Nightfall

The diet of a dying woman? No. The diet of a woman living in luxury.

Elena stumbled back from the van, the cold night air biting at her exposed skin. She was trapped in the service drive, sandwiched between the high stone wall of the estate and the imposing facade of the house. Marcus stood between her and the only exit, a silhouette against the snow, the keys to her freedom dangling from his fingers.

"It's a beautiful night for a drive," he said, his voice deceptively light. "Where were you planning to go, Elena? The police station? Or were you just running away again?"

Elena didn't answer. She was watching Seraphina.

The other woman was moving closer, her black boots crunching in the snow. She had dropped the knife, but she still held the champagne flute, the crystal catching the light like a jagged star. Blood trickled down her forehead, a stark contrast to her pale skin, but she didn't seem to notice. She looked manic. Exhilarated.

"Let her go, Marcus," Seraphina said, her voice breathy. "She wants to leave. Let her leave."

"We can't let her leave," Marcus said, his gaze fixed on Elena. "She knows too much. She has the receipts."

"She has nothing!" Seraphina laughed, a sound that echoed in the empty drive. "She has a phone full of pictures of steak and wine. Who cares? It's our money. It's our house."

"It's *my* money," Elena said, her voice shaking. "It's my house."

"Possession is nine-tenths of the law, darling," Seraphina purred. "And right now, we possess everything. The house. The accounts. The baby."

She took another step.

"Especially the baby."

Elena felt a surge of rage so pure it burned. She wasn't just a victim. She was a mother. A mother whose child had been stolen and turned into a prop.

"Where is he?" Elena demanded. "Where is Leo?"

"Asleep," Seraphina said. "Dreaming of his real mother."

Elena looked at the van. The keys were in Marcus's hand. But the van itself... it was heavy. Solid. A weapon.

She looked at Marcus. He was confident. Arrogant. He thought he had won because he held the metal.

But he forgot who paid for the metal.

Elena reached into her pocket. Not for a weapon. For the burner phone.

She hit a button.

*Drone Activate. Return to Home.*

She had set the 'Home' point not to where she launched it, but to the GPS coordinates of the phone itself.

High above them, in the darkness, a buzz began.

Marcus looked up, distracted. "What is that?"

"A bird," Elena said. "A very expensive bird."

The drone dropped out of the sky, its rotors screaming. It wasn't aiming for the ground. It was aiming for the signal.

It slammed into the side of the van, right next to Marcus's head.

He flinched, dropping the keys in the snow.

Elena dove.

She scrambled for the keys, her fingers closing around the cold metal just as Marcus lunged for her.

She kicked out, catching him in the shin. He grunted, falling to one knee.

She unlocked the van door. She threw herself into the driver's seat.

Seraphina screamed, running toward the van, swinging the champagne flute like a club.

Elena slammed the door. The glass shattered against the window, spiderwebbing the safety glass but not breaking it.

She jammed the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life.

She threw it into reverse.

The van lurched backward, tires spinning on the ice before finding traction. She clipped the stone wall, sparks flying, and spun the wheel.

She gunned it down the driveway, the back doors swinging open, crates of *Dom Pérignon* sliding out and smashing onto the asphalt.

A trail of broken glass and wasted fortune.

She didn't look back. She drove through the open gate, onto the main road, and didn't stop until she was three towns over.

She pulled into the lot of a motel that looked like it rented rooms by the hour. She turned off the engine.

Silence rushed in, heavy and suffocating.

She sat in the dark cab, shaking. She was safe. She had escaped.

But she wasn't done.

She pulled out the burner phone. The screen was cracked, but it still worked.

She had the photos. She had the audio recording from the drone. She had the bank statements.

But she needed more. She needed to break them.

She opened the browser. She navigated to the login page for the estate's smart home system. *LegacyIsExpensive.*

She logged in.

She accessed the lighting controls. The thermostat. The audio system.

She looked at the time. 3:00 AM.

She set a timer.

At 3:05 AM, every light in the house would turn on. The thermostat would drop to 50 degrees. And the whole-house audio system would play a single track on a loop, at maximum volume.

She scrolled through the music library until she found it.

*Hush, Little Baby.*

She hit *Execute*.

Then she waited.

Her phone buzzed.

*Marcus: Pick up the phone, Elena. We can talk about this.*

She ignored it.

A minute later.

*Marcus: Please. Seraphina is hysterical. She says you stole her son's future.*

Elena smiled. It was a cold, jagged thing.

She texted back.

*I didn't steal his future. I just cancelled the subscription.*

She looked out the window of the van. Across the parking lot, the neon sign of the motel flickered.

And in the room directly across from her, the curtains were open.

She saw two figures. Not sleeping.

Silhouettes in the window. Dancing.