---- Chapter 12 Fitzgerald found his parents in the living room of the family home. They were comforting Hailie, who was weeping dramatically about Caleb's "cruel rejection." "That boy has lost his mind," Beverley was saying, stroking Hailie's hair. "Don't you worry, dear. We're your family now." Fitzgerald felt a wave of nausea. He had spent the last few days locked in his room, the reality of what they had done replaying in his mind like a horror film. Ericka's quiet suffering, her bloody knees, her thin frame. Her death. "She's dead," he said, his voice flat. The cheerful chatter in the room stopped. "Fitzgerald, don't be morbid," his father snapped. "Ericka is dead," he repeated, his voice louder. "She killed herself." He threw a folder onto the coffee table. Inside was a copy of the death certificate and Ericka's terminal cancer diagnosis. His parents stared at the documents, their faces paling. Beverley let out a strangled sob. "No... it can't be..." ---- Hailie's eyes widened, but there was no sadness in them. Just a flicker of annoyance, as if Ericka had managed to upstage her one last time. She quickly rearranged her features into a mask of grief. "Oh, the poor thing," she whispered, moving to comfort Beverley. Fitzgerald watched her, his stomach churning with revulsion. He saw the crocodile tears, the fake sympathy. He remembered all the times Hailie had subtly turned them against Ericka, twisting her pain into acts of defiance, her silence into stubbornness. He had been so blind. They all had. After his parents, overcome with a grief they had no right to, went to their room, Fitzgerald was left alone with Hailie. He stared at her, a cold dread seeping into his bones. "Why aren't you crying?" he asked, his voice low. Hailie's feigned sadness intensified. "| am! I'm just trying to be strong for your parents!" He knew she was lying. He saw the truth in the coldness of her eyes. But he didn't have proof. Not yet. He told her to go to her room, his voice harsh. She flounced off, shooting him a look of pure malice over her shoulder. He was no longer a useful ally, so he had become an enemy. ---- Later that night, he passed her room and heard a crash. He paused, listening. "Stupid, dead bitch!" Hailie's voice was a furious hiss. "Even in death, you have to ruin everything! Why couldn't you just die quietly?" The venom in her voice was chilling. Fitzgerald's blood ran cold. It was her. She was the one who had wanted Ericka gone. She had orchestrated everything. He threw open the door. The room was a mess, and Hailie stood in the middle of it, her face a mask of ugly, twisted rage. When she saw him, her expression shifted instantly back to one of tearful fragility. But he had seen. He knew. Just then, the front door slammed open. Caleb strode in, his face dark, his eyes burning with a terrifying fire. He was followed by several of his most imposing bodyguards. "Caleb!" Hailie cried, running toward him, her arms outstretched. "Fitzgerald was scaring me!" Caleb slapped her hand away. "Don't touch me." He threw a laptop onto the sofa. "Play it," he ordered Fitzgerald. Fitzgerald pressed the spacebar. Hailie's voice filled the room, confessing everything, laughing about how easily she had ---- manipulated them all. Beverley and Franklin came running downstairs, drawn by the noise. They froze, listening to the recording, their faces crumbling in horror. The recording ended. The silence was deafening. Hailie stared at them, her face ashen. The game was over. "It's not what it sounds like!" she stammered, looking at my parents for support. But their faces were filled with nothing but dawning horror and self-loathing. "You... you did this," Beverley whispered, her voice trembling. "You killed my daughter." Hailie turned to Caleb, her eyes pleading. "Caleb, | love you! | did it all for you! Caleb laughed, a cold, dead sound. "Love? You don't know the meaning of the word. You are a monster." He snapped his fingers. The bodyguards moved forward. "Take her to the villa," he ordered. "Put her in the basement."