!"
The color drained from Kenton's face.
He lunged up the stairs.
Alyson was standing in his path.
Without breaking his stride, Kenton shoved his hand against Alyson's shoulder to move her out of the way.
The marble steps were slick with rain.
The force of his push threw Alyson off balance.
Her ankle twisted violently, and she stumbled hard, her knee slamming into the wet stone to stop herself from falling down the entire flight of stairs.
A sharp pain shot up her leg, but Kenton didn't even look back.
He sprinted into the foyer and dropped to one knee, pulling Chelsea from Eleanor's arms and pressing her against his chest.
"Chelsea, look at me. Breathe," Kenton ordered, his voice thick with a desperate tenderness Alyson had never heard before.
Chelsea buried her face in his suit jacket, her voice trembling.
"Kenton... maybe I shouldn't have come back... My sister..."
Kenton's head snapped up.
His eyes found Alyson, who was slowly pulling herself up from the wet ground.
"What is wrong with you, Alyson? She is your own flesh and blood!" he shouted, his voice echoing over the sound of the rain.
Alyson stood in the downpour, letting the freezing water soak through her silk shirt.
She looked at the man she had loved for three years holding the woman who had ruined her life.
"You should all buy tickets to Broadway," she said, her voice dead and hollow.
She turned around and walked down the steps into the storm.
Kenton's jaw clenched in fury. He scooped Chelsea up into his arms.
"I'm taking her to the hospital," he told the Holts, carrying her out to the Maybach.
His driver instantly opened an umbrella, shielding them as Kenton placed her gently in the back seat.
The engine roared to life.
The heavy car accelerated down the driveway, the tires slicing through a deep puddle.
A wave of dirty, freezing mud splashed across the back of Alyson's legs as the car sped past her, leaving her entirely alone.
