"Mack, you should try doing more good in this world. People who walk a dark path tend to meet ghosts in the night."


    With those words, Briony cast a cold, contemptuous nce at Madeline, who was sitting on the steps. Then she turned and strode out of the house.


    "Briony! I''ll kill you!"


    Mack snarled, teeth clenched in fury. He grabbed a heavy flowerpot from a nearby table and charged at her, raising it high, ready to bring it crashing down on her head-


    "Mack!!"


    Madeline shrieked, her eyes wide in panic. "What are you all just standing there for? Stop him-now!"


    The house staff rushed forward, grabbing Mack and pulling him back before he could strike.


    The flowerpot slipped from Mack''s grasp and smashed to pieces on the floor, shards and dirt scattering everywhere.


    Briony paused and nced back at the mess. She lifted her gaze, her eyes full of disgust as she stared at Mack, his face red with rage and violence.


    A cold, mocking smile curved her lips. "You really are just like Malcolm."


    Mack froze.


    "Here''s the deal, Mack. In three days, you''lle sign the donation agreement, or I''ll take my medical report and this recording straight to the police and file an attempted murder charge."


    "Bullshit!" Mack roared, still struggling against the staff restraining him. "You think this little game is enough to threaten me? Let me tell you something go ahead, call the cops! I''m not scared of you! A couple of scratches and some lousy recording-you really think the Kensington family can''t make this disappear?" "You''re right, that evidence alone might not be enough to put you away. But imagine the headlines: ''CEO of the Kensington Group used of Attempted Murder.'' With thepany''s current situation, do you think your business could survive the fallout?"


    Mack fell silent, stunned.


    Madeline and the other Kensingtons were livid, hurling insults at Briony, but not a single one dared to step forward and challenge her outright.


    To Briony, they looked like nothing more than pathetic clowns.


    Every angry, twisted face was uglier than thest.


    She turned away, no longer interested in their outbursts, and walked straight for the door.


    The massive Kensington estate stood with its doors thrown wide open.


    When she''d arrived, she''d been alone outnumbered, facing gloating enemies. But as she left, she carried herself with quiet confidence, and this time, no one dared stop her.


    A white BMW crawled down the quiet road.


    It wasn''t until she''d put three miles between herself and the Kensington mansion that Briony finally began to rx. Her body started to tremble, the shock catching up with her atst.


    She wasn''t nearly as calm or confident as she''d appeared back there.


    Blood still trickled from the cut on her forehead, and a wave of dizziness washed over her.


    She needed a hospital.


    She couldn''t let herself ck out behind the wheel.


    Up ahead, the traffic lights blurred in her vision at the next intersection.


    Briony shook her head, fighting to stay awake, but her eyelids grew heavier by the second.


    Her phone buzzed relentlessly in her purse.


    She pressed her foot on the brake and the BMW rolled to a stop at the red light.


    With thest of her strength, Briony fished her phone out, squinting at the screen


    to see who was calling-but everything was just a blur.


    She was so tired...


    Her finger managed to swipe the answer button, but the phone slipped from her hand, tumbling to the floor.


    Briony slumped over the steering wheel, consciousness slipping away.


    On the floor mat, the phone screen still glowed, showing an iing call from "Stewart."


    "Briony, where are you?"


    "Briony? Say something! Briony?"


    Stewart''s deep voice, edged with panic, echoed through the silent car.


    His only answer was the ring of car horns behind her, impatient and sharp in


    the night.