CHAPTER 114: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN

Ashlyn didn’t attack Marissa. She grabbed Marissa’s hand with both of her own. Her grip was iron-tight, desperate and claw-like.

"Sister! Please!"

Ashlyn’s voice changed instantly. It went from a cold whisper to a high-pitched, terrified scream that shattered the peaceful garden atmosphere.

"I beg you to spare us!" Ashlyn shrieked, throwing her head back so her voice would carry. "My child did nothing wrong! Please, Marissa!"

Marissa froze. Her brain took a split second to catch up with the sudden shift in reality. She tried to pull her hand away.

"What are you doing?" Marissa hissed. "Let go of me!"

She tugged her arm, trying to break Ashlyn’s grip. But Ashlyn held on, digging her nails into Marissa’s skin. To anyone watching from a distance, it looked like a struggle. It looked like Marissa was shaking her.

"Please don’t harm my child!" Ashlyn continued, her voice cracking with fake sobs. "I know you hate me, but the baby is innocent! I beg of you!"

Beatrice and Mrs. Alma stopped on the path. Beatrice’s head snapped up.

"What is that?" Beatrice asked, her hand going to her chest. "Is that Ashlyn?"

Ashlyn saw them stop. She saw the audience was in place.

She continued, still clutching Marissa’s hand. She stumbled backward, moving toward the edge of the pavilion steps.

"Ashlyn, stop this madness," Marissa said, her voice stern. She pulled harder, trying to drag Ashlyn back to safety.

"No! Don’t push me!" Ashlyn screamed.

She yanked her hand back. But instead of letting go, she let her body go limp. She leaned back over the stairs.

Marissa’s eyes went wide. She realized what Ashlyn was doing. She was going to throw herself down the stone steps.

Instinct took over. Marissa lunged forward, her hand shooting out to catch Ashlyn.

"Don’t even think about it!" Marissa shouted.

Marissa’s hand caught Ashlyn’s hand. She had her. Marissa gripped tight, planting her feet to pull her sister back up.

Ashlyn looked up at Marissa. She was dangling precariously over the steps, held only by Marissa’s grip.

Ashlyn smiled. It was a small, victorious smirk.

"You caught my hand," Ashlyn whispered. "But you caught the wrong part."

Ashlyn was wearing long, silk gloves. They were smooth. They were slippery.

With a sudden, sharp jerk, Ashlyn pulled her arm back.

Marissa held on with all her strength. But she wasn’t holding Ashlyn’s skin. She was holding the fabric.

The silk slid.

Ashlyn pulled her hand free. The glove slipped off her arm leaving Marissa standing at the top of the stairs, clutching an empty, white glove.

Ashlyn fell.

It happened in slow motion for Marissa. She watched her sister tumble backward. Ashlyn hit the stone steps. She rolled. Her body struck the hard ground at the bottom of the pavilion with a sickening thud.

"AHHH!"

Ashlyn let out a blood-curdling scream of pain. She curled into a ball, clutching her stomach.

At that exact moment, Carlos came running around the hedge, the fur cloak he had fetched draped over his arm. He saw his wife fall. He heard the thud.

"Ashlyn!" Carlos roared.

Beatrice and Mrs. Alma rushed forward as fast as the old woman’s legs could carry her.

"Oh my heavens!" Beatrice cried.

Carlos reached Ashlyn first. He dropped the cloak in the dirt and fell to his knees beside her. He was pale, his eyes wide with terror.

"Ashlyn? Ashlyn, speak to me!"

Ashlyn didn’t answer. She just groaned, a low, guttural sound of agony. Her face was twisted in pain.

And then, the blood came.

It started as a small spot on her light-colored dress, right between her legs. Then it grew. It spread rapidly, a bright, terrifying crimson stain that soaked into the fabric and began to pool on the white stones beneath her.

"Blood," Carlos whispered, his voice trembling. "There is... there is blood."

He looked at his hands. They were stained red from touching her dress.

"My son," he choked out. "My heir."

He looked up, his eyes wild.

"Call the doctor!" he shouted at the frozen servants who had gathered. "Now! Call her doctor now! Run!"

Two maids scrambled away, hiking up their skirts, running toward the house.

Beatrice arrived at the scene. She looked at the blood. She looked at Ashlyn’s pale face. She swayed, almost fainting. Mrs. Alma caught her.

"Blood," Beatrice murmured, tears filling her eyes. "There is blood everywhere. The child... oh, the poor child."

Marissa stood at the top of the pavilion steps. She hadn’t moved. She couldn’t move.

In her right hand, she still clenched the white silk glove.

She looked down at the glove. Then she looked down at Ashlyn.

"She did it," Marissa thought, her mind numb with shock. "She actually did it. She threw herself down the stairs. She risked her life just to frame me."

Marissa looked at the blood. There was so much of it. Too much for a simple fall.

"But she wasn’t pregnant," Marissa’s mind raced. "I know she wasn’t. I smelled the pineapple. I saw her reaction. So where is the blood coming from? How is she bleeding like a miscarriage?"

She felt the eyes of the household on her. Carlos looked up from his wife’s body. His eyes met Marissa’s. There was no brotherhood in them. There was only hatred.

Marissa stood alone on the high ground, holding the evidence that made it look like she had pulled the glove off while pushing her sister. She was the villain in the perfect tableau.

~ ••••• ~

Hidden behind a thick hedge of blooming hydrangeas, a few yards away, stood a shadow.

Senna fanned herself lightly with a folded piece of paper. She watched the chaos unfold with the detached appreciation of an artist watching a play.

She saw Carlos wailing. She saw the Dowager crying. She saw Marissa standing frozen, the trap snapped shut around her ankles.

A smirk of deep satisfaction curled Senna’s lips.

"Nicely done," Senna thought to herself, recalling the conversation from earlier that day.

~ • FLASHBACK : Twelve Hours Ago • ~

Senna sat in her room in the east wing. Ashlyn sat opposite her.

"Marissa surpasses you in everything," Senna said bluntly, pouring tea. "She has the household authority. She has the Dowager’s favor. She has the Duke’s... interest. She is smart. She is ruthless. What use is it to ally with you, Ashlyn? You are losing."

Ashlyn gripped the teacup. "I am losing because I was playing by the rules," she said. "But I have an advantage you don’t."

"And what is that?"

"I am still a member of this family," Ashlyn replied. "I am her sister. I can get close to her. I can enter her space. I can do things freely, unlike you, who is just a temporary resident, watched by everyone."

Senna swirled her tea. She considered this. It was true. Senna was an outsider. She couldn’t get close enough to Marissa to strike a fatal blow without being caught. But Ashlyn... Ashlyn was part of the furniture.

Senna smiled. She stood up and walked to her large travel trunk. She unlocked a small, hidden compartment at the bottom.

She brought out a small, red pill. It sat in the palm of her hand, looking harmless.

"Then I have a plan," Senna said.

She walked back to Ashlyn and held out the pill.

She explained. "It is a medicine used by women who... find themselves in trouble. But it has a side effect."

Ashlyn looked at the pill. "What does it do?"

"This pill causes severe hemorrhaging," Senna said calmly. "It causes heavy bleeding from the womb after exactly twelve hours. It is painful. It is messy. To any doctor, to any observer, it appears identical to a violent miscarriage."

Ashlyn took the pill. Her fingers trembled slightly.

"But," Senna warned, her eyes narrowing. "It leaves traces in the body. A skilled doctor might find the chemical residue if they look closely."

"So?"

"So," Senna continued. "You must bribe your physician in advance. Ensure he is the only one who examines you. Ensure he declares it a miscarriage caused by trauma. If you do that... the scheme will succeed."

Ashlyn closed her hand around the pill. A dark understanding passed between them.

"After bribing the physician," Ashlyn said slowly, working out the steps, "I will announce the pregnancy. The whole estate will know I am pregnant. I will make sure they know."

"Yes," Senna agreed.

"Then," Ashlyn said, "when they see me fall... when they see me bleed... they will believe I miscarried."

"Precisely," Senna replied. "And if you fall near Marissa... if she is the only one near you..."

"Then she killed a member of the Thompson family," Ashlyn finished.

"Exactly."

Ashlyn stood up. She tucked the pill into her bodice.

"I will do it," Ashlyn said.

"Take the pill at dawn," Senna instructed. "By sunset, the bleeding will start. You must time the fall perfectly."

Ashlyn nodded. She turned and left the room without another word.

~ • PRESENT DAY • ~

Senna watched from the bushes as Carlos lifted Ashlyn into his arms. His shirt was stained with the fake miscarriage blood. He was crying, shouting orders at the servants to clear the way.

He rushed toward the house, carrying his "broken" wife to their bedchamber.

The Dowager followed, weeping into Mrs. Alma’s shoulder.

Marissa was left alone in the pavilion. She looked confused.

Senna snapped her fan shut.

"Marissa," she whispered to the wind. "You thought you could humiliate me? You thought you could banish me to the suburbs?"

She turned and began to walk back toward the house.

"You dealt with Nora. You dealt with Lorena. But you cannot deal with a grieving father and a dead child."

She smiled, a cold, predator’s smile.

"I will ruin you," Senna thought, "before I leave."