Chapter 3: The Vicious Accomplices
Rage is a funny thing. Usually, it burns hot. It makes you scream and thrash. But this rage? This was cold. It was absolute zero. It froze my blood into ice and sharpened my mind into a weapon.
“She is bleeding!” I screamed up at them. “She has a broken arm! She has a head injury! Help me!”
My mother appeared at the railing next to Sarah. I expected her to panic. I expected the grandmotherly instinct to kick in.
Instead, she leaned over and hissed, “Lower your voice, Elena! You are making a scene! Do you want everyone to think we are trash?”
“She fell off a balcony!” I shouted, ripping the hem of my expensive slip dress to press it against the cut on Mia’s forehead.
“Because she is clumsy!” my mother retorted. “Just like you. Always ruining things for your sister. Look at Sarah! Her dress is stained because of your ill-mannered child!”
My father joined them, his face purple with exertion. He looked down at his granddaughter writhing in pain in the gravel.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he barked. “Stop being so dramatic, Elena. She’s fine. It’s a short drop. She’s just crying for attention. Get her up, dust her off, and get her back to the room. We have a cake to cut.”
“She is not fine!” I sobbed, looking at the blood soaking through the silk rag. “Greg! Greg, please! Call the island medical team! You have the radio!”
Greg, the groom, the man who was supposed to be the “provider,” looked down at me. He looked at his wife, who was glaring at him, daring him to help. He looked at his father-in-law.
He made his choice.
He turned his back on us. He picked up his wine glass.
“Listen to your father, Elena,” Greg mumbled, loud enough for me to hear. “Don’t ruin the night. Handle it yourself.”
The guests were murmuring now, uncomfortable, looking to the hosts for cues. And the hosts—my family—were signaling that this was an annoyance, not a tragedy.
The resort staff stood on the periphery, looking horrified. The Head of Security, a man named Marcus whom I had hired personally, was standing near the band, his hand on his earpiece, looking confused. He was waiting for the “owner” or the “groom” to give the order. He thought Greg was the client.
I looked down at Mia. She was shivering, going into shock.
“Mommy… it hurts,” she whispered.
“I know, baby. It’s going to stop.”
I stood up. I wiped the blood from my hands onto my dress. I didn’t care anymore.
I looked up at the balcony. I looked at Sarah, blotting her wine stain. I looked at my mother, reapplying her lipstick. I looked at my father, lighting a cigar.
They weren’t my family. They were parasites. They were monsters wrapped in silk and diamonds. And I had fed them. I had clothed them. I had given them this stage.
It was time to burn the theater down.
I locked eyes with Marcus, the Head of Security. He was looking down at me with pity.
I raised my chin. I lifted my right hand high in the air, palm open, and then slashed it violently across my throat. Then, I held up three fingers.
Code Red.
It was the emergency protocol I had established when I bought the island chain. It meant Hostile Threat. Immediate Shutdown. owner Override.
Marcus froze. He stared at me. He looked at Greg, then back at me. He saw the authority in my eyes. He saw the predator waking up.
He tapped his earpiece. He nodded once.
The pity in his eyes vanished, replaced by military precision.
If they wouldn’t listen to the sister, they would have to listen to the Landlord.
