There it is, that soft murmur of Orson's.

"I love you." The whisper finds me in the dark, his grasp never leaving me as I'm cocooned in between his limbs. He's stroking my pretty little head, fingers combing through golden strands. He looks at me with such sweetness- that dreamy look, his pinkening cheeks, all elation and mischief and wonders like I never saw in him. He has never been like this with other girls; he's often so cold and exacting and distant, like a cool machine. The smooth-talker, the one with all the right lines and the right words, and now I see him like this, vulnerable and mine for the taking.

I know that in whatever game I've been playing I've won. I've been winning, leaving everyone in the dust. I've met the most insufferable people here in this world. But they also met me.

I snuggle under his cashmere blankets and close my eyes for a second. I imagine what it would be like to have all this ripped away from me, falling under me, sand in an hourglass. The smell of Orson's Chanel Bleu wafting away from me, the warmth of his body next to me becoming stale and empty. My golden hair transforming back to its original dark brown colour and my lithe and toned physique becoming average and doughy. 

I don't want to even think about it.

A knock at Orson's door. It's way too abrupt and urgent to be a maid politely asking if she could clear the laundry basket. Even without the door opening, I automatically know who it is. 

"Come in," murmurs Orson, rising lazily from his mountain of cashmere pillows. The door swings open with force, revealing Carmen in the doorway.

Her eyes narrow when she spots me enveloped in his arms and her lips are pursed with disapproval. Ever the protective sister, Carmen's devotion to Orson is, in many ways, her undoing. I've always thought their relationship was closer than step-siblings. Now knowing that they are technically half, their closeness makes sense. But from Carmen's side, her unflinching blinding love for Orson seems to go a little further than familial piety. 

For a sickening moment, I have an inkling she might be in love with him. It explains her jealousy and anger over Carlotta, a girl who had purposely gotten herself pregnant. It also explains her relationship with Aidan, Orson's right-hand man. Aidan is Orson adjacent. 

"I need to talk to you," Carmen folds her arms across her silk camisole. "Privately."

Orson sighs and runs a hand through his dishevelled hair. "Whatever you want to say to me you can say it in front of Amory, Carmen."

I keep my silence and stare steadily at Carmen, watching as distaste makes a mark on her regal face. Her gaze darkens, eyes growing cold and hard. Urgency rings out of every syllable. "Orson, I need to talk to you. Now."

"Fine," Orson grumbles and runs a hand through his tousled hair. "Can I go take a shower first though?"

"Sure, I'll wait for you in my room," Carmen says, pleasant smugness seeping into her tone. She gives me one final look and it's a smile. It's a smile I know only too well, one that tells me of complacent victory, and at that moment I realise Carmen might've gotten fat in rehab for the last few months but she still hasn't changed one fucking bit.

"Babe, I'll see you in a few," Orson kisses me sweetly on the mouth as he steps off his bed, revealing his silk pyjama shorts. As he pads away to the bathroom, I wordlessly grab my iPhone and enter in my Passcode to grant me access to my photo album. It's a dark video with barely enough light and only ten seconds long but the footage is damning enough- Orson standing over Elijah's body while a pool of blood trickles beneath him. I click the airdrop option and Carmen's name pops up. I sent it, then followed it up with a text.

I would rethink what I want to say to Orson if I were you.

Check fucking mate, Carmen.

-

"Wish me luck," Orson murmurs as I loop his Hugo Boss tie around his neck. Even though I've taken two Xanax to take the edge off, my hands still tremble when I do his tie. Luckily, Orson is too engrossed in the situation at hand. As the newly crowned Head of the Calloway family, Orson is off to meet with Delia and Maral to deliver his decisions on what they get to keep from the Calloway will. By default, the majority of Calloway holdings now lie under Orson's control- including the sprawling Calloway Manor that lies in the English countryside. Delia is now completely stripped of her material possessions, all the money and inheritance she had plotted to receive now completely taken away and given to the bastard child fathered by her husband and a lowly, common maid.

Revenge is the best dish served cold.

Maral, on the other hand, is shackled to her Paris townhouse on a meagre income provided by the trust set up for her by her parents. Even if the trust was getting a measly one per cent interest on five billion, this meant that —Maral whose parents only had a measly two billion dollars—would get at least fifty million dollars in pure income every year.

"Just let her keep the estate," I purred into Orson's ear last night, post-coital when he had asked me for advice on what to do with Delia Calloway. "And she's still receiving an allowance of five million pounds...should be enough to maintain her lifestyle, those maids...after all, she'll be dead soon. Let her enjoy her luxuries while she can. For Maral, we can let her keep the Hamptons summer house. I can't imagine she wants to keep the Manhattan penthouse after what happened to her husband here."

Orson nodded wordlessly, then kissed my forehead as if thankful for my help. I tried not to glow at my achievements, Orson Calloway under my thumb and me at the helm of the vastest fortune in the world. But yet, everything can be so undone so soon, especially if I don't tie up the loose ends of Carmen and Parker.

My text message to Carmen has bought me a bit of time. I've instructed her to meet me at the Calloway Penthouse after Orson's departure to discuss this. If she refused to meet with me, the video would go straight to Twitter and every luxury she had ever known would come crumbling down.

Carmen had just gotten out of an eating disorder clinic a week ago and I knew that the taste of freedom, despite being under grim circumstances, was too much to give up. Besides, she was so powerfully enamoured and in love with Orson- her believed-to-be stepbrother but truthfully her half-brother, she would never risk putting his head on the chopping block. So she reluctantly agreed.

Steps echo across the marble foyer of the empty Calloway apartment. "Carmen's home," Orson says and my stomach twists, ignoring the spurt of anger. I've told Carmen to come at one-thirty and it's only one-twenty.

Orson and I exit his bedroom. I'm wearing his bathrobe, a royal blue velvet cloth that swallows my petite frame handsomely, peeks of this morning's sins obvious in the naked skin underneath. Carmen's skin glistens with freshly acquired sweat from her dance cardio class, her tanned skin appearing even more golden against her cobalt blue Alo yoga set. When Carmen's eyes meet mine, she works her face into gentle kindness but I can see she's bitter and angry right under the surface. Her eyes are bright and the edges of her mouth keep twitching up.

She wants me dead.

"Morning, Orson," Carmen greets, "Morning, Amory."

The venom in her voice is so clear that Orson watches the exchange with mild confusion. "I'm meeting Grandma and Maral for breakfast. Do you want to come?"

"No, I'm fine. I already ate," Carmen tells him. "Besides, I think I have lots of catching up to do with Amory."

I hide the rustle of nerves underneath a tight smile that doesn't reach my eyes. "You should probably get going," I tell Orson, then for one last bravado I give him my golden hand and a look of great charm, the powerful illusion of delicate girlhood.

I envelop my mouth around Orson's. His kiss starts soft but I move my mouth closer to deepen it. Carmen looks away with disgust.

Not a word utters between the two of us as Orson leaves, the clacks of his Gucci loafers slowly dwindling as he leaves towards the private lobby. As soon as we hear his elevator door close, Carmen produces her Dolce and Gabbana calfskin-cladded iPhone 12 and holds up her phone, the video of Orson standing over Elijah's body.

"This is fake."

I arch a brow. "You know it isn't."

"It's fake," she says again, this time a little more unconvincing.

"Take off your clothes," I say. "And hand them to me."

I had to make sure she wasn't wearing a wire.

"What?" Carmen scoffs. "I'm not gonna take off-"

I hold up my phone, revealing my private messages to the VieuxRiche account on Instagram. "Or I send that little video."

Carmen's gaze is caustic but I stare her down. I arch an eyebrow, testing her. A mental power struggle, two girls grasping over a rope with their red claws sinking into the threads. But this time, I'm looping the rope around her pretty little swanlike neck...one wrong move and she'll hang herself.

Finally, she aggressively rips her off her sports bra. Like a tiger cornering a rabbit, I've got her. She kicks off her yoga pants and throws her clothes towards me. I pick up her sweaty clothes and start to survey them, palming my hand through every surface. Her yoga pants give no evidence of any mic or wire but when I get to her sports bra, I hear her breath hitch. I reach into the bra padding and use two fingers to dig around until I find something cold and hard.

Bingo.

I take out the small black mic, no bigger than a chocolate chip. "Hey, Parker," I sing song into the mic before throwing it onto the ground and crushing it with my heel. It splatters across the marble floor in a bunch of tiny pieces. "Perfect, now it's really just the two of us."

"Can I put my clothes back on?"

"No," I say. I walk towards her. I gesture towards the lounge room, where Elijah had been killed. The last time I stepped foot inside, I was cleaning blood from Orson's soles. "Now, let's sit down and discuss this like civilised people."

"I think we're way past etiquette, Amory, if that's even your real name," Carmen remarks, looking sour. Her right arm crosses over her exposed breasts and her left-hand covers her...um, area.

I looked at her pointedly, "Didn't you do your research, Carms? Amory is my real name. Well my middle name, anyway. And Scout is my mother's maiden name. So Amory Scout has always been my real name. I've never lied about my backstory."

Carmen snorts. "Please, everything about you is false. You-"

"I moved from Los Angeles, and my parents did pass away when I was younger," I correct her simply, "Everything about me I told you was true...it's not my fault you chose to believe a version of me you created in your head. Besides, I wouldn't be worrying about myself if I were you. I'd be more worried about Orson."

"What?" Her brows furrow.

"Oh, you didn't know? You're a Calloway, just not by marriage but by blood too."

Carmen maintains a stony mask, even while stripped naked talking to me, but I can see a crackle of pain. "What?"

"Oh, I'm guessing you didn't know that. Elijah isn't Orson's dad, by the way. He's yours."

Carmen steps back, her head shake, "No, he's-"

"Oh come on," I laugh cruelly, "Like it's one big surprise to you. You have always been Elijah's favourite- Daddy's Little Girl and well, you've seen the way he treated Orson."

Carmen stays quiet so I press on. Tanned skin, feline-eyed with the longest, darkest eyelashes I've ever seen, Carmen's exotic, sharp features, high fashion build and institutional namesake gave her an It-Girl quality in black-clad, power-suit New York noir. I move towards her, put a hand on her chest and remove her hair and hands away from her breasts. "It turns out this whole time, Elijah and Orson are half-brothers. Can you imagine?"

"You're lying."

I look at her in the same grinning, game manner I had when we first met – I'm up for an Initiation!- and pout, whispering, "You know I'm not, Carmen. Honestly, if it wasn't for the fact that Orson killed Elijah, you probably would've been heir to the Calloway fortune."

"You're such a fucking liar," she spits.

But I continue to press on, goading her, "But that's not really why we're here, isn't it? Because the truth is Carmen, you're sicker than the rest of us. You're in love with Orson, your half-brother." 

Then her hands are on my neck.

My pulse is throbbing beneath her fingers. She presses tighter and brings me to the ground. I make wet clucking noises and scratch at her wrists. We are both kneeling, in face-to-face prayer for ten seconds.

"You fucking crazy bitch," Carmen growls, "You're lying! You're lying!"

A tear falls from her chin and hits the floor.

"You're a murdering, lying, mind-fucking, evil, crazy bitch!"

"CARMEN, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" Orson's voice screams from the far end of the room, having just arrived at the penultimate moment.

Carmen drops me like I'm burning hot iron and turns around. I sit hard on the ground, gasping and coughing. Immediately in jagged rasps, I burst into hysterical sobs, "She's crazy, Orson, she's crazy!"

I paint a scene so vivid in Orson's mind: his half-sister Carmen butt-naked, strangling his beloved. It's a scene I've orchestrated by purposely taking out the legal files Orson needed in his meeting with Delia so he would realise he has forgotten what he needed halfway through and return back to the apartment, only to stumble upon an incriminating crime scene of Carmen trying to kill me. By riling Carmen up with the truth, it's like setting dominoes to fall exactly in the places I needed them.

I hadn't exactly planned for Carmen to be naked while trying to kill me but I knew I needed to destroy all possible chances of Carmen and Parker attempting to record me admitting the truth. All the more, Carmen's hands around my throat, while her clothes are on the floor, is the perfect reason for Orson to be convinced his sister has completely lost her mind.

"She-" The crazed light in Carmen's stare dims as it dawns on her that I've set her up. From the moment I Airdropped her that video of Orson standing over Elijah's body to now, every move she made has been manoeuvred by me.

The realisation fills her with rage and she unleashes a terrifying, bloodcurdling scream, one I swear could've broken glass. Once again, she launches herself at me, only to be tackled by Orson who throws himself in front of me to protect me.

"Stop it! Carmen, stop it! You've completely lost your mind!" Orson bellows, "First Carlotta, now Amory! Stop it! Stop it!"

All of the sudden, my mind clicks. Even as the chaos unfolds before me, a naked Carmen screaming, thrashing and clawing her brother restraining her from attacking me. It all made sense. Orson had dutifully taken the fall for Carmen's killing of Carlotta. "All these years, I've taken the fall for what happened with Carlotta!"

"I did it to protect you!" Carmen screams, "Everything I've done was to protect you! I've pushed that bitch down to protect you! And I'm protecting you from her now like I've always done!" She jabs a gnarled finger at me.

Orson shakes his head, stepping back as Carmen has stopped lunging herself at me. He holds my terrified hands as he regards his sister with worry and contempt. He takes out his phone and starts dialling. The screen reads 911 before he hits the call button.

"You're going back," he tells his sister, "You're going back to rehab and you're gonna stay there, for as long as you fucking need to. Because Carmen, you have officially lost it."  

-

oop, and the next chapter is the...LAST chapter?!