I didn’t scream. I didn’t gasp. I didn’t even blink when I unfolded the note and saw her handwriting... like neat little threats dressed up in serif fonts. The kind of penmanship you’d trust to deliver a wedding invitation but somehow knew could also sign your death warrant. It was Camille’s. And it wasn’t rushed or panicked or written in some cackling villain tone. No. It was calm. Disturbingly calm. Like she’d written it from a chaise lounge in hell. Like she knew exactly how this would land. And it landed. It landed like a slap. Like a truth I didn’t want and couldn’t deny.
Dear Scarlett,
I never hated you.
I needed you distracted. That’s not the same.
You were never the target.
You were the bait.
Don’t look so shocked.
You’ve always been easy to follow. Loud mind. Loud heart. Lo
