Chapter 2: The Web of Deceit
The chaos of the party dissolved into a frantic, blurred memory as Scarlett moved. She didn't care about the guests, the engagement, or the scandal. She grabbed the waitress—Evelyn—by the arm, her grip desperate and bruising. She pulled her through the crowd, ignoring the whispers and the shocked faces of the elite, and shoved her into the privacy of the service elevator.
The doors slid shut, sealing them in a small, stainless steel box. Scarlett hit the button for the penthouse, her hands shaking so violently she could barely operate the panel.
"You're dead," Scarlett whispered, not as an insult, but as a statement of fact. "We buried the truth. The police, the search parties... Eleanor said you were taken by the river."
Evelyn, still holding her cheek, looked up. Her eyes were hard, a stark contrast to the soft, gentle girl Scarlett remembered. "Eleanor said a lot of things, Scarlett. But you know what she didn't say? She didn't say she paid a man to drive me into the city and dump me at an orphanage. She didn't say she wanted me gone so you would be the sole heir to the Vance fortune, making it easier for her to manipulate you."
Scarlett felt her heart fracture. She remembered the camping trip—the woods, the dark, the feeling of being watched. She remembered Eleanor’s "comforting" arms the next day, the fake tears.
"She told me you were gone," Scarlett whispered, her knees finally buckling. She slumped against the elevator wall, her turquoise silk dress bunching around her. "I blamed myself. I thought I hadn't watched you closely enough."
"That was the point," Evelyn said, her voice devoid of pity. "She needed you broken, Scarlett. She needed you dependent on her for comfort so she could mold you into the heiress she wanted."
As the elevator reached the penthouse, Scarlett realized the scope of the deception. The empire she thought she was inheriting was a chessboard, and she had been nothing more than a pawn.
When they stepped out into the hallway, Eleanor was there. She had anticipated their movement. She stood by the window, a small, silver pistol held discreetly against her side, her face drained of its usual artifice. The elegance was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating malignancy.
"I see you’ve found each other," Eleanor said, her voice smooth and chilling. "How remarkably inconvenient."
"You did this," Scarlett said, standing up, her rage now colder, sharper. "You destroyed a family for a bank account."
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"I secured a future," Eleanor countered, stepping forward. "And you, Scarlett, have been a perfect daughter until this very moment. Don't ruin it by siding with a ghost."
Evelyn didn't cower. She stepped in front of Scarlett, a protective instinct flaring. "The ghost has come to collect, Eleanor. And she has the receipts."
