Their Fake Death Was The Start Of My Revenge

I still couldn't wrap my head around why they thought I was such a spendthrift.

Sure, my family was loaded, but I never really cared for designer labels or luxury goods. Nothing I ever bought had cost more than a couple of grand.

Compared to the other trust-fund brats in Seaville, I was practically a saint.

Priscilla's expression stiffened. "Why would you ask that? You're so much better now."

"What do you mean 'now'?" I pushed, refusing to let it go. "What about before?"

She furrowed her brow. "Back when Mom and Dad were still around, you had no concept of the value of a dollar. They built everything from the ground up. They started as farmers. Even I had to account for every cent I spent."

She sighed, her eyes searching mine. "But you? You'd pester them for birthday presents that cost thousands. Don't you think that's a bit much?"

I took two steps toward her, getting worked up. "We can easily afford it! Is spending over a grand on a phone really such a crime? What's the point of making money if I can't even have that?"

Her face clouded over. "Listen to yourself. It's just a phone. Any cheaper model would have worked just fine, but you were vain, always trying to keep up with the Joneses. That's why you were always asking for this and that."

She gestured to our cramped surroundings. "You've had nothing for the last five years, and look at you. Haven't you gotten by just fine?"

I stared at her in disbelief. The blood in my veins felt like it had turned to ice.

Fine? In her eyes, had these past five years really been "fine" for me?

I'd spent every day playing a corpse, begging directors for more scenes just to scrape together an extra 50 bucks. Sometimes I was sprawled in the mud; sometimes I was face-down in foul drainage ditches. I'd lie there, motionless, for ten hours at a stretch.

My old archenemy, Matthew Logan, had seen how far I'd fallen and seized every chance to mess with me, but I had no way to fight back.

Just so Priscilla and I could have a decent New Year, I'd even signed up for a clinical trial. I still had no idea what those experimental chemicals were doing to my body.

Did she really think I'd been getting by just fine?

A twisting pain seized my stomach again, and Matthew's words came back to me.

"You're a moron, Perry. You brought all of this on yourself. I'm going to follow you wherever you go. Whatever set you're on, I'll be there. My family has enough money to buy my way onto any production I want. For the next five years, I'm going to make your life a living hell."

A sudden chill shot through me, making my hair stand on end.

Five years. Why did he say exactly five years? Did Matthew know something too?

My gut told me that Priscilla was hiding even more than she was letting on.

I balled my fists, suppressing the urge to confront her right then and there. "Fine. I'll change."

Priscilla set the dishes down and patted my head, looking relieved. "That's more like it. Eat dinner on your own. I have to head to work."

I just nodded.

After dinner, Priscilla left for work.

Once she left, I waited a few minutes before putting on a mask and cap. I slipped out the door, following her at a distance.

As soon as she cleared the run-down neighborhood, she stepped to the curb and made a quick call. Less than five minutes later, a sleek black Maybach pulled up right in front of her.

Once she got in the car, I quickly hailed a cab to tail her.

…

Half an hour later, she walked into an upscale restaurant.

I waited five minutes before slipping inside and finding a table directly behind hers.

Nerves got the better of me. I kept my head down, not daring to look at who was sitting across from her. But the moment I heard the voice from the other side of the table, I froze.

"Priscilla, I've been messing with Perry just like you asked. He's been a real good boy lately, hasn't he?"

It was Matthew!