He knocked on the door.
Amber opened it, but she wasn't alone. James stood behind her, his arms crossed.
"What do you want?" Amber asked.
"I wanted to apologize. For everything. For the fight, for the arrest, for—"
"For lying to me?" Amber interrupted. "For telling me you were getting divorced when you're actually trying to frame your wife?"
Tyler felt his stomach drop. "What?"
"Your sister called me. Jennifer. She wanted to make sure I understood my role in your little plan. How I'm supposed to testify that Madi threatened me. That she's unstable."
"Amber, that's not—"
"Get out, Tyler. And don't come back."
She slammed the door in his face.
Tyler stood there for a moment, the flowers hanging limply in his hand. Then he threw them in the trash and walked back to his car.
His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: Your wife is at the police station. Thought you should know.
Tyler stared at the message. Who was this? How did they know?
Another text: She's going to tell them everything. About you. About Amber. About the plan.
Tyler's hands started shaking. He needed to get to the station. He needed to stop Madi before she destroyed him.
He got in his car and drove.
Rachel sat in their car outside the community theater, crying.
Danny was alive. And dying. And everything Rachel had believed for three years was a lie.
Their phone rang. Madi.
Rachel answered. "Hello?"
"Where are you? I've been trying to reach you for hours."
"Guseong. I found Danny."
"Is he—"
"Alive. For now. He has cancer. He's dying."
"Jesus, Rachel."
"He faked his death for the insurance money. To pay off gambling debts. He left me to deal with the guilt and the grief and the lies."
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know. Turn myself in? Run? I don't know."
"Don't do anything yet. I'm coming to get you."
"Madi, the police are looking for me. They know about the insurance fraud."
"How?"
"I don't know. But someone's been watching us. Someone knows everything."
Rachel hung up and looked back at the theater. Danny was standing in the doorway, watching them.
Rachel got out of the car and walked toward him.
"I'm sorry," Danny said. "For everything."
"Sorry doesn't fix this."
"I know. But I needed you to know the truth. Before I die."
Rachel looked at him—this man they'd loved, this man who'd destroyed them, this man who was dying.
"I don't forgive you," Rachel said. "But I don't hate you either. I just—I just need you to leave me alone."
"Okay," Danny said. "Okay."
Rachel turned to walk back to their car.
And that's when they saw him—the man in the black hoodie, standing at the edge of the parking lot, watching them.
"Danny," Rachel said slowly. "Who is that?"
Danny's face went white. "Oh god. They found me."
"Who found you?"
"The people I owe money to. They found me."
The man started walking toward them.
Danny grabbed Rachel's arm. "Please. We need to get out of here. Now."
Rachel's mind raced. They couldn't run. Where would they go? But they couldn't stay here either.
"Get in the car," Rachel said.
They drove.
Rachel kept checking the rearview mirror, their knuckles white on the steering wheel. Every car behind them looked suspicious. Every shadow seemed to move.
"Are they following us?" Danny asked, his voice thin with fear.
"I don't know. I can't tell."
"Rachel, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never meant for any of this—"
"Shut up," Rachel said. "Just shut up and let me think."
They drove in silence for twenty minutes, taking random turns, doubling back, trying to lose anyone who might be tailing them.
Finally, Rachel pulled into the parking garage of their apartment building.
"We can't stay here," Danny said. "They'll find me."
"Where else are we going to go? You're dying, Danny. You can barely stand. We need somewhere safe."
"There is nowhere safe. Not for me."
Rachel turned off the engine and looked at him. Really looked at him. The gaunt face. The trembling hands. The fear in his eyes.
"Come on," Rachel said.
They took the stairs instead of the elevator, Danny leaning heavily on Rachel's shoulder. By the time they reached the third floor, he was gasping for breath.
Rachel unlocked the apartment door and pulled him inside, locking it behind them.
"Okay," Rachel said. "Okay. We need to think."
"They're going to find me," Danny said. "They always find me."
"Then we hide you."
"What?"
Rachel looked around the apartment—the small living room, the kitchen, the bedroom. Where could someone hide? Really hide?
Their eyes landed on the bathroom.
"The access panel," Rachel said. "Behind the bathtub. There's a crawl space back there. For the plumbing."
"Rachel, I can't—"
"You don't have a choice. Neither of us do."
Rachel went to the bathroom and pulled open the access panel behind the tub. It was a narrow space, maybe three feet deep, running along the wall. Dark. Cramped. But big enough for a person.
"Get in," Rachel said.
"Rachel—"
"Get. In."
Danny crawled into the space, his body folding awkwardly into the darkness. Rachel could hear him breathing, ragged and scared.
"I'll bring you food," Rachel said. "Water. But you have to stay quiet. No matter what. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
Rachel closed the panel and locked it from the outside with a small padlock she'd used for storage.
They stood in the bathroom, staring at the closed panel, listening to Danny's muffled breathing on the other side.
What had they done?
They'd harbored a fugitive. Hidden a man who'd faked his death and stolen insurance money. A man who was being hunted by dangerous people.
If the police found out, Rachel would go to prison.
If the creditors found out, they'd both be dead.
Rachel walked back to the living room and sat on the couch, their hands shaking.
Their phone buzzed. A text from Madi: Are you okay? Where are you?
Rachel stared at the message.
They couldn't tell Madi. Couldn't tell anyone.
Danny was their secret now. Their burden. Their mistake.
Rachel turned off their phone and sat in the dark apartment, listening to the sound of their own breathing and the faint, muffled sounds of Danny shifting in his hiding place.
They were trapped. Both of them.
And Rachel had no idea how to get out.
Claire sat in her living room, staring at the wall.
Helen was dead. Marcus thought she'd killed her. The police were asking questions.
And the worst part was, Claire wasn't sure she hadn't done it.
The daydream had been so vivid. So real. What if it wasn't a daydream? What if she'd actually gone into that room and turned off the machines?
What if she was a murderer?
There was a knock at the door.
Claire opened it to find two police officers standing on her porch.
"Claire Summers?" one of them asked.
"Yes?"
"We need you to come with us. We have some questions about Helen Summers' death."
"I didn't—I wasn't even there—"
"Ma'am, we just need to ask you some questions. You're not under arrest."
"Yet," the other officer added.
Claire looked back at her house—her beautiful, empty house—and wondered if she'd ever see it again.
"Okay," she said. "Let me get my purse."
Madi sat in the interrogation room at the police station, her hands folded on the table.
Detective Rodriguez sat across from her, a file folder open in front of her.
"Mrs. Reid, do you know why you're here?"
"You said it was about my husband's assault case."
"That's part of it. But we're also investigating some other incidents. The break-in at Rachel Torres' apartment. The death of Helen Summers. The insurance fraud case involving Daniel Torres."
Madi felt her blood run cold. "I don't know anything about any of that."
"Don't you?" Rodriguez pulled out a photo. "This is you, outside Rachel Torres' apartment building, the night of the break-in."
"I was visiting a friend."
"And this?" Another photo. "You, outside St. Vincent's Hospital, the night Helen Summers died."
"I was visiting someone."
"Who?"
"I don't remember."
Rodriguez leaned forward. "Mrs. Reid, we have evidence that suggests you and your friends have been planning something. Something involving your husbands. Something illegal."
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it?" Rodriguez pulled out a transcript. "This is from a recording device found at Brewster's Coffee House. It's a conversation between you, Rachel Torres, and Claire Summers. Would you like me to read it?"
Madi's heart was pounding. "I want a lawyer."
"Smart choice." Rodriguez stood up. "You're free to go. For now. But don't leave town, Mrs. Reid. We'll be in touch."
Madi walked out of the station on shaking legs. Her phone buzzed immediately.
A text from Vivian Chen: We need to talk. Now.
Another text from an unknown number: Your friends are in danger. Check the news.
Madi pulled up a news app on her phone.
The headline made her stomach drop: "BODY FOUND IN GUSEONG IDENTIFIED AS DANIEL TORRES—SECOND TIME DECEASED MAN'S BODY HAS BEEN DISCOVERED."
Below it, another headline: "WOMAN ARRESTED IN CONNECTION WITH HELEN SUMMERS' DEATH."
And a photo of Claire being led away in handcuffs.
Madi's phone rang. Rachel.
"Madi," Rachel sobbed. "Danny's dead. For real this time. Someone killed him. And they're coming for me next."
"Where are you?"
"I don't know. I'm driving. I'm just driving."
"Rachel, listen to me. You need to turn yourself in. You need to tell the police everything."
"I can't. They'll arrest me. They'll—"
The line went dead.
Madi tried calling back, but it went straight to voicemail.
She stood in the parking lot of the police station, her whole world crumbling around her.
Everything had gone wrong. Every plan, every scheme, every carefully laid trap.
And now her friends were in danger. Real danger.
Madi got in her car and started driving. She didn't know where she was going. She just knew she had to move.
Her phone buzzed again. Another text from the unknown number: You wanted to destroy your husband. Congratulations. You destroyed everything.
Madi threw her phone on the passenger seat and kept driving.
THAT NIGHT
THAT NIGHT: REST STOP ON I-5
Rachel pulled into a rest stop off the highway, their hands shaking so badly they could barely turn off the ignition.
Danny was dead. Really dead this time. Shot in the parking lot of the community theater while Rachel watched, unable to do anything but run.
The man in the black hoodie had pulled out a gun and fired three times. Danny had fallen. Rachel had screamed. And then Rachel had run, leaving him there in the concrete and blood.
They'd been driving for hours since then, not knowing where to go or what to do.
Their phone buzzed. A text from Madi: Where are you? Are you safe?
Rachel started to type a response, then stopped.
Someone was knocking on their car window.
Rachel looked up and their scream caught in their throat.
It was Danny.
Except it couldn't be Danny. Danny was dead. Rachel had seen him die, had watched the bullets tear through him, had heard the finality of his last breath.
But there he was, standing outside the car, his face pale, his eyes sad.
"Rachel," he said, his voice muffled through the glass. "Let me in."
"You're dead," Rachel whispered.
"I know. But I need to tell you something. Something important. Something about what we did."
Rachel's hand moved toward the door lock—
"Don't," a voice said from the back seat.
Rachel jerked their head around, their heart nearly stopping.
A woman sat in the back seat, a gun resting casually in her lap. It was the Barista from Brewster's Coffee House—the one who'd been watching them, listening to them, knowing their secrets.
"He's not real," the Barista said calmly, as if they were discussing the weather. "You're hallucinating. Trauma response. Perfectly normal for someone who just watched their husband die."
"Who are you?" Rachel whispered, unable to look away from the gun.
"I'm the person who's been trying to save you. All of you. But you wouldn't listen." The Barista's voice was sad, disappointed. "Now it's too late."
"Too late for what?"
"To stop what's coming."
Rachel looked back at the window.
Danny's ghost was fading, becoming translucent, dissolving into the dark night like he'd never been there at all.
Because he hadn't been.
Rachel's eyes were playing tricks on them. Or their mind was. Or both. Reality was fracturing under the weight of everything that had happened.
"What do you want?" Rachel asked the Barista, not sure anymore which of them was real.
The gun was real. That much Rachel was certain of.
"I want you to drive. There's someone you need to meet."
"Who?"
"The person who started all of this. The person who's been pulling the strings from the beginning."
Rachel's hands gripped the steering wheel, the Barista's gun suddenly very real in their peripheral vision.
"And if I don't?"
The Barista raised the gun slightly. "Then you'll never know the truth. And your friends will die."
Rachel's foot found the gas pedal. They pulled back onto the highway, leaving the rest stop and Danny's ghost behind.
But they couldn't shake the feeling that somewhere in the darkness, he was still following them.
Claire sat in a holding cell, her head in her hands.
They'd arrested her for Helen's murder. They had evidence—a witness who'd seen a blonde woman in Helen's room. Security footage showing someone matching Claire's description entering the hospital.
But Claire knew she hadn't done it. She'd been in the parking garage. She'd never gone inside.
Except—
What if she had? What if the daydream was actually a memory? What if she'd blocked it out?
The cell door opened. A guard stood there with a woman in an expensive suit.
"Claire Summers? I'm Diane Hartley. Your friend Madison Reid hired me to represent you."
Claire looked up. "Madi?"
"She called me an hour ago. Said you needed help. Said you were innocent." Diane sat down on the bench beside her. "Are you?"
"I don't know," Claire whispered. "I don't know anymore."
"Well, we're going to find out. Because someone is framing you. And we're going to figure out who."
Madi sat in her car outside Tyler's hotel, watching the entrance.
She'd been there for two hours, waiting. Planning. Thinking.
Everything had gone wrong. But maybe that was okay. Maybe chaos was better than control.
Maybe it was time to stop planning and start acting.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Vivian Chen: He's on the move. With the girl. They're heading to St. Michael's Chapel in Palmdale. They're getting married. Tonight.
Madi's heart stopped.
Married.
Tyler was going to marry Amber. Make it official. Make it real.
Another text: If you want to stop him, you need to leave now. They're taking the 14 North.
Madi stared at the message. This was it. This was the moment she'd been waiting for—the moment where everything came down to a single choice.
She could let him go. Let him marry Amber. Let him win.
Or she could stop him.
Not with words. Not with lawyers or evidence or court battles. But with action. With force. With whatever it took.
Madi thought about the past weeks—the humiliation, the betrayal, the way Tyler had smiled at her across the courtroom like she was nothing. The way he'd tried to take Sophie from her. The way he'd tried to take everything.
This was her last chance. Her final opportunity to make sure he didn't get what he wanted.
She started her car, her hands shaking so badly she could barely grip the wheel.
She pulled out of the parking lot and headed for the freeway.
I'm not letting you have this. I'm not letting you win. Not this time. Not ever.
The 14 was dark and mostly empty at this hour. Madi drove like a woman possessed, weaving between the few cars on the road, her speedometer climbing past eighty, then ninety.
Her phone was mounted on the dashboard, GPS tracking Tyler's location through the app she'd secretly installed on his phone months ago. The blue dot moved steadily north, twenty minutes ahead of her.
She pressed harder on the accelerator.
You're not going to marry her. You're not going to leave me. You're not going to win.
The thoughts looped in her head, a mantra, a prayer, a curse.
But as the miles disappeared beneath her wheels, something shifted. The obsession with winning, with control, with making Tyler suffer—it all fell away.
There was only one thing left: stopping the wedding.
Stop him. Stop this. Stop everything.
She didn't care about the consequences anymore. She didn't care if she crashed. Didn't care if she went to prison. Didn't care if she never saw Sophie again.
All that mattered was that Tyler didn't get to marry Amber. That he didn't get to walk away clean. That he didn't get to have his happy ending while Madi's life burned.
This was the line. The point of no return.
And she was going to cross it.
Her phone rang. Rachel.
Madi ignored it.
It rang again. Claire.
Ignored.
Nothing mattered except stopping Tyler. Stopping this wedding. Stopping everything.
The blue dot on her screen was getting closer. Fifteen minutes ahead. Then ten.
Madi's vision tunneled. The road, the dot, the distance closing.
And then she saw them—Tyler's black Mercedes, two cars ahead in the right lane.
Madi's breath caught.
There he was. With her. Driving to their future while Madi's world burned.
She accelerated, pulling into the left lane, coming up alongside them.
Tyler glanced over and his face went white.
Madi smiled at him through the window. A terrible, broken smile.
Then she jerked her wheel to the right.
Everything happened in slow motion and all at once.
Madi's car slammed into the side of Tyler's Mercedes. Metal screamed. Glass shattered.
Tyler overcorrected, his car swerving wildly across lanes.
A white pickup truck behind them—Amber's ex-boyfriend James, who'd been following them—tried to brake but couldn't stop in time.
The truck plowed into the back of Tyler's car, sending it spinning.
Madi's car careened off the Mercedes and hit the center divider, airbags exploding in her face.
Tyler's Mercedes flipped.
Once.
Twice.
It landed on its roof in the middle of the highway, wheels still spinning.
The pickup truck skidded sideways and came to rest against the guardrail, steam pouring from its crushed hood.
Madi's car sat crumpled against the concrete barrier, the front end completely destroyed.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then the screaming started.
Madi came to with blood in her mouth and a high-pitched ringing in her ears.
Her airbag had deflated, leaving white powder everywhere. Her chest hurt. Her head hurt. Everything hurt.
She tried to move and gasped at the pain in her ribs.
Through her shattered windshield, she could see Tyler's overturned Mercedes. Smoke was rising from the engine.
Tyler.
Madi unbuckled her seatbelt and tried to open her door. It was jammed. She kicked at it, ignoring the screaming pain in her leg, until it finally gave way.
She stumbled out onto the highway.
The pickup truck's driver—James—was slumped over the steering wheel, unconscious but breathing.
Madi limped toward the Mercedes.
"Tyler," she called out. Her voice sounded strange, distant.
She dropped to her knees beside the overturned car and looked inside.
Tyler hung upside down in his seatbelt, blood running down his face from a gash on his forehead. His eyes were closed.
In the passenger seat, Amber was conscious but trapped, her leg bent at an unnatural angle. She was crying, gasping for air.
"Help," Amber whimpered. "Please help."
Madi stared at her.
"Please," Amber begged. "I can't—I can't breathe—"
Madi reached through the broken window.
And pulled out Tyler's phone from the center console.
"What are you doing?" Amber screamed. "HELP US!"
Madi stood up, Tyler's phone in her hand, and walked back to her car.
Behind her, she could hear sirens in the distance.
She sat down on the ground next to her destroyed car and waited.
TWO HOURS LATER
Madi woke up in a hospital bed, her head wrapped in bandages, her left arm in a sling.
The room was small and sterile. Through the window, she could see nothing but darkness and a few distant lights. They'd taken her somewhere remote—some small hospital far from LA.
A nurse came in. "You're awake. How do you feel?"
"Where am I?"
"Antelope Valley Hospital. You were in a car accident on the 14. Do you remember?"
Madi closed her eyes. "Yes."
"You have three broken ribs, a concussion, and a fractured wrist. You're lucky to be alive."
"Where's my husband?"
The nurse hesitated. "He's here. In another room. He's stable."
"And the girl?"
"Also stable. Her boyfriend is in ICU."
Madi nodded slowly.
The nurse left.
Madi lay there in the dark, listening to the beep of the heart monitor, feeling the pain in her ribs with every breath.
She'd done it.
She'd stopped the wedding.
She'd stopped everything.
A few minutes later, the door opened again. A police officer stepped inside.
"Mrs. Reid? I'm Officer Gonzalez. I need to ask you some questions about the accident."
"I'm tired," Madi said.
"I understand. But there are witnesses who say you deliberately drove into your husband's vehicle. Is that true?"
Madi looked at him. "I don't remember. I had a concussion."
"Mrs. Reid—"
"I want a lawyer."
The officer sighed. "All right. But you should know—your husband is also asking to speak with police. About you."
After he left, Madi closed her eyes and smiled.
Tyler was here. In this hospital. Trapped. Injured. Unable to run.
And she was going to make sure he never forgot what happened when he tried to leave her.
She pressed the call button for the nurse.
"Yes?" the voice crackled through the speaker.
"What room is my husband in?"
"I can't give out that information—"
"I'm his wife. I have a right to know."
A pause. "Room 247. But visiting hours are over—"
Madi hung up the call button.
Room 247.
She looked down at her injuries. Broken ribs. Fractured wrist. Concussion.
She could barely move.
But she would find a way.
She always did.
MIDNIGHT
Rachel pulled up to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of LA, their hands trembling on the steering wheel.
Detective Rodriguez's voice crackled through the wire taped to Rachel's chest. "You're doing great. Just get him talking. We need him to make the demand explicit."
Rachel took a shaky breath. "What if he knows? What if he can tell I'm wired?"
"He won't. Just stay calm. We're right here."
Rachel could see the unmarked police vehicles positioned in the shadows around the warehouse perimeter. Detective Rodriguez was in the closest one, less than fifty yards away. Backup units were stationed at every exit.
But Rachel still felt alone.
Their phone buzzed. A text from Devon: I'm here. Come inside. Alone.
Rachel typed back: Coming.
They got out of the car slowly, their heart pounding so hard they were sure the wire would pick it up. The warehouse loomed ahead, dark and cavernous.
Rachel pushed open the rusted door and stepped inside.
The space was vast and empty, lit only by a single work light in the center. Devon stood beneath it, his hands in his pockets, looking almost casual.
"Rachel," he said, smiling. "Thanks for coming."
"You said you wanted to talk." Rachel's voice came out steadier than they felt.
"I do." Devon walked closer. "I've been thinking a lot about that day. When I helped you move."
"Devon—"
"Two million dollars, Rachel. That's a lot of money to keep hidden in a mattress."
Rachel's throat went dry. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't lie to me." Devon's smile vanished. "I saw it. I counted it. Two million dollars in cash. Life insurance, you said. From your dead husband."
"That money is mine."
"Is it?" Devon circled around Rachel slowly. "Because I've been doing some research. Your husband—Danny Torres—he died three years ago. Fell off a boat. Very tragic."
"What's your point?"
"My point is that there are a lot of people who'd be very interested to know you have that much cash. Creditors. The IRS. Maybe even the police."
Rachel felt their pulse racing. "Are you threatening me?"
"I'm offering you a deal." Devon stopped in front of Rachel, close enough that they could smell the cigarette smoke on his clothes. "You give me half. One million dollars. And I forget I ever saw anything."
"That's extortion."
"That's survival." Devon's voice hardened. "You think you can just hide that money forever? Someone's going to find out. Someone's going to come looking. And when they do, you're going to wish you'd taken my deal."
"I'm not giving you anything."
Devon grabbed Rachel's arm, his grip tight. "You don't have a choice. You give me the money, or I make one phone call and your whole life falls apart. The creditors Danny left behind? They'd love to know his widow is sitting on two million in cash."
"Let go of me."
"Not until you agree." Devon pulled Rachel closer. "One million dollars. You have forty-eight hours. If I don't have it by then, I start making calls."
"You're insane."
"I'm desperate. There's a difference." Devon's eyes were wild now. "I've got nothing left, Rachel. No job. No money. No future. That cash is my way out. And you're going to give it to me."
"I said no."
Devon's hand moved to Rachel's throat. "Then maybe I need to convince you—"
"LAPD! Hands in the air!"
The warehouse exploded with light and sound. Detective Rodriguez burst through the door, weapon drawn, with four uniformed officers behind her.
Devon froze, his hand still on Rachel's throat.
"Step away from her! Now!" Rodriguez shouted.
Devon released Rachel and stumbled backward, his hands going up. "Wait—I wasn't—"
"Devon Marsh, you're under arrest for extortion and assault." Rodriguez moved forward, holstering her weapon and pulling out handcuffs. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."
"This is bullshit! She—she has two million dollars in cash! That's illegal!"
"You have the right to an attorney," Rodriguez continued, snapping the cuffs onto Devon's wrists. "If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you."
"She's the criminal! Not me!"
Rodriguez turned Devon around to face her. "We have everything on tape, Mr. Marsh. Your threats. Your demands. Your assault. You're looking at five to ten years."
Devon's face went pale. "No. No, I—I was just trying to—"
"Take him," Rodriguez said to the officers.
They led Devon away, still protesting, still trying to explain. His voice echoed through the warehouse until the door slammed shut behind him.
Rachel stood frozen, their whole body shaking.
Rodriguez approached slowly. "You okay?"
Rachel nodded, then shook their head, then started crying.
"Hey. Hey, it's over." Rodriguez put a hand on Rachel's shoulder. "He's not going to hurt you anymore."
"I thought—I thought he was going to—"
"But he didn't. You did great. You got him to confess everything."
Rachel wiped their eyes. "What happens now?"
"Now we process him. Book him. And you go home." Rodriguez paused. "But Rachel—we need to talk about that money."
Rachel's stomach dropped. "I told you. It's life insurance."
"I know. And if that's true, you have nothing to worry about. But we need to verify it. Make sure everything's legitimate."
"It is."
"Then prove it. Bring me the policy. The bank records. Whatever documentation you have."
Rachel nodded slowly. "Okay."
"And Rachel?" Rodriguez's voice softened. "If there's anything else you need to tell me—about Danny, about the money, about anything—now's the time."
Rachel looked at the detective for a long moment.
"There's nothing else," they said finally.
Rodriguez didn't look convinced, but she nodded. "All right. Let's get you out of here."
They walked out of the warehouse together. The police vehicles were pulling away, Devon in the back of one of them, his head down.
Rachel got into their car and sat there for a moment, hands on the steering wheel, trying to stop shaking.
Devon was arrested. The threat was over.
But Detective Rodriguez's questions lingered.
Bring me the policy. The bank records.
Rachel pulled out their phone and stared at it.
They needed to call Madi. Needed to call Claire.
Because the money wasn't from life insurance.
And if the police started digging, they were all going to prison.
Rachel started the car and drove away from the warehouse, their mind racing.
The game wasn't over.
Not even close.
Claire sat in her cell, unable to sleep.
Helen was dead. Danny was dead. Everything was falling apart.
And somewhere out there, Madi was still fighting. Still planning. Still trying to win.
But Claire was done fighting. She was done planning. She was done with all of it.
She closed her eyes and waited for morning.
Madi sat in her car outside her house—the house she'd fought so hard to keep—and realized she didn't want it anymore.
She didn't want the house or the money or the revenge.
She just wanted her life back.
But it was too late for that now.
Her phone buzzed one last time.
A text from Sophie Reid: Game over, Mrs. Reid. You lose.
Madi looked at the message for a long moment.
Then she started laughing.
Because Sophie was wrong.
The game wasn't over.
It was just beginning.