Page 160 of The Rival's Obsession
“Game’s over, Corrine. And you lost.”
No.
Officers take over, their hands replacing Grant’s as metal snaps tight around my wrists.
No.
This wasn’t how it ends.
I feel the fury coiling in my gut, sticky and black. Police officers pull me up, and I’m upright on two feet. Warm, thick blood drips down my chin, and I watch it splat on the white marble at my feet.
“Why us?” Grant asks.
His voice is rough. Breaking. Like it costs him to ask.
“Why, Corrine?”
I look at him, swallowing the blood in my mouth.
And I smile.
Because he wants to know.
There is a reason.
There’s always a reason.
Something old. Sharp. Sacred. Something I wrapped in silk and buried deep.
And if I gave it to him—if I handed it over like some desperate confession—he’d get to make sense of it all. Find closure. Heal.
No.
He doesn’t get that.
I can still win this.
This one, final thing.
So, I smile wider.
Let the blood coat my teeth like war paint. Let the moment stretch, linger, choke.
And I say nothing.
Because torment makes a lovely inheritance.
And he can live with it.
Rot without ever knowing.
The Harrow estate hasn’t changed. The lawn is still perfect, the hedges trimmed with surgical precision, and the porch lights cast the same golden glow they always have. But as I pull up the drive and step out of the car, a heaviness settles over me—a weight that doesn’t come from the air or the sky but from memory.
Everything looks normal.
But it feels different.
Not loud or obvious. Just... off. As if the house is holding its breath. As if it knows what today is, too.
