Chapter 16: Jasmine's Delivery

The doorbell rang. Three times.

*Ding. Ding. Ding.*

I stared at the pillow where the iPad lay hidden, my breath caught in my throat. Jasmine. She was here.

Chloe wasn't in the room. I had heard her go downstairs minutes ago, probably to check the perimeter again. Mark was at work.

This was it.

I scrambled out of bed, ignoring the sharp pull of my stitches. I didn't bother with slippers. I grabbed the water carafe from the nightstand—heavy, glass, a weapon if I needed it—and moved to the door.

Unlocked.

Chloe must have left it open in her arrogance. Or maybe she wanted me to try.

I opened the door a crack. The hallway was empty.

Downstairs, I heard voices.

"Delivery for Vance?" A young, bright voice. Jasmine.

"I'll take those," Chloe's voice. Smooth. Dismissive.

"The order said to ring three times. Special instructions."

"My sister-in-law is confused. Pregnancy brain. You know how it is."

"It said urgent. Is the baby okay?"

I limped to the top of the stairs. I could see them in the foyer. Chloe was blocking the doorway, her body a rigid line of defense. Jasmine was trying to peer around her, holding two large grocery bags.

"Everything is fine," Chloe said, her voice hardening. "Just leave the bags."

"I need to confirm with the account holder. Store policy for special instructions."

Jasmine took a step forward. Chloe didn't move.

"Elara is sleeping," Chloe said. "Do not disturb her."

I gripped the banister. I needed to scream. I needed to make noise. But my throat felt paralyzed, the fear choking me.

Then I saw it.

On the floor by the door, Mark's golf bag. A 9-iron sticking out.

If I could just...

"Jasmine!" I croaked. It was barely a whisper.

I tried again, forcing air from my diaphragm. "Jasmine! Help!"

Chloe spun around. Her eyes locked on me at the top of the stairs.

Jasmine looked up. She saw me.

"Ma'am?" she called out. "Are you okay?"

"Call the police!" I screamed. "She's not his sister! She's—"

Chloe moved fast. She slammed the door in Jasmine's face, the sound like a gunshot in the foyer. She threw the deadbolt.

"No!" I shouted, stumbling down the first step. "Jasmine!"

Outside, I heard pounding on the wood. "Open the door! I'm calling 911!"

Chloe turned to me. She wasn't panicked. She looked... resigned.

"You shouldn't have done that, Elara."

She started up the stairs. One step. Two.

I raised the water carafe. "Stay back."

"Or what? You'll hit me? And prove Dr. Thorne right? That you're violent? Unstable?"

"Jasmine is calling the police," I said, my voice shaking. "They're coming."

"Are they?"

The front door rattled again. Then silence.

Chloe smiled.

"Mark handles the local precinct's charity fund," she said softly. "They know all about his poor, sick wife."

Behind her, the front door opened. Not by Jasmine. By a key.

Mark walked in. He looked from Chloe on the stairs to me at the top, clutching a glass pitcher like a lifeline. He didn't look surprised. He looked tired.

"What is going on?" he asked.

"She screamed at the delivery girl," Chloe said, not looking away from me. "Tried to tell her I wasn't your sister."

Mark closed his eyes. He let out a long, heavy sigh.

"Jasmine said there was a note," he said. "In the app."

He looked up at me. His expression wasn't angry. It was something worse. It was the look of a man who had already made a decision.

"My wife is confused," he called out, his voice booming through the heavy oak door to where Jasmine might still be standing. "There is no note."