"This was what you planned from the start?" I whisper, my voice cracking. Emotion chokes me up, anger and horror mixing together. My hands tremble as I back up a step, the door feeling way too far behind me.
She nods, that smug twist to her lips making my skin crawl, and leans against the mantle. Her eyes gleam. They look dark and triumphant. "From the very beginning," she says softly.
I shake my head slowly, disbelief mixing with the rage bubbling up, my breath coming short as I process her plan—Frances, that kind, old lady who just wanted me to stay, was her target all along?
But she's not dead, I think. The truth burns in my chest, though I don't dare say it, not yet. Carolyn is dangerous. Now that she has told me her plans, I’m in grave danger. Fear holds my tongue.
"You're... you're sick," I manage, my voice trembling, and my hands clenching at my sides. I can feel my nails digging into my palms as I take another step back, the floorboards groaning under me like a warning.
Her laugh is short, bitter, echoing softly in the quiet space as she pushes herself off the mantle.
“And now that your work's over," she murmurs, her tone shifting to something final and chilling. Her hand dips into her pocket slowly. She pulls out a small black gun and aims it rightat me. The barrel stays steady, pointed at my chest with deadly accuracy.
The world narrows to the dark hole of that muzzle as fear floods cold through my veins, and makes my legs feel like lead.
"It's time you were disposed of too," she says, her voice calm, almost regretful, but her eyes are hard, unfeeling, like she's already pulled the trigger in her mind.
Chapter Fifty-Four
JULIET
Itake a step backwards and find that my back is now pressing against a wall, the rough plaster digging into my back. My heart pounds so hard it echoes in my ears. The room feels smaller now, the old wood beams overhead pressing down. The lamp's light casts long shadows that twist her face, making our doppelganger similarity suddenly eerie, like looking in a warped mirror.
"Disposed of?" I repeat, my voice barely a whisper, disbelief flooding me. Emotion chokes my throat—fear, yes, but anger bubbles up hot too. My hands clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms as I try to steady the tremble.
She laughs softly, steps closer, and shakes her in wonder. "You really thought this whole elaborate charade was just to give me a break? A vacation in Europe while you played house with my husband?" She pauses, her eyes narrowing—so similar to mine but harder, emptier. “Goodbye, Juliet. I want to thank you for making Blake fall in love with me again. I really thought that fire was dead. Maybe I won’t even need a divorce anymore.”
My mind races, internal thoughts tumbling—Blake, Freya, Frances's words "We want you" echoing like a lifeline. But here I am, trapped, with no proof, no way out. The farmhouse is isolated, so there are definitely no neighbors close enough to hear if I scream.
"I’ve got bad news for you, Carolyn. Frances is not dead," I blurt out, fear giving way to defiance. “Frances survived.” My hands unclench as I step sideways, slowly, toward the door. “She's alive—in the hospital. They’ve revived her. She saw you and knows you tried to kill her."
Carolyn’s face twists at this bit of news, shock flashing in her eyes. A sudden shriek of fury and frustration tears out of her mouth, and she raises the gun higher, her hand shaking now. The farmhouse floorboards creak like they are reacting to her rage.
"You’re lying. She’s not alive. There was enough in that syringe to kill a horse.”
“I saved her.”
“You bitch?—"
I know now that she has completely lost it, and I cannot just stand here and let her kill me. This might be my only chance to help myself. So without thinking, I rush at her, instinct taking over. My body slams into hers, and the gun clatters to the floor and slides away. We struggle, her nails raking my arm, sharp and stinging. My knee connects with her thigh as we fall. Pain explodes in my elbow and then her weight settles on top of me, her breath hot and ragged in my face.
She grabs for a knife, seemingly out of nowhere and raises it high, her eyes wild. The room spins, but I manage to grab her wrist, my muscles straining. Fear chokes me, but then suddenly, a gunshot cracks loudly, echoing off the walls. For a split second, I am sure I have been shot. There is enough pain in my bodyfor that, but on top of me Carolyn’s face undergoes a strange transformation.
The insane rage is replaced by shock and surprise.
Then the life goes out of her eyes, and she starts slumping forward, blood blooming on her chest. Instinctively, I try to push her away from me, but she has become an unstoppable dead weight that falls on top of me. In a daze, I turn my head to see who fired the shot, and find Blake standing in the doorway with the gun in his hand. His face is pale, and his eyes are wide with shock.
As soon as our eyes meet, it is like he is pulled out of his trance.
He drops the gun, rushes over, and pulls me out from under her. His hands check me, frantic.
"Are you okay?” He sounds tortured. “God, I thought. Tell me you’re okay?—"
“I’m not Carolyn,” I sob.
He wipes the tears away from my eyes. “I know,” he says softly.
I frown. “But how? We’re dressed identically.”
