Chapter 3 - Victoria Stops PretendingEmily moved in front of Noah.
It surprised all three of them.
Victoria stared at her.
“You've made enough mistakes today.”
Emily's voice shook.
“So have you.”
Victoria lifted the pistol.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Emily.”
“You said nobody would get hurt.”
Victoria laughed.
“Did you believe me?”
Emily's expression collapsed.
Noah grabbed her arm.
“Don't.”
Victoria looked terrible now.
Not because of the bee stings.
Because the mask was gone.
For three years she had performed kindness.
At charity dinners.
At Noah's school.
At family vacations.
Now her eyes held nothing except calculation.
“Give me the phone.”
Noah held it tighter.
“It won't open.”
“I didn't ask.”
“You're going to shoot me?”
Victoria's jaw tightened.
“Don't test me.”
Noah looked toward the mansion.
Too far to run.
Open lawn between them.
No cover.
Emily whispered,
“Mrs. Whitmore, Mr. Whitmore will be home soon.”
“That is exactly why I need this finished.”
Noah understood the messages.
“You were going to tell Dad I got attacked by bees.”
“Yes.”
“But you tied me to a tree.”
Victoria shrugged.
“You were trespassing in the garden after I told you to stay away from the hive.”
Noah laughed.
She had built the explanation already.
“You really think he'd believe that?”
“I think grief makes people believe what they're given.”
The sentence chilled him.
Not because of what she planned now.
Because it sounded practiced.
Noah stared.
“What did you just say?”
Victoria's eyes narrowed.
“Nothing.”
“My mom died.”
Emily looked at him.
Victoria's expression became still.
Noah continued.
“Dad was grieving when he married you.”
“Three years after Rachel died.”
“You knew him before that?”
“No.”
The answer came too fast.
Noah saw it.
And Victoria knew he saw it.
“Give me the phone.”
Noah stepped back.
She aimed the weapon toward the ground near his feet.
“I won't ask again.”
Emily suddenly moved.
She grabbed Victoria's wrist.
The gun fired.
The shot exploded through the garden.
Birds burst from the trees.
Noah jumped.
Victoria screamed.
Emily fought with both hands.
“RUN!”
Noah ran.
Not toward the house.
Toward the woods bordering the estate.
He heard another shot.
Then Emily screamed.
Noah almost turned.
Didn't.
His father had taught him to ride dirt bikes through those woods.
He knew every path.
Victoria didn't.
Noah crashed through shrubs, still clutching the disabled phone.
His heart pounded.
Behind him—
footsteps.
Someone chasing.
Noah pushed harder.
He reached the old stone wall marking the edge of the property.
Climbed.
Dropped.
Pain shot through his ankle.
He stumbled but kept going.
A county road lay half a mile ahead.
He needed another phone.
A car.
Anyone.
Then something grabbed his shirt from behind.
Noah spun.
Emily.
“Stop.”
He stared.
“Victoria?”
“She fell.”
“What?”
“I pushed her.”
“Is she dead?”
“No.”
Emily looked horrified by the possibility.
“She hit the ground. I ran.”
Noah caught his breath.
“Where's the gun?”
“I don't know.”
Bad answer.
They continued.
The road appeared between the trees.
A black SUV was approaching.
Noah stepped toward it.
Emily grabbed him.
“Wait.”
“What?”
She stared at the vehicle.
“That looks like Martin's.”
Noah's blood turned cold.
The SUV slowed.
Stopped.
Driver's door opened.
Martin Hale stepped out.
Sixty years old.
Silver hair.
Expensive suit.
The same warm smile he had worn at Christmas dinner.
“Noah.”
Noah backed up.
Martin raised both hands.
“Thank God.”
Emily whispered,
“Don't believe him.”
Martin looked offended.
“Emily, what happened?”
“You know.”
“Noah, your father called me.”
“Where is he?”
“On his way.”
“Call him.”
Martin hesitated.
Noah immediately knew.
“Call him.”
“My phone is in the car.”
“Then get it.”
Martin's smile disappeared.
“Victoria told me you attacked her.”
Noah laughed in disbelief.
“I'm fifteen.”
“She says you became violent.”
“And tied myself to a tree?”
Martin's eyes flickered.
Tiny mistake.
Noah saw it.
“You knew about the tree.”
Martin said nothing.
Emily whispered,
“Run.”
Martin reached inside his jacket.
Noah and Emily turned.
But the SUV's rear door opened.
Another man stepped out.
Noah recognized him.
Thomas Briggs.
Head of security at the Whitmore mansion.
A man Noah had trusted since childhood.
Thomas looked at him sadly.
“Don't make this harder, kid.”
Noah stopped.
Emily whispered,
“Oh no.”
Martin walked closer.
“Give me Victoria's phone.”
Noah stared at Thomas.
“You're helping them?”
Thomas looked away.
Martin extended his hand.
“The phone, Noah.”
Noah gripped it.
Then, from somewhere behind them, an engine roared.
A blue pickup truck came around the curve far too fast.
Martin jumped backward.
The truck braked hard.
Driver's door flew open.
Robert Whitmore stepped out.
His eyes landed on his son.
Then Emily.
Then Martin.
Then Thomas.
Then the disabled phone in Noah's hand.
Robert's face changed.
“Noah?”
For one second nobody moved.
May you like
Then Noah said the words Victoria had spent three years making sure his father would never believe.
“Dad, your wife just tried to kill me.”
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