The way she kissed my forehead twice every night.
Once for today.
Once for tomorrow.
I had spent seventeen years believing rain killed her.
It hadn’t.
Greed had.
Dad walked toward Celeste.
Security moved immediately.
I caught his sleeve.
“Dad.”
He looked at me.
There was murder in his eyes.
“Don’t.”
“She killed your mother.”
“And you going to prison won’t bring Mom back.”
He broke.
My father collapsed against me.
For seventeen years, I had never seen Richard Hale cry.
Not at the funeral.
Not when we sold my childhood home.
Not when he packed Mom’s clothes into boxes.
But now he sobbed into my shoulder while I stood barefoot in a maid’s uniform.
Behind us, Vanessa stared at her mother.
Everything about her had changed.
The arrogance was gone.
She looked hollow.
“Did you know?” I asked her.
Her eyes snapped toward mine.
“No.”
Marcus answered.
“She knew about the money.”
Vanessa looked at him.
“But not the accident.”
He nodded.
“No.”
Vanessa covered her mouth.
I believed him.
That surprised me.
But it didn’t absolve her.
She had still forged messages.
Manipulated Dad.
Tried to seize his assets.
Humiliated me.
And married another man while planning to marry my father.
She simply hadn’t known the foundation of her scheme was built on something much darker.
Sirens sounded outside.
Someone had called the police.
Maybe Margaret.
Maybe Marcus.
Maybe one of two hundred horrified guests.
Celeste heard them.
She suddenly shoved a chair toward the nearest security guard.
People screamed.
She ran.
Straight toward the terrace.
Security followed.
So did Dad.
“Stop her!”
The glass doors flew open.
Cold Atlantic wind tore through the ballroom.
Flowers scattered.
Candles flickered out.
Celeste raced across the stone terrace in high heels.
She reached the stairs descending toward the cliffs.
Then slipped.
Her body pitched forward.
Vanessa screamed.
“Mom!”
I ran outside.
Celeste had caught the railing.
She dangled above the rocks.
Thirty feet below, black water crashed against stone.
“Help me!”
For one terrible second, nobody moved.
Then I did.
I dropped to my knees.
Again.
But this time no one had ordered me there.
I grabbed Celeste’s wrist.
Her eyes widened.
“You?”
“Give me your other hand.”
She stared at me.
The daughter of the woman whose death she had caused.
The girl whose inheritance she had stolen.
The person her daughter had humiliated.
“Claire,” Dad shouted, grabbing my waist.
Marcus seized my shoulder.
Together we pulled.
Celeste collapsed onto the terrace.
Police rushed forward.
Handcuffs clicked around her wrists.
She stared at me as officers lifted her.
“Why?”
I knew what she meant.
Why save her?
I stood.
Because suddenly the answer was simple.
