Chapter 3 - Poison in the TeacupLiving inside the Vance mansion was like walking through a minefield blindfolded. Every floorboard creaked with tension, and every eye was watching us.
I was assigned a guest room adjacent to Brooke’s suite. My sole condition was that no one—not Trevor, not Victoria, and none of their staff—was allowed alone with Brooke.
On our second night in the house, the silence was shattered by the sound of muffled screaming.
I bolted out of my bed, grabbed the brass heavy candlestick off the hallway table, and threw open Brooke’s bedroom door.
Trevor was standing over Brooke’s bed. His fingers were locked tightly around her wrist, his face twisted in rage.
"You think you're smart, don't you?!" Trevor hissed, his voice trembling with manic energy. "You think you can play these games in my house? My mother thinks you're brain-damaged, but I know what you're doing! You're trying to trap us!"
"Get your hands off my daughter!" I screamed, rushing forward with the heavy candlestick raised above my head.
Trevor spun around, tearing the candlestick from my grip and shoving me hard against the wall. Pain radiated down my back as I slid to the carpet.
"Shut up, old woman!" Trevor sneered, pointing a finger at me. "You’re both living on borrowed time! You think anyone cares about a broke mother and her bastard daughter? The Thorne Trust belongs to the Vance family now! My mother signed the legal guardianship papers while Brooke was in her coma!"
Brooke didn't scream. She didn't pull away. She slowly sat up in bed, looking at Trevor’s hand still gripping her wrist.
"Guardianship requires a judge's signature, Trevor," Brooke said coldly. "And a medical evaluation proving I am mentally unfit."
"We have the doctors, Brooke!" Trevor laughed, a bitter, desperate sound. "Dr. Mitchell isn't the only physician on the hospital board. We bought Dr. Vance ten years ago. Tomorrow morning, the psychiatric team arrives. You’ll be declared unfit, transferred to a private asylum in upstate, and I will assume full control of the Thorne trust. And your mother? She'll be arrested for trespassing and arson."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a clear plastic bag containing the partially melted matchbook I had dropped on their lawn two days ago.
"Did you really think we didn't have cameras on the driveway, Elena?" Trevor smirked at me. "Your fingerprints are on this matchbook. I burn you, or I lock her away. Choose."
My blood ran cold. The trap had sprung. They had planned this from the second we walked back through the front door.
"Leave us," Brooke said suddenly, her voice dangerously calm.
Trevor smirked, tossing the matchbook up and down in his hand. "Sleep well, girls. Tomorrow, the nightmare actually begins."
He turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
I collapsed onto the edge of Brooke’s bed, tears finally streaming down my face. "Brooke, we have to leave. Now. We can take my truck and break through the gates. I don't care about the trust! I don't care about the money! I just want you and the baby alive!"
"We aren't leaving, Mom," Brooke whispered, pulling a small silver key from beneath her pillow.
I stared at the key. "Where did you get that?"
"While Trevor was screaming at you, I slipped it out of his pocket," Brooke revealed, a cold spark in her eyes. "This opens the private archive in Victoria’s office. The papers for the asylum are in there—along with the original, un-redacted Thorne Will."
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"Brooke, Trevor will realize the key is gone in minutes!"
"Then we have ten minutes to burn their empire to the ground," Brooke said, standing up and pulling a sweater over her frail shoulders. "Get ready, Mom. Tonight, we go hunting."
