Too Late For Regret: The Heiress's Revenge

Aliana POV

I waited until 3:00 AM, when the house finally settled into the silence of a tomb.

I sat huddled in the corner of my bathroom, the shower running full blast to mask my voice. In my trembling hand, I clutched a burner phone I'd swiped from a gardener's jacket two days ago.

I dialed the number from memory.

Debi Frost. A forensic accountant I had met during a case in Boston. She hated the mob, and she owed me a favor.

"Pick up," I whispered.

The line clicked.

"Hello?" Her voice was groggy but sharp.

"Debi, it's Aliana."

Silence stretched between us.

Then, "Are you safe?"

"No," I said.

"I need you to look into something. Ivan Hughes. Kiera Reese. K&L Holdings."

I fed her everything I had found. The account numbers. The dates. The names.

"I'll find it," she said, her tone shifting to professional steel. "Aliana... if they catch you..."

"They won't," I said. "Just get me the proof."

I hung up and destroyed the SIM card, flushing the pieces down the toilet before turning off the shower.

Suddenly, my stomach cramped violently. I doubled over, clutching the sink as nausea rolled through me. The poison. It was in the food. It was in the water.

I had to stop eating. I had to survive on the protein bars I had stashed in my medical bag.

Taking a steadying breath, I remembered the secret passage. The house was built in the 1920s, during prohibition, and riddled with tunnels behind the walls.

I found the latch behind a heavy tapestry in the hallway. It opened with a low groan of rusted hinges, and I slipped inside.

The air was stale and cold. I navigated the narrow space, counting my steps until I ended up behind the wall of Ivan's temporary study in the east wing.

I peered through a vent. He wasn't there.

Carefully, I pushed the grate open and climbed out.

I went straight to his desk. I didn't need a key; I used a hairpin to pick the lock. It was a simple mechanism, almost insulting.

Inside, I found a leather binder. I opened it, and my blood turned to ice.

It was a birth certificate.

Name: Leo Hughes.

Father: Ivan Hughes.

Mother: Kiera Reese.

It was official. Legal. But underneath it was a stack of printed emails.

From: Eleanor Donovan.

To: Ivan Hughes.

Subject: The Problem.

"The dosage is being increased. She is becoming lethargic. By the wedding night, she will be too weak to protest. You can dispose of her quietly after the heir is secured. We will say it was a heart defect."

My hand flew to my mouth to stifle a scream.

My mother.

She wasn't just compliant. She was the architect. She was discussing my murder like she was planning a dinner menu.

Dispose of her quietly.

I took photos of every page with the burner phone's camera before I destroyed the SIM.

Wait. I couldn't send these yet. I needed to keep them safe.

I put the binder back, climbed back into the vent, and crawled back to my room.

I sat on the floor, surrounded by shadows, and felt something break inside me. It was the last tether of hope. The last childish wish that my parents loved me.

They didn't love me. I was livestock. And now I was being led to the slaughterhouse.

But livestock doesn't fight back.

I stood up and walked to the mirror. I looked at the woman staring back. She looked haunted. She looked scared. I hated her.

I closed my eyes and imagined the fire. I imagined burning this whole house to the ground. When I opened my eyes, the fear was gone. It was replaced by a cold, hard diamond of rage.

I wasn't the Caged Canary anymore. I was the surgeon. And I was going to cut the cancer out of this family.

The next morning, I went down to breakfast.

I walked slowly. I let my shoulders slump. I made my hands tremble visibly when I reached for the juice.

Ivan was there. He watched me with a satisfied smirk.

"You look pale, my love," he said.

"I don't feel well," I whispered, keeping my gaze lowered. "I'm just so tired."

He reached out and stroked my cheek. "Don't worry," he said. "Once we are married, I will take care of you. You won't have to worry about anything."

I leaned into his touch. It made my skin crawl, but I forced myself to endure it.

"Thank you, Ivan," I said. "I trust you."

His smile widened. He thought he had won. He thought I was broken.

Later that day, I saw Leo in the garden. He had come with Kiera, who was supposedly visiting to "help with the wedding planning."

The audacity.

Leo was chasing a butterfly. He fell and scraped his knee, starting to cry.

I walked over and knelt down.

"Let me see," I said.

He looked at me with big, tear-filled eyes.

I cleaned the scrape with a wipe from my pocket and put a band-aid on it.

"There," I said. "Brave soldier."

He smiled. "Thank you, lady," he said.

My heart ached. He was innocent. He was a pawn, just like me. But he was also the proof I needed to destroy his father.

I stood up.

Kiera was watching from the terrace. She glared at me.

I didn't glare back. I smiled. A weak, pathetic smile.

She sneered and turned away. She had no idea. None of them did.

I went back to my room and pulled out the dress I was supposed to wear to the Charity Gala in two days.

It was white. Innocent. Pure.

I ran my hand over the silk. I would wear it. I would play the part.

But underneath the silk, I was sharpening my scalpel. And when I cut, I wouldn't miss.