With a bitterugh, Lise twisted her lips in disgust. “That pathetic woman, Billie…”

    Lise’s words sliced through the air, sharp and fleeting, but a glint of impatience red in her narrowed eyes. “Why do I even bother talking to you?”

    Carrie, however, had already unraveled the truth woven into that single, venomous sentence. The person who had dragged Lise from her troubles was not Billie. No, it was someone else entirely, someone with their own agenda.

    Her mind raced, conjuring a parade of faces. She wavered for a moment, teetering between Kelsey and Alethea. Then, like a puzzle piece snapping into ce, her thoughts locked onto Alethea.

    If Kelsey had been the one pulling strings, only one exnation made sense: she had uncovered Carrie’s secret—that Carrie was her niece. The revtion would have shifted everything, given Kelsey a reason to act.

    Yet Carrie reasoned, Kelsey’s motives leaned toward control, not chaos. She might bribe or manipte, but dragging Lise into this mess? That seemed too reckless, too likely to sour their fragile bond.

    Alethea, though, was another story. Hatred simmered in her every nce at Carrie, a cold, unrelenting disdain. But she had no desire to gain anything from Carrie. Still, Carrie doubted even Alethea’s loathing ran deep enough to warrant murder.

    Not unless Alethea had stumbled upon something bigger—say, Carrie’s ties to the Hinks family. If Alethea feared Carrie might challenge her im to the Hinks fortune, that changed everything.

    The pieces aligned, and a chill settled in Carrie’s bones. It all made sense now. Lost in her spiraling thoughts, Carrie barely noticed Lise’s gaze sharpen. Lise, misreading her silence, assumed she was scheming for mercy.

    A cruel smirk twisted her lips. “Oh, Carrie, I pegged you for someone with spine. Guess I was wrong. Just another coward, trembling at the thought of death.”

    She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a hiss. “Scrambling to beg me now? Keep dreaming. Let me spell it out: I am broke. There’s no way I can get out of Mothor. If I let you walk away, the Morrisons will have the cops on me before I can blink. I’ll be thrown back into jail, buried under charges I will never outrun.”

    Your favorite stories are on g?lnσνe??s?c?m

    Lise’s fingers dipped into her jacket pocket, pulling out a sleek box of cigarettes. She traced the embossed design with a…

    Lingering touch, savoring the small luxury. Then, with deliberate slowness, she fished out a lighter.

    Her hands betrayed her, trembling as she fumbled with the flint. Once, twice, three times—she cursed under her breath before the me finally sparked to life. She lit the cigarette, drawing deeply, letting the smoke curl through her lungs before exhaling in a slow, deliberate cloud.

    Carrie’s eyes flicked to the movement, catching Lise’s gaze. The venom in Lise’s stare deepened, her lips curling into a snarl. “Notice my hands shaking? Prison did this. Beaten every day, forced to choke down scraps, sleeping in a bathroom so filthy it turned my stomach. You have no idea what I endured. A life worse than a dog’s.”

    Surprise flickered across Carrie’s face, but sympathy? Not a trace. She was no saint, and her heart held no room for pity. Not for Lise. Not after the child Carrie had lost because of her, not after the scars that nearly stole her chance at motherhood forever.

    Lise’s suffering was her own making, a reckoning she had earned. Still, Carrie swallowed her thoughts. Voicing them would only stoke Lise’s rage, inviting more pain. She had no desire to poke that particr ho’s nest.

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