As the cold hospital air wrapped around them, Jillian Smith stood frozen beside her mother's lifeless body, her fingers trembling as they clutched the edge of the bed. Her breath came in short, uneven gasps, her mind struggling to process the unbearable truth.
Beside her, Harlond Smith was motionless. His usually unreadable expression cracked—his lips pressed into a thin line, his fists clenched at his sides. He had fought so hard to save Lillian… and now she was gone.
Behind them, standing just far enough to avoid notice but close enough to witness their suffering, Camilla Robinson watched.
And inside, she was smiling.
She had perfected the art of deception long ago, so when the doctor announced Lillian's death, she let out a perfectly rehearsed gasp and placed a gentle hand over her chest, as if stricken with grief.
But beneath that false sorrow, her heart swelled with satisfaction.
This moment—**this pain, this devastation written across their faces—**was the reward for her careful planning.
The toxin had done its work.
The forged medical reports had ensured there would be no suspicion.
And now, Lillian Smith was dead.
Camilla's fingers twitched slightly—the only sign of the excitement she was barely containing. She wanted to grin, to laugh, to revel in her victory. But she couldn't. Not yet.
So instead, she stepped forward, offering a soft, sorrowful voice. "I… I'm so sorry. This is just… so sudden."
Jillian barely acknowledged her.
Harlond, however, turned slightly, his sharp gaze flickering to her. For a brief moment, Camilla wondered if he sensed something.
But then, his eyes fell back to Lillian's body. Overwhelmed. Broken.
And Camilla knew—they were too consumed by grief to see the truth.
******
Two days after Lillian's death, Jillian couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Her mother had been getting better—then suddenly, she was gone. The doctors claimed it was complications, but Jillian wasn't convinced.
Determined to find answers, she returned to her mother's hospital room, searching for anything out of place. The room had already been cleaned, but as she ran her fingers along the bedside table, she felt something—a folded piece of paper, wedged into a tiny gap behind the drawer.
Her heart pounded as she pulled it out. A letter.
Her mother's handwriting.
With shaky hands, Jillian unfolded it, her eyes scanning the words:
["Jillian, if you find this, something is terribly wrong. I overheard them. I am not just sick—someone is doing this to me. You must tell your father. The poison—"]
The note ended abruptly.
Jillian felt a chill run down her spine. The poison? Her mother had known?
She barely had time to process the words before she heard the door creak open.
Camilla Robinson stepped inside.
Jillian's instinct screamed at her to hide the letter. She quickly shoved it into her coat pocket, trying to appear calm.
Camilla's eyes swept the room. "Oh, Jillian… I thought I might find you here. It's hard to say goodbye, isn't it?"
Jillian forced a nod, willing her racing heart to slow. "Yeah… I just wanted a moment."
Camilla smiled, too sweetly. "Of course. Take all the time you need."
Jillian waited for her to leave, but Camilla didn't move. Instead, she stepped closer, her eyes flickering toward Jillian's coat pocket for the briefest second.
A cold realization hit Jillian. She knows.
But how? Had Camilla seen the letter? Or had she been watching her all along?
Trying to keep her composure, Jillian gave a small, forced smile. "I'll be out soon."
Camilla finally nodded. "Alright, dear."
As soon as Camilla left, Jillian exhaled sharply, pulling the letter from her pocket—but her hands met nothing.
The letter was gone.
Jillian frantically patted her coat, checking the floor, the bedside table—but it had vanished.
Her chest tightened. Camilla must have taken it.
Somehow, some way, the only proof she had that her mother was murdered… had disappeared.
Her mind raced. How? She had tucked it safely into her coat pocket—there was no way she had dropped it.
Then, her eyes narrowed. Camilla.
Jillian replayed the moment in her head. Had she been distracted?
And then it clicked—the hug.
Right before Camilla left, she had placed a gentle hand on Jillian's shoulder, then pulled her into a brief but firm embrace.
At the time, it had felt… odd. Unnecessary.
Now, Jillian realized—that was the moment.
Camilla must have slipped her hand into the coat pocket, pinched the letter between her fingers, and smoothly pulled it away without Jillian even noticing.
Jillian's blood ran cold.
Camilla had known exactly what she was doing. She had orchestrated the perfect moment to take the only proof Lillian had left behind.
Jillian's hands clenched into fists.
That woman had just stolen her mother's last words.
And now, there was no telling what she would do with it.
Camilla Robinson stormed into her private study, slamming the door shut behind her. Her fingers trembled as she unfolded the stolen letter, Lillian Smith's final words staring back at her.
She let out a sharp breath, her teeth clenched. That little brat. Jillian Smith had been too close.
Camilla paced the dimly lit room, her heels clicking against the marble floor. She had thought Lillian's death would be the end of it—a perfect execution, no loose ends. But Jillian had dug too deep, too fast.
And she had almost found the truth.
Camilla gritted her teeth, crushing the letter in her fist. "You just couldn't leave it alone, could you?" she hissed under her breath.
Jillian was a problem now. A real problem.
She had always found the girl irritating—too stubborn, too sharp, too much like her father. But now? Now she was a threat.
Camilla took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. No, she wouldn't panic. She had handled worse.
She smoothed out the letter, eyes flickering over the words. The poison. Lillian knew.
If Jillian had this letter, she would have gone straight to Harlond. And that couldn't happen.
With a slow smirk, Camilla pulled out a matchbox.
"This never existed," she whispered.
She struck the match, watching the small flame flicker to life. Holding the letter above it, she let the fire lick at the paper's edges.
The ink curled, blackened, disappeared.
Just like Lillian.
Just like any proof Jillian might find.
As the last ashes crumbled between her fingers, Camilla smiled.
Jillian could search all she wanted.
But she would find nothing.
Jillian paced in the grand study of the Smith estate, her heart pounding. She had debated whether to tell her father—without proof, would he even believe her?
But this was too important to stay silent. She had to try.
Harlond Smith sat behind his desk, staring blankly at a half-finished glass of whiskey. He looked tired, distant. Grief had hardened his features even more in the past few days, but Jillian knew he wasn't just mourning. He was angry.
And right now, she was about to test his patience.
Taking a deep breath, Jillian stepped forward. "Father… I found something. A letter."
Harlond looked up, his sharp eyes narrowing. "A letter?"
Jillian nodded. "It was hidden in Mother's hospital room. She wrote it. She knew something was wrong. She—"
"Where is it?" Harlond cut in.
Jillian hesitated. "I… I don't have it anymore."
Harlond's expression darkened. "You lost it?"
"No!" Jillian insisted. "Camilla stole it."
Harlond exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. The exhaustion in his eyes turned to irritation.
"Jillian," he said slowly, "I know this is difficult, but you're grasping at shadows. Camilla was with us when your mother passed. What possible reason would she have to steal a letter?"
"Because she knows something," Jillian shot back. "She—she distracted me, and when I checked my pocket, it was gone! She must have taken it before I could show you!"
Harlond leaned forward, his gaze hard. "And yet, you have no proof."
Jillian clenched her fists. She knew what she saw. She knew Camilla was involved.