The guilt is suffocating, but I shove the pills into my pocket and leave before anyone can find me.
Back in my room, I hide them in the bottom of my drawer, wrapped in tissues and buried under clothes. Evidence of a decision I haven’t fully committed to but can’t walk away from.
I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at the drawer.
This is wrong. I know this is wrong.
But so is lying to them about who I am. So is pretending I came here for any reason other than revenge. So is carrying a baby conceived during a mission to ruin their lives.
Everything is wrong, and I don’t know how to make any of it right.
My phone rings. Robert’s name flashes on the screen.
I almost don’t answer. Almost let it go to voicemail so I can have a few more hours of pretending everything’s fine.
But I answer anyway.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” His voice is warm, but there’s an edge underneath. “How are the celebrations?”
“Good. We’re having a nice day.” I move to the window, watching snow fall outside. “How are you?”
“I’m actually in Colorado. At the main resort.”
My blood goes cold. “What? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“It was last-minute. Business opportunity I couldn’t pass up.” He pauses. “We need to talk. In person.”
“Robert, I can’t just leave right now. We’re in the middle of Christmas?—”
“This can’t wait.” His tone shifts, becomes harder. “I’ve been patient, Samantha. I’ve given you space to do what needs to be done. But I need an update. A real one. Not the vague texts you’ve been sending.”
“I’ve been busy. The pregnancy?—”
“I know about the pregnancy. That’s part of why we need to talk.” Silence stretches between us. “You’re in deeper than we planned. I need to know where your head is and whether you’re still committed to what we discussed.”
The revenge plan. He’s asking if I’m still committed to destroying the Hales.
“Of course I am,” I lie. “I just need more time.”
“Time is running out. The roads are starting to clear. Soon you’ll have no excuse to stay, and we’ll have wasted months with nothing to show for it.”
“That’s not true. I’ve learned about their operations, their business?—”
“Surface information I could have gotten from public records.” His frustration bleeds through. “I need details, Samantha. Real intelligence. Access to their accounts. Names of their associates. Something I can actually use.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Are you? Or are you playing house with three men and forgetting why you’re there?”
The accusation stings because it’s true.
“I haven’t forgotten anything,” I say quietly. “I remember exactly why I’m here. I remember what they did to Mom. I’m handling it.”
“Then handle it faster. Meet me at the main resort. Tonight. We’ll discuss next steps.”
“I can’t just leave. They’ll ask questions. Why didn’t you tell me before coming? I could have arranged it properly. Told Grant my father was visiting. Made it seem normal.”
