Great.
The Coven is here.
They come gliding in wearing matching coats, perfect hair, perfect smiles that strain at the edges. The panic underneath is almost visible.
They’re whispering urgently, heads bent together like villains in a Disney movie who just found out the princess survived.
I skate over to the railing where I can hear them.
Nadia hisses, “She wasn’t supposed to become a global icon.”
Vivian wrings her mittens. “Netflix? A documentary? Abouther?”
Bianca looks physically ill. “We created a martyr. We made herfamous.”
Vivian’s eyes dart around. “What do we do?”
“Damage control,” Bianca snaps. “Spin it. Say we supported her. That we’re victims too.”
I step forward.
Their heads whip toward me.
“You’re not victims,” I say flatly. “You’re guilty.”
Nadia opens her mouth, but I hold up a hand.
“I know everything. The receipts. The hush-money attempts. The threats to the housekeeper.”
I lean in.
“And you should be terrified.”
Their faces go pale. They skate away like they’re wearing carrying last year’s Birken.
Good.
For once, they can feel something close to what she felt.
Xavier skates up beside me, voice low.
“My dad’s guy got the files. Everything Mindy promised. Audio. Receipts. Dates. Cash drop locations. It's airtight. The police interviewed them it’s all recorded. All we need is the DA to bite and say there is a case.”
My pulse kicks hard.
“We’re going to burn them,” I whisper.
Tristan nods. “And then we’re going to rebuild it into the stage Jade Bryan deserves.”
I don't respond.
My eyes are locked on the ice.
On the empty space where she should be.
Later, after skating, the whole senior crowd migrates to a private rooftop party overlooking the harbor. Expensive heaters, glass walls, fake fur blankets, twinkling string lights—classic Newport wealth on display.
I feel sick in all of it.
