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17

Let’s Make Him Pay

Hypothetical Question: If you were legally required to have a weird hobby, what would you pick?

Carina

The screen of my phone glows in the darkness of my apartment, casting shadows across my face as I read Nate’s latest hypothetical. These daily exchanges have become my anchor, though I'd never admit how much I look forward to them.

Daddy Death: If you could only eat one takeaway for the rest of your life, what cuisine would you pick?

Queen Carina: Is this hypothetical or should I give it real thought?

My fingers hover over the screen, waiting. Three dots appear immediately—he must have been waiting too. The thought makes something warm unfurl in my chest.

Daddy Death: I want a real answer.

Queen Carina: Chinese. There are so many options to pick from I don’t think I’d ever get bored.

Daddy Death: Perfect answer. Open up. I’m outside.

My head snaps up from my phone just as the doorbell chimes.

I scramble to the door, my socked feet sliding slightly on the hardwood. When I wrench it open, I find Nate standing on my doorstep, a takeaway bag in hand and an annoyingly confident grin on his face.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Chinese? Yep,” he boasts, holding up the bag like a trophy.

“How did you…?” I narrow my eyes at him.

He raises an eyebrow and gives me a pointed look, as if to say, I pay attention.

“Never mind,” I mutter, stepping aside to let him in.

His eyes sweep over me, and his smile widens. “Nice outfit,” he teases, clearly trying not to laugh.

I glance down at my hot pink pyjamas, the slogan ‘ Sassy, Sleepy, Slightly Unhinged’ plastered across the front. Heat creeps up my neck. “Don’t judge me. It’s late, and I didn’t think I’d be entertaining company.”

“Company?” He steps inside, brushing past me. “I’m flattered, Princess. Though I gotta say, those pyjamas might be the highlight of my day.”

“Shut up,” I grumble, shutting the door behind him.

He sets the bag down on the coffee table and starts unpacking containers without waiting for an invitation. “I brought extra spring rolls. Figured you’d hoard them.”

He sits beside me, close enough that his arm brushes against mine. The smell of the food wafts up, making my stomach growl.

“Hungry?” he teases, glancing at me.

“Starving,” I admit, grabbing a container of noodles.

Before I can take my first bite, an insistent knock sounds at the door.

“Expecting anyone?” Nate asks, one brow arching as he pauses mid-motion.

“No,” I whisper, my heart thudding in my chest.

Despite the nerves clawing at my insides, I make my way to the door and glance through the peephole. My eyes widen at the sight.

“It’s the police,” I hiss, backing away. Nate has already moved closer, his expression hardening.

“Shit. Are your knives hidden?” he murmurs, his voice low.

“Yes, of course! I’m not stupid.” I pause, wincing slightly. “Though… I do sometimes leave them lying around. But not today!”

“Good. Just checking.” His tone remains calm, but his eyes flick to the door. “Let’s get this over with.”

I brace myself and pull the door open. Two uniformed officers stand on the porch, their expressions neutral but assessing.

"Can I help you, officers?" I ask, forcing a polite smile and keeping my voice light.

"There's been a number of missing persons in the London area," one of them says, his gaze sweeping over me like he's memorising every inch. "We're going door-to-door to see if anyone's seen or heard anything unusual."

Oh, shit.

I grip the edge of the door tighter than necessary. "Oh—uh… No, nothing I can think of."

"We're also investigating a few open homicides." The officer flips open his notebook, scanning a page before looking at me. "Mind telling us where you were three weeks ago, on the sixteenth of November?"

My pulse stutters. My mind races. That was the day I killed Robert.

Kai had insisted on leaving Robert for the cops to find since I'd already sent the video evidence of his confession. He wasn't thrilled about it—he said it made his job harder to stage the scene and wipe away traces of us. But I stand by what I did.

I try to keep my voice even. "What does that have to do with anything?"

The officer's expression doesn't change, but I see it in his eyes—a flicker of suspicion.

Before I dig deeper, Nate steps in, voice smooth as silk.

"I surprised her with a trip to the countryside," he says, draping an easy arm around my shoulders. "Had to cram myself into her tiny car—not exactly my idea of fun, let me tell you."

The officers glance at Nate—taking in his broad frame, then gaze at my Fiat in the driveway. One of them cracks a faint smile.

“Yeah, I bet.”

"Anything else we can help you with?" Nate asks, casual but firm.

"No, that's all for now. Just… keep your wits about you."

I wait until the door closes before slumping against it, exhaling hard. My heart is still hammering.

"That was too fucking close," I mutter.

Nate, infuriatingly, doesn't even seem fazed. "Come on. Let's eat."

I stare at him, incredulous. "How are you so calm?"

He shrugs, already heading for the sofa. "Kai's too good for us to get caught."

I hesitate. "But what if—”

“He’d have told me if he missed something," Nate interrupts, his tone firm and final. "We're good."

I don't argue, but the anxiety still hums under my skin. I settle onto the sofa, digging into my noodles. The familiar flavours help ground me.

After a few bites, Nate leans back, stretching lazily. "So," he muses, as if we didn't just narrowly avoid disaster, "who's our next target?"

I roll my eyes. "Michael Carmichael."

His brows lift. "Michael… Carmichael?" Then he snorts, failing miserably to stifle his laughter.

"I know. His parents must have hated him."

A small laugh escapes me despite everything.

Nate smirks. "Alright, so what's the plan?"

His voice is light, but there's something darker beneath it—an edge of quiet intensity. A silent promise that he's in this with me. That my revenge isn't just mine anymore. It's ours.

I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "Michael thrived on manipulation. He twisted people's minds, made them trust him when they shouldn't have. The revenge needs to reflect that. We need to make him feel like he's losing control."

Michael was my breaking point. Before him, I had tried to be compliant, through fear, through desperation.

But something changed.

Rage built in the cracks that fear created. I began to plan, to wait. I told myself I would survive, I would get out, and, when I did, I'd make him pay.

Nate's expression sharpens. "So, we flip the script. Use his own tactics against him. Make him feel powerless. Hunted."

Satisfaction flickers in my chest. "Exactly."

He leans in closer, his grin dark and inviting. "Let's make him pay."