A Taste of Hell

Clara’s fingers locked onto Sloane’s throat before the other woman could even react. Sloane did not expect Clara to turn back with such terrifying speed, let alone take her hostage in a split second.

Instantly, the dense brush rustled. Twenty bodyguards from the Ashford family emerged, quickly forming a tight perimeter, their eyes locked on Clara, waiting for the slightest opening to strike.

Clara tightened her grip, her voice stripped of warmth. "We didn’t discuss bringing a crowd to our reunion, Sloane."

"L-Let go!" Sloane gasped, her face rapidly draining of color from the crushing pain. She clawed frantically at Clara's arm, but Clara's hold was like an iron band.

Clara knew she couldn't take on twenty trained men alone. She stepped back, using her sister as a human shield. The guards mirrored her movements, their hands hovering near their weapons, but they did not dare to rush.

Clara leaned in close to Sloane's ear. Her breath was icy against Sloane's neck. "I just got back, and you’re already this desperate to put me in the ground. Are you really that terrified I'll take the heiress title from you?"

Sloane trembled, her chest heaving as she struggled for air. "You're crazy! Let me go! Do you have any idea what my father will do to you if you hurt me?"

"Four years ago, you tried to burn me alive," Clara whispered, her eyes turning as cold as ice. "Did you honestly think I would just stand here and let you murder me a second time? Since you love that precious heiress position so much, I am going to show you exactly what it feels like to lose something you hold dear."

Sloane felt a chill run down her spine. The raw determination in Clara's voice sent a wave of panic through her. This was not the soft girl she had tried to kill years ago. This woman was dangerous. If Clara found out the truth about the twins—that they were still alive—everything Sloane had built would crumble. Sloane had to survive this, but Clara gave her no time to think.

With a forceful tug, Clara dragged Sloane backward. They headed toward the east side of the cemetery, where the terrain sloped sharply down toward the rushing river. Sloane stumbled over the thick weeds, her breath coming in ragged, painful gasps as Clara kept her neck locked.

The bodyguards followed slowly, keeping their distance. They were terrified of making a move that might cause Clara to snap Sloane's neck.

"Clara, stop... don't do this," Sloane begged, her voice hoarse. "If you hurt me, you won't have a good ending, either. Let me go, and we can talk like civilized sisters."

Clara ignored the pathetic attempt at negotiation. Her gaze remained fixed on the churning river ahead. "If we talk, we talk alone. Tell your dogs to leave."

Sloane’s heart hammered against her ribs. If she sent her protection away, she would be at Clara's mercy. But Clara had no interest in staining her hands. True vengeance was making her enemy live in a waking nightmare.

They reached the edge of the bank. The ground was muddy and slick, sloping steeply into the roaring, deep river. Clara shoved Sloane right to the very edge. Sloane's feet slipped on the wet earth, and she nearly lost her balance.

"Tell them to get out of here," Clara commanded, her voice slicing through the sound of the rushing water. "Or I'll push you in right now."

"You wouldn't dare," Sloane hissed through clenched teeth, though her legs were shaking so hard she could barely stand.

"Try me," Clara retorted. "You brought twenty men to execute me. Before I die, I will gladly drag you down to hell with me."

To prove her point, Clara gave Sloane a violent shove forward. Sloane screamed, closing her eyes as she felt herself falling toward the dark, churning water. But at the very last second, Clara grabbed her collar and yanked her back.

Sloane opened her eyes, staring down at the fatal drop just inches from her toes. The sheer terror broke her. She lost all her composure. "Go! All of you, get out of here!" Sloane shrieked at the top of her lungs, her voice cracking with fear. "Get back! Now!"

The bodyguards looked at one another, hesitating. But seeing the sheer panic on Sloane's face, they slowly backed away, retreating into the dense brush. They didn't go far, but they were no longer a direct threat.

With the guards temporarily out of sight, Clara tightened her grip on Sloane one last time. Before Sloane could even register what was happening, Clara leaped forward, dragging both of them over the edge.

They plunged straight into the freezing, early spring river.

The icy water hit Sloane like a physical blow, knocking the wind right out of her lungs. The current was fast, pulling her under. "Help! Somebody help me!" Sloane screamed as her head broke the surface, thrashing around wildly and swallowing mouthfuls of the freezing water.

The bodyguards heard her cries and came rushing out of the brush, diving into the river to save her. But Clara was already gone.

Four years ago, while hiding abroad, Clara had forced herself to undergo rigorous physical training, including winter swimming. She had swam in lakes so cold that ice sheets floated on the surface. Compared to those bitter depths, this river was nothing but a mild chill.

She let go of Sloane the moment they hit the water, diving deep. Moving with practiced, effortless strokes, she swam silently underwater. The murky current hid her from view. By the time Sloane's men reached Sloane, Clara had already put more than a hundred meters of distance between them.

On the muddy riverbank, the bodyguards dragged Sloane out of the water. She was half-drowned, her lips a stark, pale blue, her hair plastered to her face. She sat on the cold mud, shivering uncontrollably.

The elegant, poised heiress of the Ashford family was gone. In her place was a wretched, hysterical woman. Her face twisted into a savage, witch-like expression as she glared at the dark river.

"Find her! You have to find that bitch!" Sloane screamed, her voice cracking with pure venom. "I want her dead! I will personally skin her alive and drain every drop of her blood! Go!"

The guards immediately plunged back into the river, searching the reeds and the dark water, but their efforts were useless.

Far downstream, Clara swam toward a calm, secluded stretch of the riverbank. The current here was gentle, and the thick foliage overhead offered perfect cover. She gripped a low-hanging branch, pulling herself up onto the muddy shore. She took a quiet breath, her body shivering slightly from the cold air, though her mind remained sharp and focused.

She was about to climb up onto the grassy bank when she stopped dead in her tracks. Voices were echoing from just above her...