My own father smashed a brick into my face because my fiancé refused to leave me for my younger sister

“Harold funded experimental medical research. Quietly. He believed a private laboratory could move faster than universities and corporations.”

“What kind of research?”

Melanie turned toward me.

“Regenerative nerve treatment.”

My heart stopped.

“Why?”

“For you,” she said.

I almost laughed.

“What are you talking about?”

Melanie’s eyes filled with tears that did not look staged this time.

“You were born with a degenerative condition affecting the optic nerve.”

“That’s impossible.”

“It was corrected when you were a baby.”

My fingers went cold.

Walter opened the notebook.

“Harold developed an early treatment using stem-cell-derived compounds. It restored the damaged nerve tissue.”

I touched the bandage over my eye.

“That treatment worked?”

“Yes,” Walter said. “You were the first successful patient.”

The room seemed to tilt beneath me.

“My parents never told me.”

“They were paid to remain silent,” Walter said.

“Paid by whom?”

He looked toward the locked storage units.

“By the company that wanted the formula.”

Before he could say more, the lights went out.

A gunshot exploded through the laboratory.

Melanie screamed.

Walter fell.

And from the darkness, my mother’s voice whispered:

“Your grandfather should have destroyed this place when he had the chance.”

—

PART 4

THE MOTHER WHO CAME BACK WITH A GUN

Emergency lights flashed red along the floor.

I dropped behind a metal table as another bullet shattered glass above my head.

“Police!” Beckett shouted from the stairwell. “Drop the weapon!”

My mother laughed.

“You think the police can protect her?”

Melanie crawled toward Walter, who lay clutching his shoulder.

“Walter’s alive!” she cried.

Wyatt’s voice suddenly echoed from behind me.

“Sadie!”

I turned in shock.

He had followed us.

Before I could stop him, he threw himself across the room and pulled me behind a reinforced cabinet.

“What are you doing here?”

“Saving you from your own terrible decisions.”

Even terrified, I wanted to cry with relief.

Gunfire erupted near the entrance.

Then my mother stepped into the red emergency light.

Her elegant coat was soaked with rain. Her hair clung to her face. In her hand was a pistol.

She looked nothing like the woman who had once baked birthday cakes and kissed scraped knees.

She looked empty.

Melanie stood slowly.

“Mom, put it down.”

“You ruined everything,” Mother hissed.

Melanie flinched.

“I did what you told me for years.”

“And then you betrayed us.”

“You were going to kill Sadie!”

Mother’s expression did not change.

“She was never supposed to survive.”

The sentence silenced the entire room.

Wyatt’s hand tightened around mine.

I stepped out from behind the cabinet.

“Why?”

Mother aimed the gun at me.

“Because you were always worth more alive than the rest of us—and more dangerous once you learned why.”

Detective Beckett moved carefully along the wall.

Mother noticed.

“Stop, Detective.”

She pressed the barrel against Melanie’s neck.

“Or she dies first.”

Melanie closed her eyes.

For the first time in my life, she looked younger than me.

Not glamorous.

Not cruel.

Just frightened.