Page 31 of Plot Twist in Pelican Point
“Hey, weird question: Did Sebastian just text you about the carriage house?”
A pause. “No. Why?”
“He just sent me a text. Wants me to meet him there. Alone.”
“That doesn't make sense. He’s with Marc. I just got off the phone with both of them. He didn’t text you.”
My blood goes cold.
“No. Ryan...”
“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll find him. Stay put.”
But it’s too late. There’s a knock at the door.
I spin around. Fog presses against the windows like a held breath.
“Ryan...” I whisper.
“Kate, listen to me. Don’t open that door. I’m calling Sebastian. Just get away from...”
The call drops.
Another knock—louder now, forceful and impatient, rattling the frame like a warning shot.
My breath catches in my throat. I back away slowly, heart thudding against my ribs as I reach for the wrought-iron poker leaning against the stone hearth. The cold metal bites into my palm, slick with sweat.
Too slow.
The front door doesn't creak or groan—it explodes inward with a deafening crash, the wood splintering, the lock ripped from the jamb like paper. The fog outside rushes in like an accomplice, curling around the figure that storms through the breach, face masked, movements violent.
I barely lift the poker before he's on me.
The man in a ski mask rushes me. I get a swing in—a glancing blow against his shoulder—but then there’s a sharp pain in my neck, the sting of something metallic, and the world spins.
Everything goes black.
Voices filter through the haze.
"I told you to grab her, not scare the hell out of her."
"She got a hit in. Bitch has some fight."
"Of course she does. She's a writer. They always think they can rewrite the ending."
Laughter.
My limbs won’t move yet, but sensation creeps back. There’s a chill in the air, and the scent of mildew and rust claws at my nose. Something damp beneath me. My arms are pinned.
"She was always too clever for her own good. Just like her new boyfriend."
I don’t recognize the voice—but I know that tone. Smooth. Smug. Calculated. Emma described it perfectly when she told me about Alexander Ruiz—a man who smiles while sharpening knives.
"He always had to be the golden boy. The one everyone hired. The one who got the praise, the awards, the clients that should’ve been mine. I just needed the right leverage to knock him off his pedestal."
"So you sent your sister to Roger?"
"I didn’tsendher. She volunteered. Told him Kate was too busy writing fairytales to notice him slipping away."
