HAILEY’S REVENGE

I stepped into the airport VIP lounge, my heart thudding with anticipation. My blonde hair—loose, soft, and still slightly curled from this morning’s effort—caught the light as I moved, but I barely noticed the way people glanced my way. My mind was a swirl of emotion. I had just won a first-class ticket to Washington, D.C.—my hometown, a city I hadn’t seen in almost twenty years. Excitement buzzed through me, but so did something heavier. Today marked the anniversary of my parents’ death. I was going home, but not just to relive memories—I was going back to face them. Trying to distract myself, I grazed the snack bar, picking up food I wasn’t hungry for. A chocolate truffle. A finger sandwich. Anything to keep my hands busy. I sipped on some sparkling juice, too lost in thought to even taste it. Then—bam. I spun too fast and crashed into someone. The juice sloshed forward, soaking the front of a dark, tailored suit. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” I gasped, scrambling for napkins. “I didn’t mean to—” But when I looked up, my words caught in my throat. He was tall. No—towering. Built like a Greek statue, with piercing icy-blue eyes that locked onto mine. His jawline was sharp, partially shadowed by a perfectly trimmed beard, and his curls fell in a way that made him look effortlessly magnetic. “Wow…” I breathed, completely forgetting the suit for a second. His expression? Ice cold. “Excuse you,” he snapped, stepping back with a glare. “What is wrong with you?” “I—I’m really sorry,” I stammered. “Let me just—” He caught my wrist mid-air as I tried to help. “Don’t bother,” he said, dropping my hand like I was contagious. “You’ve already ruined my day.” And then, just like that, he turned and walked off. Mortified, I stood there frozen for a moment before quickly sinking into the nearest empty seat. “What is wrong with me?” I whispered, heat flooding my cheeks. As if today didn’t already feel heavy enough. Soon after, the announcement came: my flight was ready for boarding. I stood up, pulled myself together, and walked to the gate, still reeling from embarrassment. But life, apparently, wasn’t done with me. As I stepped onto the plane and headed toward my first-class seat, I saw him again. Of course. He was already standing by his row, lifting a sleek carry-on into the overhead bin. When our eyes met, I opened my mouth. “I’m really sorry about earlier,” I said quietly. “If the suit is ruined, I’ll gladly pay for the dry cleaning.” He held up a hand to cut me off. “Save it,” he said, then turned away without another word. I slid into my seat and stared out the window, chewing the inside of my cheek. Not my best moment. But I didn’t have the energy to dwell on it—not with what today meant. Nineteen years ago today, I lost everything. I reached into my purse and pulled out my wallet. Tucked inside was a small, timeworn photograph—my parents smiling, so alive, so young. The sight of it made my throat tighten. “I miss you,” I whispered, brushing my thumb over their faces. When we finally landed in D.C., I stepped out of the plane and was instantly wrapped in a familiar breeze. Something in my chest cracked open. “It feels so good to be back home,” I murmured. I pulled out my phone and hit dial. “Hey, Grandma,” I said, my voice softening. “Sweetheart,” she replied, her tone warm but laced with worry. “Please don’t forget to eat. You always forget unless someone’s there to remind you.” I smiled. “I’m trying to be better. I promise.” “Try harder,” she teased gently. “I’ll always worry. That’s the deal.” “I know. I love you.” “Love you more.” A man in uniform spotted me from across the terminal. “Miss Hailey… over here!” By the time we reached the old house, I was barely breathing. The cream-colored duplex stood framed by trees and bathed in soft sunlight. The porch, still decorated with flower boxes, looked like a snapshot from my childhood. When the car came to a stop, I stepped out slowly. Everything smelled the same. Honeysuckle. Fresh grass. Home. While the driver handled my bags, I made my way to the side yard. The swing was still there—hanging from the old oak tree. I sat down gently, the seat creaking beneath me. This was where I used to play with them. Their laughter once echoed here. Now? Just silence. “I’ve never felt so alone,” I whispered. I stood and brushed my jeans, heading toward the front door. It opened before I knocked. “Miss Hailey?” Mr. Collins, our long-time housekeeper, stood smiling. His hair had more gray now, but his eyes were the same—kind and familiar. “You look just like your mom,” he said warmly. “A whole woman now. Feels like yesterday you left.” I hugged him. “It’s good to see you, Mr. Collins.” “Your grandma told me you’re a lawyer now,” he said proudly. “Just like your father. He’d be so proud.” “Thank you,” I said softly, but my feet were already pulling me toward one place—Dad’s office. The door creaked open, and I stepped inside. The scent hit me instantly. Books. Dust. Memories. Everything was just how I remembered it. His desk, his chair, his shelves. “He spent so much time in here,” I murmured, my fingers brushing across the edge of the desk. I sat down slowly, letting myself feel it all—the weight of his presence, the pain of his absence. Then I stood and walked to the bookcase, scanning the shelves for the legal texts I needed. I started pulling out books one by one… until something strange caught my eye. A book that didn’t belong. It was too dusty. Untouched. I tugged on it—and instead of sliding out, it clicked. My heart jumped as the wall beside it creaked open, revealing a narrow hidden passage. What the hell? Carefully, I stepped inside. My fingers searched the wall until I found a light switch. The bulb flickered on—and I froze. The room was covered in clippings, notes, photos. The name “Arnold Groups” was scrawled again and again. My heart pounded. Drawn to the desk at the center, I found a file—thick, old, and worn. I flipped it open. The pages told a story. A horrifying, undeniable story. Arnold Groups wasn’t just a company. They were killers. They murdered my parents. I stared at the evidence scattered around me, tears still blurring my vision. But something changed in that moment. The grief burned away into something hotter. Rage. “I’ll make life miserable for them,” I muttered, collecting every page with trembling hands. “I’ll make them pay for what they did.” I stepped out of that room changed. No longer just the grieving daughter. Now, I had a mission. I closed the door behind me and turned to find Mr. Collins nearby. “Could you please bring my bags?” I asked, my voice calm now. He blinked. “Your bags? But… I thought you’d be staying.” I gave him a gentle smile, even as the storm raged behind my eyes. “I won’t be staying, Mr. Collins.”