A floorboard creaked above her. Not the settling of old wood. The careful, deliberate step of someone who knew exactly where to press.
Her stepdaughter, Chloe, was dead.
“Good choice,” Ivy whispered. “Now the real game begins.” The stepmother 3 sara stone
She found the letter on the marble foyer floor, tucked beneath a vase of wilting lilies. The handwriting was hers. Or rather, a perfect copy of hers. A floorboard creaked above her