Sara crushed the paper in her fist. Chloe had been buried yesterday. Unless…
“Who are you?” Sara asked.
Sara looked up the spiral staircase. At the top, bathed in the blue glow of a chandelier, stood a girl of about fourteen. Same sharp cheekbones. Same cold, green eyes. But not Chloe.
She reached into her nightgown pocket and pulled out a small glass bottle. Inside, a dark liquid swirled. Sara recognized it instantly. It was the same belladonna syrup she’d used on her first husband’s daughter. The recipe she’d burned afterward. The stepmother 3 sara stone
Her stepdaughter, Chloe, was dead.
Ivy collapsed into Sara’s arms, her lips turning blue. Her green eyes stayed open, watching, triumphant.
“From Chloe’s room,” Ivy said. “She left a diary. And a sample. You’re not as clever as you think, Stepmother.” Sara crushed the paper in her fist
She descended slowly, her bare feet silent on the steps. She wore a white nightgown—the same brand Sara bought for Chloe three Christmases ago. The girl stopped one step above Sara, so they were eye to eye.
Sara had one second to decide: villain or savior.
She found the letter on the marble foyer floor, tucked beneath a vase of wilting lilies. The handwriting was hers. Or rather, a perfect copy of hers. Sara looked up the spiral staircase
And for the first time in her life, Sara Stone realized she was not the predator in this house.
“Now you have two choices,” Ivy said, her voice already thickening. “Let me die, and spend the rest of your life in prison for my murder. Or…” She swayed, clutching the banister. “Call an ambulance. Save me. And spend the rest of your life knowing I own you.”
“Good choice,” Ivy whispered. “Now the real game begins.”
