Page 69 of Taboo
"What? You’re not siblings? You’re lying,” I hiss, my voice shaking. My hands clench into fists. “You’re making this up to save yourself. You conniving whore.”
Amelia shakes her head, her gaze cold, resolute, cutting through me like a knife. “A DNA test will prove it. One simple swab, and you’ll know the truth. All your machinations are for nothing. You’ve got no leverage, Sara.”
Her words are like a hammer, shattering my certainty. I stumble back in horror. The video, my plan, my leverage—it’s all slipping through my fingers. All I can see is her, Queen Bitch, standing there, defiant, tearing my world to shreds with her bare hands.
Chapter
Forty-Five
SARA
They are not related?
But Max doesn’t know. He can’t know. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be sneaking around behind my back. He’s in love with her, and he would just come out and ask for a divorce.
A DNA test will prove the truth, but I can’t take that chance because it will also mean I will lose everything if she is not lying. Horror floods me. My heart is like a trapped animal clawing at my chest. All the work and effort I have put into this. Spending two weeks with my mother. I hate her. It was hell on earth. This can’t be it.
But the witch stands there, defiant, her green eyes blazing, tearing my carefully woven scheme to shreds. If what she is saying is true, and it sure sounds very confident that it is, then she has effectively ruined my entire life. If Max learns the truth that this video exists, that I know about them—my trump card, my ticket to his entire fortune—means nothing. Max is going to win.
She is going to win.
My vision blurs, rage and panic tangling, hot and suffocating, as I stare at her, her face a smug mask of victory. My hands tremble, as everything now seems to mock me, especially the now-worthless footage.
I stumble back, as my mind races, grasping for a way out, a way to salvage this. I can’t let her tell him. She can’t ruin me. The realization hits like a lightning strike: the only way to keep my plan alive, to keep Max in the dark, is to silence her—permanently. The realization is a ray of clarity.
It’s late enough in the night to move without being spotted by anyone. It’s now or never. Or maybe I should wait till she’s asleep. But Max will be home soon. My eyes dart around the conservatory, and just like that it lands on the standing marble ashtray. Ugly thing, but the designer said it was all the rage.
It is fucking heavy, has always been.
One stroke and she should be unconscious. I can think better once I’ve shut her up. I’ll decide on my next move once she’s no longer a threat. But one thing is for sure, I can’t let her walk out of here. That would be the end of my life.
“You think you’ve won,” I hiss, my voice low, venomous, advancing, my hands shaking with a fury I can barely contain. “You think you can just walk in here, ruin me, and take everything?”
Amelia’s eyes widen, confusion flickering across her face. “Sara, what are you talking about? I’m not going to take anything from you. What happened between Max and me… It was just temporary and I am so sor?—”
Her voice falters abruptly, and she instinctively steps back.
I don’t know what she sees in me, or what has suddenly made her fearful, but I seize the moment. My fingers close around the ashtray’s cold marble stem. My heart pounds, a wild rhythm, as I swing it with all my strength, aiming for her temple.
She’s too shocked to react; her hands are only half-raised. The thick head of the ashtray connects with a sickening thud. Sickening is the wrong word. The sound is quite pleasant.
Her body crumples, her head lolling, eyes fluttering shut as she falls to the floor. I wait and listen as the soft moan escapes her lips before silence takes her. My breath comes in sharp gasps as I carefully put the ashtray back exactly where it has always stood. Actually, I realize, I was wrong, it is not as ugly as I imagined. It has its charm.
I glance at her, sprawled on the floor, her stupid blonde hair fanned out, her top twisted. There’s no time to hesitate, to waste. I need to finish this. I open the conservatory door and quietly close it behind me. Then I sprint across the lawn, the grass damp under my slippers, the night air sharp and cold.
The garden shed door creaks as I yank it open, the smell of earth and rust hitting me.
I grab the wheelbarrow and roll it back to the house, the wheels squeaking loudly. I don’t dare take it too close to the conservatory door because Maria’s room is above the conservatory and she will hear the wheels.
My heart races as I rush back into the house, seize Amelia’s limp hands, and pull her across the floor. Damn. She’s heavier than she looks, and her warmth is unsettling against my hands. I grit my teeth and bear the strain, and eventually I’m able to drag her out of the door and somehow heave her into the tilted wheelbarrow. Her head lolls against the metal edge, her hair catching on the rim. My stomach churns with nervous energy, but I push forward, wheeling her out into the night.
The lake is a short distance away, its surface glinting silver under the moon, the swing hanging over it swaying gently in the breeze. The wheelbarrow rattles over the gravel path, the sound loud in the stillness, and I move faster, sweat beading on mybrow despite the chill. I reach the water’s edge, the ground soft and muddy under my feet, and pause, my breath ragged.
This has to look like an accident.
She came out to the swing, accidentally knocked her head, and fell into the water unconscious. I tip the wheelbarrow, my arms straining, and Amelia’s body slides out, hitting the water with a dull splash. The lake swallows her, ripples spreading, her form sinking beneath the surface, her blonde hair fanning out like a ghostly halo before vanishing. I stand there, frozen, watching the water for a few more seconds. There is a warm satisfaction in knowing that she’s gone forever.
And poor Max will never know.
