Chapter 4

The sirens were getting closer, but Madison was faster.

I watched her pink Lamborghini tear through the industrial district, leaving only exhaust fumes behind. By the time police swarmed the building, she was gone.

"Fuck, she's actually gone," Ethan said, lowering his phone.

"Good." I turned away from the window. "Scared animals make better prey."

"Aria, she just tried to kill you. We need to find her, get that recording to—"

"The recording means nothing without her." I was already planning my next move. "Besides, I have a better idea."

I pulled out my phone: [Lake Huron cabin. One hour. Madison escaped. We need to talk.]

Dylan's reply came instantly: [On my way.]

"Where are you going?" Ethan called as I headed for the stairs.

"To finish what she started."

The lakeside cabin hadn't changed in five years.

Dylan's family owned half the shoreline around Lake Huron, but this weathered cottage had always been our secret hideaway. No servants, no cameras, no Crawford empire bullshit. Just us and endless water.

I found him exactly where I expected—sitting on the dock with his feet in the water, staring at nothing. He'd beaten me here by twenty minutes, probably driving like a maniac after getting my text.

Christ, he looked like hell.

Dylan had always been beautiful in that effortless way rich boys managed—golden hair, strong jaw, the kind of smile that made waitresses forget their own names.

But now he looked like a ghost of himself. His hair hung limp and unwashed, his clothes hung loose on a frame that had lost at least thirty pounds, and his hands...

His hands were covered in fresh scars.

"Hello, Dylan."

He turned slowly, like a man underwater. When he saw me, something flickered in his eyes—hope, terror, disbelief all tangled together.

"Aria?" His voice cracked on my name. "You're... you're real?"

"I'm real."

He stared at me for a long moment, then laughed—a broken, desperate sound. "I've been seeing you everywhere. In crowds, in mirrors, in my dreams. The doctors said it was guilt manifesting as hallucinations."

"What do you feel guilty about, Dylan?"

The question hit him like a physical blow. He buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking.

"Everything," he whispered. "God, everything."

I sat beside him on the dock, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin. He smelled like whiskey and desperation.

"Tell me," I said softly.

"I should have protected you." The words tumbled out in a rush. "I should have fought for you, should have known Madison was lying, should have—"

"Why didn't you?"

He flinched. "Because I was a fucking coward. Because my family threatened to cut me off completely if I didn't fall in line. Because Madison convinced me she was my sister."

"Your sister?"

Dylan's laugh was bitter. "She showed up when we were kids, claiming to be the daughter my father had with some woman before he married my mother. She had birth certificates, DNA tests, the works. My father was so guilty about abandoning her that he'd have given her anything."

"But she wasn't really your sister."

"No." His hands clenched into fists. "We found out two years ago. The DNA was faked, the documents forged. She was just some con artist who'd researched our family and played a long game."

The pieces clicked into place. Madison's obsessive need to be part of the Crawford family, her territorial behavior around Dylan, her jealousy of anyone who threatened her position.

"Why didn't you expose her?"

"By then it was too late. She had dirt on everyone—my father's affairs, my mother's pill addiction, business deals that would have destroyed us. She owned us."

"So you let her destroy me instead."

Dylan's face crumpled. "Aria, please. You have to understand—"

"Understand what?" I let ice creep into my voice. "That my life was worth less than your family's reputation?"

"No!" He grabbed my hands desperately. "That's not—I thought she just wanted you gone. I thought if I played along, she'd be satisfied with scaring you away. I never imagined she'd actually..."

"Burn twelve people alive?"

He made a sound like a wounded animal. "When I found out what she'd really done, I tried to get you out. I spent everything I had on lawyers, bribes, appeals. But Madison blocked me at every turn."

"While I was getting beaten in prison."

"Don't." His grip on my hands tightened. "Please don't tell me. I can't—"

"Can't what? Can't handle the truth about what your cowardice cost me?"

I pulled my sleeves up, revealing the scars on my wrists and forearms. Dylan went dead white.

"These are from the first month," I said conversationally. "They called me 'the rich boy's whore' and decided to teach me my place. Want to see the rest?"

"Aria, stop—"

I stood up and lifted my shirt, showing him the network of scars across my back and ribs. "This one's from a sharpened toothbrush. This one's from a bar of soap in a sock. And this..."

I pointed to a particularly ugly scar near my spine. "This one almost paralyzed me. They held me down and took turns."

Dylan was crying now, ugly, broken sobs that shook his entire body. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I tried to find you when you got out but you'd disappeared and I thought you were dead and I wanted to die too, I tried to die but even that I fucked up—"

He was spiraling, completely lost in his guilt and self-hatred. Perfect.

I knelt beside him and cupped his face in my hands. "Dylan, look at me."

His tear-filled eyes met mine.

"I forgive you," I said softly.

Hope blazed across his features like sunrise. "Really?"

"You were just a kid scared of losing your family. Madison manipulated all of us." I stroked his cheek gently. "But there's something you need to know."

"Anything. Tell me anything."

"She's not done with me. After the coffee shop today, she followed me to the old mill district. Tried to push me off a roof—wanted it to look like suicide." I let my voice shake slightly. "If some construction workers hadn't shown up when they did..."

Dylan went very still. "What?"

"She said she lit the match herself. Twelve people, Dylan. She murdered twelve innocent people just to frame me, and now she wants to finish the job."

Something dark was building behind Dylan's eyes. I'd seen that look before—the night he'd beaten a man unconscious for grabbing me at a party. Grief and guilt had twisted his protective instincts into something dangerous.

"She needs to pay," he whispered.

"Dylan, no. I don't want you to do something you'll regret—"

"Regret?" His laugh made my skin crawl. "I regret letting her live this long."

He stood up, and I watched something snap inside him. The broken, guilt-ridden man was gone, replaced by something cold and predatory.

"She took everything from me," he said quietly. "My family, my honor, my future. Most importantly, she took you."

"Dylan—"

"I'm going to kill her, Aria. I'm going to make her pay for every scar on your body."

I caught his hand as he turned to leave. "What about Ethan?"

Dylan's jaw clenched. "What about him?"

"He was part of it too. He prosecuted me, sent me to prison."

"Ethan's been in love with you since we were kids." Dylan's voice dropped. "When we got together, it nearly destroyed him."

"Then why—"

"Madison owned him. She had evidence his mother committed insurance fraud for her cancer treatments. My family also cut off the financial support for his mother's care." His voice turned bitter. "He was trapped between blackmail and threats. Just like I was."

"They both betrayed you."

I smiled, letting Dylan see something cold in my expression. "Then they both need to pay."

Dylan's answering smile was sharp as a blade. "Leave Ethan to me. I've been wanting to settle that score for years."

As he walked away, I called after him: "Dylan? Make it hurt."

He didn't answer, but the set of his shoulders told me everything I needed to know.

Phase two complete. Now all I had to do was sit back and watch them destroy each other.