Chapter 4 - Last RitesWilla watched from behind the winter-bare hedges as the priest stepped into the Kane mansion.
Not the chapel priest from the wedding. This man was older, heavier, with nervous hands and shoes too polished for a midnight emergency. He clutched his coat tight against the snow while Sterling guided him inside like a host welcoming dinner guests.
The legal man followed.
Willa knew what it meant.
They were preparing the story.
Everett Kane had suffered a sudden decline after his unstable new wife interfered with treatment. The family had called spiritual counsel. Doctors had done everything they could. His passing was tragic, unavoidable, medically documented.
And when he died, Sterling would inherit the empire he had already begun to steal.
Willa backed away from the hedge and pulled out Marco’s burner phone.
No new messages.
She typed quickly.
They brought a priest. Legal folder. I’m entering through east.
The response came seconds later.
Too many guards. Don’t.
Willa looked at the glowing windows.
Then she typed one word.
Sorry.
She tucked the phone into her coat and moved.
The east service entrance was watched now, but the old estate had been built long before cameras and electronic locks. Rich families loved hidden passages when they feared their own servants. Willa had noticed a narrow coal door near the kitchen courtyard the morning she arrived. It was half-covered by ivy and probably forgotten by everyone except maintenance staff.
The lock was old.
The hinges screamed softly when she forced it open.
She slipped inside.
The passage beyond was black and freezing. She moved with one hand against the wall, following the smell of damp stone until she reached a boiler room beneath the kitchen. From there, she climbed a back stairwell and emerged behind a pantry lined with silver serving trays.
Voices came from the kitchen.
Two maids whispering.
“Sterling says she ran.”
“Maybe she had sense.”
“What about Mr. Kane?”
A pause.
Then, very softly, “My aunt cleaned that room. She said his eye opened.”
Willa held still.
The second maid gasped. “Don’t say that.”
“I’m telling you what she said.”
“If Sterling hears—”
“I know.”
The kitchen door swung open.
Willa ducked behind shelves just as Crowley entered.
His suit jacket was gone. One cheek was bruised. His white gloves were missing, revealing hands that trembled slightly.
The maids fell silent.
“Leave us,” he said.
They hurried out.
Crowley turned toward the pantry without surprise.
“You may come out, Mrs. Kane.”
Willa stepped into the kitchen.
“What happened to you?”
“I tripped over my loyalty.”
“Where is Everett?”
“Lower medical suite. Old wine cellar converted during his father’s illness. Sterling moved him there after you escaped.”
“Why?”
“Fewer windows. Thicker doors. Easier to control.”
“And the priest?”
Crowley’s face hardened.
“Insurance.”
Willa felt sick.
“I need to get to him.”
“You cannot walk in. The hall is guarded.”
“There has to be another way.”
Crowley hesitated.
Willa stepped closer.
“You already helped me once.”
“That was before Sterling reminded me I have a daughter in Boston.”
The words stopped her.
Crowley looked away.
“She teaches second grade. Has twin boys. Sterling knows their school. Their address. Their morning route.”
Willa’s anger softened into something colder.
“He threatened them.”
“He does not need to threaten. He mentions details.”
Willa looked toward the hall.
“Then help me end this before he can hurt anyone else.”
Crowley closed his eyes.
For a moment, he looked very old.
Then he walked to the wall beside the pantry and pressed a carved wooden panel near the floor. Something clicked.
A narrow service door opened.
“This passage runs behind the wine racks,” he said. “It ends in a linen closet beside the lower medical suite. You will have perhaps three minutes alone with him when the priest is brought in. Sterling prefers witnesses in the room for appearances. Whitfield will step out to speak with the attorney.”
“How do you know?”
“Because villains are repetitive.”
Willa almost smiled.
Crowley handed her a key.
“This opens the internal lock. Not the outside door.”
She took it.
“Thank you.”
“Do not thank me unless we survive.”
She entered the passage.
It was narrow and smelled of dust, cork, and old secrets. Willa moved sideways, her shoulder scraping the wall. The sounds of the house changed around her. Footsteps became muffled. Voices rose and vanished.
At the end, she found the linen closet.
Through the cracked door, she saw the lower medical suite.
Everett’s bed had been placed beneath low stone arches. The monitors glowed green in the dim room. Two guards stood near the door. Whitfield hovered beside the IV pump, his leather case open.
Sterling stood at Everett’s bedside.
He was speaking softly.
Willa leaned closer.
“You should have died in the car,” Sterling said. “You always had terrible timing.”
Everett lay still.
Sterling touched the blanket near his cousin’s shoulder.
“You built too much, Ev. You made men loyal to you, not the name. You made yourself necessary. That was selfish.”
Whitfield glanced toward the guards, uneasy.
“Sterling.”
“What? He hears nothing.”
Willa’s hand tightened around the closet door.
Sterling leaned down.
“Your little bride was a surprise, though. I chose her because she was broken. Cheap. Easy to control. Then she looked at you like you were human.”
He laughed softly.
“Sentiment is a disease.”
Everett heard him.
The words moved through the darkness like fire.
Cheap. Broken. Easy.
Not Willa.
Never Willa.
His rage hit the monitor.
The pulse line jumped.
Whitfield turned sharply.
Sterling stepped back.
“Again?”
“He is reacting to stimuli,” Whitfield snapped. “We need to stabilize him.”
“Then do it.”
“No,” said a new voice.
The priest had entered.
He stood at the threshold, pale and trembling.
“I was told the man was dying peacefully,” he said. “Not that you were discussing how inconvenient it is that he lives.”
Sterling’s expression changed instantly.
“Father, you misunderstand.”
“I understand enough.”
The attorney behind him looked uncomfortable.
Sterling’s smile returned, smooth and dangerous.
“Father, grief makes words sound harsher than intended.”
Willa knew this was the moment.
Whitfield closed his case, preparing to leave the room with the attorney as Crowley had predicted. The guards shifted their attention toward Sterling and the priest.
Willa slipped out of the linen closet.
She moved behind the monitors, low and silent, until she reached Everett’s side.
His hand lay beneath the blanket.
She touched his fingers.
His pulse jumped.
“I’m here,” she whispered.
His right index finger twitched once.
Willa’s eyes burned.
“Listen to me. Naomi tested the syringe. We have proof. I’m getting a real doctor. But they brought a priest. I think they’re planning to end this tonight.”
Everett tried to move.
His fingers trembled.
Willa looked at the IV pump. The bag was new. The label was printed, but the tubing near the port had a fresh injection cap.
Whitfield had already given something.
She could not undo it blindly. Not without risking him. She needed time.
But time was exactly what Sterling was stealing.
Behind her, Sterling’s voice sharpened.
“Perhaps we should all step out and allow Dr. Whitfield to handle the medical emergency.”
The priest answered, “I will not leave.”
“You will.”
Willa glanced toward the door.
One guard saw her.
His mouth opened.
Before he could shout, Marco appeared behind him and struck him hard at the base of the neck. The man dropped.
Chaos exploded.
The second guard reached for his weapon.
Marco slammed him into the stone wall.
The priest yelled.
The attorney ran.
Sterling spun and saw Willa beside the bed.
For the first time since she had met him, true hatred broke through his polished face.
“You.”
Willa stood between him and Everett.
“Yes,” she said.
Whitfield grabbed his medical case and bolted toward the side exit.
Willa shouted, “Marco!”
“I see him!”
Marco chased him through the far door.
Sterling moved toward Willa.
“Do you think marriage makes you powerful?”
“No,” Willa said. “But it got me close enough to see what you were doing.”
Sterling laughed. “You have nothing.”
The priest stepped forward, holding up his phone.
“I have been recording since I entered.”
Sterling froze.
Willa stared.
The priest’s hand shook, but his voice did not.
“And I heard enough.”
Sterling looked at him with slow disbelief.
“You have no idea what you just did.”
The priest swallowed.
“I believe I did my duty.”
Sterling’s face went cold.
He reached into his robe pocket.
Willa saw the movement too late.
A small pistol appeared in his hand.
The priest stumbled back.
Willa turned toward Everett.
Sterling aimed at the monitor beside the bed.
“If he cannot wake,” Sterling said, “no one can prove he tried.”
The gunshot cracked through the stone room.
Glass burst.
Sparks flew.
The monitor went black.
May you like
For one terrifying second, Everett’s heart disappeared from the screen.
Then Willa screamed his name.
