"You'll die here, and no one will miss you."
Melissa's spoon hovered over my lips like a declaration.
"Say something," she ordered.
"My name is..." I tried to form it. My tongue wouldn't cooperate.
Melissa laughed. "Your name is Ava Elliott, the perfect little daughter. Except you weren't good enough."
She pressed the spoon to my mouth. The food tasted wrong, metal at the back of my throat.
"Stop," I whispered. My hands were weak. My vision bobbed around the edges.
Melissa's smile was clinical. "You think anyone will bother? You think Grandpa will care? Cynthia already told me how much of the shares she'd hand over for a cleaner house."
She chewed slowly, delighted by the idea.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked. The words came like someone else was reading them.
"Because you made me work for crumbs," Melissa said. "Because you defied me. Because I can."
She looked at my face like she could rearrange it with a flick.
The abandoned loft smelled like old paint. Broken chandeliers, a carpet turned into rag. No witnesses except her and Roe's texts—he'd 'handle the cars.' My phone lay under my cheek. The screen was black.
"There's one last thing I want you to know," Melissa continued. "Zane Briggs is dead."
She hit accept on a call. "Hello?" she said bright and public.
The voice on the line was clipped. "We confirm. Mr. Briggs... passed away last night. Summit
