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Chapter 7

Word Count: 1171    |    Released on: Today at 10:43

a streak of gray, but her focus was sharp-honed on the inevitable showdown with Baker and Finn that waited at the Montgomery

gers trembling not with fear, but with cold fury, and stepped out. The wind cut through her trench coat, lashing it around her legs as she

pressing down. The lock clicked green, a faint, mocking chime, and she pushed the door open, slipping inside a

gainst china echoed, sharp and deliberate-Baker's way of asserting control, even over a late lunch. The family was there, all of them, a

sight of Allison. The girl gasped, a high, shrill sound, and the tray slipped from her fingers. It crashed to the marble

arp as a whip, no trace of patience. "Who dare

ating defiance, and turned slowly. Her heels clicked against the marble, a deliberate, taunting rhyt

so ugly it twisted her features. "Look who's slithered back-after throwing you

on's presence was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. "Allison, let's be

len from Allison's finger just 24 hours earlier-glinting under the chandelier. She met Allison's ga

ker, her voice cold enough to freeze the air. "I

ir contents sloshing over the rim. "Everything in this house is mine-Montgom

hot and unyielding. "My trust fund was my grandfather's

's face, her voice rising to a shrill shriek. "Ungrateful wretch! You're just

Katharine spat, taking another step, her eyes wild. "You pushe

ch. The last fragile thread of affection for her aunt-Baker's wife, the woman who'd once pretended to ca

aring a secret. "Allison, I'll help you. A nice condo downtown, rent paid for

se she almost gagged. He was trying to buy her silence-with money

ake sweetness. "Take it, Allie. Where else

It echoed through the hallway, sending a shiver through everyone in t

You're a coward. You couldn't build a legacy of your own,

. He lunged forward, his hand raised high, ready to s

. She took a step closer, tilting her

lence. "Hit me-right in front of the cameras I installed in this

s darted to the corner of the ceiling, where the tiny black dome of the camera st

erate as she climbed the grand staircase, leaving them se

alk-in closet, shoving aside her designer coats to press her palm against a false panel-it poppe

hands, and beneath it- the manila envelope with the unredacted trust fund charters, the proo

trapped her for twenty years-before she unlocked the door

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