Chapter 3
My eyes lingered on the transfer confirmation glowing on the phone screen.
A cold, systematic voice echoed in my mind. "The countdown has forty-eight hours left."
Without hesitation, I navigated to the banking app. In a few taps, the 10 thousand dollars from the transfer, along with every last dollar of 30 thousand scraped together over years of work, was sent to Miranda's account.
With that done, I left the hospital behind and returned to the hotel.
Back in the sterile room, I began methodically packing my life away.
Each piece of clothing was folded with care. All my bank cards were laid out, their passwords neatly written on a single sheet of paper placed squarely on the nightstand.
Once finished, I slumped against the headboard. Breathing grew labored, each inhale a struggle.
A dull, persistent ache settled deep in my chest, sharpening into a stabbing pain. Doubling over, I pressed a hand hard against my ribs, trying to smother the agony.
My phone screen lit up again. A social media notification. Emily had posted.
The photo showed a shattered prescription bottle on a tiled floor. The caption read: [Mia, you hate me this much? You even threw out my antidepressants. I know I don't belong in this house. I'm sorry.]
Within moments, comments from Jack and Alex poured in, offering comfort and support.
I stared at the post, then closed the app. Setting the phone aside, I waited.
Ten minutes later, the peace shattered. A thunderous CRASH exploded through the room as the door was kicked in.
The lock gave way, the door slamming against the wall.
Alex and Jack stormed in first, their faces gloomy with fury. Right behind them were my father, Logan Forrest, and Miranda, her expression contorted with rage.
Alex led the charge. In his hand was an empty pill bottle, which he hurled onto the bed beside me.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Mia? Was that your plan yesterday? Sneak back to the old house to switch Emily's meds with sleeping pills?" he demanded, jabbing a finger at the bottle.
Straightening up slowly, I looked at the bottle rolling on the duvet. I never went near her room yesterday.
Miranda lunged forward before I could speak.
Her hand connected with my cheek in a sharp, cracking slap.
My head snapped to the side. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, my ear ringing from the impact.
"How did we raise such a poisonous girl? Emily is in the hospital having her stomach pumped. If you want someone dead, you come after me!" Miranda screamed, her voice trembling with anger.
Turning my face back, I met the gazes of the people who once meant everything.
My voice came out hoarse and weak. "I didn't touch her medication."
"Still trying to talk your way out of it?" Logan stepped up, flinging a handful of printed security stills at me.
The papers fluttered to the floor, showing my back leaving the old house the previous day.
Alex took another menacing step closer. "You were the only one there yesterday! The only one who went into her room. God, Mia, I'm disgusted. Emily treated you like a real sister, and you tried to kill her."
Jack lingered at the back of the group, his eyes cold with pure contempt.
"I always thought you were just petty and jealous, Mia. I never knew you had this kind of darkness in you. Emily's kindness was wasted on you," he said, his tone icy.
I looked at each of them. Their faces were etched with identical certainty, a verdict already delivered. Not a single one wanted to hear my side.
The pain in my chest twisted violently, a cruel vise squeezing my heart. My vision began to blur at the edges.
Miranda turned toward the ruined doorway and gave a sharp signal.
Two police officers in uniform entered the cramped room.
"Officers, that's her. She attempted to murder my daughter," Miranda said, pointing directly at me.