12:01

Chapter 85

Seeing the necklace, I froze. I’d suspected my troubles were linked to Nicole, but it was just a hunch; there was no hard proof. I’d always considered her my sister. Sure, she’d wanted Chase, but I never imagined she’d hate me enough to want me dead.

It all clicked when she produced the necklace I’d worn on my wedding day—a precious gift from my grandmother. Before the wedding, Mom, influenced by Nicole, had withheld my wedding gift, leaving me without suitable jewelry. Grandma, furious, had given me her own engagement necklace, a diamond piece once worn by a queen and one of her most prized possessions. She wanted her granddaughter to walk down the aisle with dignity.

I could still picture Grandma’s gentle hands combing my hair, her eyes filled with hope and pride. She intended for me to pass the necklace down through the generations. Yet, less than a day later, I was murdered. By my own sister.

The truth hit me like a punch to the gut. Chase had chosen Nicole; she’d even spent our wedding night with him. She’d already won. Why such extremes? I was her sister!

Grandma’s foggy eyes suddenly sharpened. She grabbed the necklace, verified its authenticity, and then, despite her frail legs, hobbled toward Nicole, using her cane for support.

“Where’s your sister? Why did you do this?” Grandma’s voice trembled, each step a Herculean effort. Nicole merely sat there, a disdainful sneer on her face, unmoving.

“Why? While I struggled, she had it all—your love, the good life. Why did she get everything? I’m your granddaughter, too. Why were you so biased?”

Grandma’s anger flared. “Since you returned, haven’t we all tried to make amends? What did you do to Amanda? And you dare ask why?”

Nicole, unfazed, casually fiddled with her nails. “I’m not here to discuss that. I’m here to ask if you’re handing over the shares.” She’d dropped the victim act, ready to strong-arm Grandma. Grandma slammed her cane down. “In your dreams. I’d rather die than give you those shares.”

Nicole smirked, seemingly expecting this. “Relax, I’m not planning on killing you. But remember, Amanda’s in my hands, and I can do whatever I want.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Grandma slapped Nicole. “Let her go. She’s your sister!”

Nicole’s smirk turned icy. “You’ll regret that slap, old lady.” She made a call. “It’s me. Cut off one of Amanda’s fingers.”

I was stunned. Wasn’t I supposed to be dead? What was happening?

Grandma was incredulous. “Don’t bluff me. If you harm her, how do you expect to face the Kennedy family?” Nicole’s phone buzzed; a message arrived. She opened it, enlarging a photograph. A severed finger, stark and undeniable.