Part 2The Dangerous Mind Of The Missing Blackwood Heiress

My mother came to fetch me for dinner personally. She knocked three times—soft, hesitant taps. "Dinner is... it's ready. If you're hungry."

"I'll be right down," I said, opening the door.

In the dining room, the atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a steak knife. My father sat at the head of the table, Sebastian to his left, and Serena in the seat usually reserved for my mother.

When I entered, Serena stood up, beaming. "Sloane! Sit here, I saved you a spot right next to me!"

My mother froze. My father’s hand tightened around his silverware.

I ignored the tension and sat down. Serena immediately began piling food onto my plate. "You have to try the sea bass," she said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "I bet you didn't get fresh seafood like this at the state home, right?"

I arched an eyelid and took a bite of the fish.

Condescension wrapped in a charity complex. A classic power play, I thought. But it doesn't matter. Dead girls don't need to worry about social standing.

My mother’s fork clattered onto the table. She bent down to retrieve it and stayed down there for a long time.

Serena kept going, her eyes turning misty. "Sloane, why aren't you talking? Don't you like the fish? Or... do you not like that I touched it?"

"I'm just not much of a talker," I said slowly.

The tears come so easily. She’s a natural performer. Does she really have no sense of self-preservation? Staging a provocation like this is a dangerous game.

Strangulation would be too messy; it often causes a loss of bladder control. A blade is much cleaner. Less to scrub out of the rug.

My father’s spoon hit his bowl with a loud clink, splashing soup across the white linen cloth.

Serena was in full swing now, her voice trembling. "Mom, Dad... I don't think she likes me. Did I do something wrong?"

My mother sat up, her face ghostly. She stood, walked over to Serena, and practically hauled her out of the chair by her arm.

"Serena, move. Sit over by me."

Serena looked bewildered. "Mom? What—"

"Now," my mother commanded.

She dragged Serena to the other end of the table, putting three empty chairs between us. Then, my mother took the seat directly between Serena and me, acting as a human shield.

Serena opened her mouth to protest, but caught the look on our father’s face and went silent, staring sullenly into her soup. Two minutes later, she "accidentally" knocked over her water.

The liquid surged across the table, heading straight for my lap.

"Oh my god, Sloane! I'm so sorry! I'm such a klutz!" Serena cried out, her voice loud and panicked.

"It's fine. I don't mind," I said.

Liar. That was a deliberate trajectory.

"Enough."

Sebastian stood up. He looked at Serena, his eyes cold—colder than I’d seen them yet. "Go to your room, Serena."

She gasped. "Sebastian, I—"

"I said, go to your room."

Serena realized she had lost the room. She threw down her napkin and ran out, her theatrical sobs echoing through the foyer.