Chapter 4

On the third day, Jim was set on giving Tracy a proposal to remember.

Tracy implored him, "We cannot do this without Dorothy's blessing. We are family, are we not?"

Despite my burns, I was pushed to leave the hospital early.

As I was about to climb into the car, Tracy's daughter slammed the door shut, her nose wrinkled in disgust. "Mom, I do not want to sit with Aunt. She smells weird."

"Sorry, Dorothy," Tracy said, feigning concern, but she did not even pretend to open the door for me.

Alan looked uneasy, but after a moment's hesitation, he turned away.

I said, my voice flat and emotionless, "I will catch a cab."

When I got back to the Johnsons', the staff steered clear of me like I was contagious.

Running on fumes, I made it to my room, pulled out my phone, and saw Yves' text:

[Be ready at 2 PM. I will pick you up.]

There was a video attached to his message.

"Do not be a pushover, Smith girl."

I checked the time. Three hours left.

I added the old man's son, who had been in the hospital bed next to mine, on Messenger.

I sent him the fee we had agreed on, telling him to drop off the package at the police station by 1:30 PM.

With that done, I sat quietly, listening to the sounds of the bustling house below me.

That was when Tracy showed up with a dress. "Dorothy, this is for you."

I barely glanced at the so-called dress. The fabric was laughably cheap and skimpy. Even barmaids dressed better.

I gave her a half-smile, and she glared back, furious. "How can you be so bold at a time like this?"

When Jim arrived, Tracy's tune changed to one of self-pity. "I tried to give Dorothy her dress, but she does not seem to like it. My arms are aching from holding it, and she will not even take it."

Jim scowled at me, clearly annoyed.

He called over a servant named Marina. "Marina, redesign Mrs. Johnson's outfit into something proper. If she does not like what Tracy brought, you will take care of it."

The staff had never really taken me seriously.

Marina, following orders, came at me with scissors in hand. As she cut, the fresh wounds mingled with yesterday's burns, and blood began to seep through. I groaned in pain, unable to do anything but watch my clothes fall apart.

Jim snapped, "That is enough."

Tracy jumped, startled, as she was whisked away. She threw me a mocking look over her shoulder before she disappeared.

I sat curled up on the ground, my arms wrapped around myself, my eyes glued to my phone.

Then, that familiar ringtone cut through the silence, and I answered with urgency, "Meet me in the garden. Now."

I followed the roar of the helicopter to the Johnsons' lush garden.

It was packed with guests. Tracy stood there, her smile perfect and poised, flanked by two children straight out of a storybook.

Jim, dapper in his suit, chose the music's crescendo to drop to one knee.

At that moment, the helicopter swooped in, scattering the onlookers, and touched down in the heart of the garden.

I pushed through the crowd, my body heavy with fatigue, reached for the hand of the person across from me, and collapsed into their embrace.

As darkness closed in, I heard a soft whisper, "Oh… what have you done to yourself?"

Just then, the doorbell rang at the Johnsons'.

The butler swung the door open to reveal the police. "I am sorry, Ms. Baker, but you are under suspicion for intentional arson resulting in injury."

Jim, still dazed by the helicopter's dramatic entrance and exit, seized the officer. "What are you saying? The real arsonist is Dorothy!"

He turned and shouted for Marina, "Get Dorothy down here!"

Marina was speechless.

A servant piped up nervously, "Mrs. Johnson might have just left on the helicopter."