Page 104 of Bitter Truths

Too late for that. They messed with the wrong bitch. But I squeeze his hand instead of saying that.

“Rest. I’ll be back later.”

I leave him with Clara and head downstairs, my mind spinning.

In the parking lot, I find Mom’s car where she left it, keys warm in my palm from when I’d asked to borrow it for errands. She’d been so pleased I was asking for her help.

If only she knew what kind of errands.

I slide into the driver’s seat and sit for a moment, planning which stores I want to hit up.

I pull out of the parking lot. First stop: the florist. I need the biggest, most elaborate arrangement they have.

The afternoon stretches ahead of me, full of possibilities.

By tonight, Whitney’s friends will understand what happens when you touch what’s mine.

* * *

The afternoon blurs together in a series of stops: hardware store for zip ties and duct tape, florist for the biggest arrangement they have—white roses and lilies that require both arms to carry, and thrift store for a black polo and baseball cap that transform me into just another delivery person.

By the time I’m outside their home, I’m someone else entirely. Hair pulled back in a tight braid like I’d wear for hunting at the refuge, cap pulled low, supplies hidden beneath the massive flower arrangement, adrenaline humming quietly and controlled in my veins.

The open house three doors down provides perfect cover. Cars line both sides of the street, people wandering in and out with that casual weekend energy. I’m just another person with somewhere to be.

Through the massive windows, I catch movement inside. Blonde hair that has to be Katie. Dark hair that’s definitely Rebecca.

Perfect.

I grab the arrangement. The flowers are so massive they’ll obscure most of my face from any security cameras.

Each step steadies my pulse further, muscle memory from years of training taking over. This isn’t about rage anymore. This is about justice.

I press the doorbell and arrange my face to look bored but professional.

Footsteps approach. The door swings open to reveal Katie in all her vapid glory—perfect blonde waves, designer athleisure, manicured nails that have never touched anything harder than a champagne flute.

“Oh wow,” she breathes, eyes going wide at the arrangement. “Those are gorgeous. Who are they from?”

“There wasn’t a card,” I say, keeping my voice flat and unremarkable.

Her face lights up like Christmas morning. “That’s so sweet! I bet they’re from Daddy for my promotion.” She steps back, gesturing for me to come inside. “Bring them in, bring them in.”

Too easy.

I step across the threshold, immediately cataloging the space. Open floor plan, white everything, minimal furniture that screams expensive and uncomfortable. Two other figures sprawled across the massive sectional—Rebecca is scrolling through her phone and Liz is painting her nails.

“Girls, look at these flowers!” Katie chirps. “Aren’t they just divine?”

I set the arrangement on the glass coffee table, straightening slowly. My cap stays low over my eyes as I adjust the blooms, buying myself a few seconds to position everything perfectly.

Rebecca glances up from her phone, and I watch recognition flicker across her face. “Wait. Do I know you?”

This is it.

I reach up and pull off the cap, the tight braid swinging behind me as I reveal my face.

Liz’s nail polish brush hovers frozen halfway to her pinky. Rebecca’s phone slips from her fingers onto the white leather. Katie’s mouth opens and closes like a fish.