I Want Them to Pay in Blood

The sedatives for my PTSD dragged me into a heavy, drugged sleep, and I found myself trapped in a vision.

As my head throbbed, a woman with a gaunt face and lifeless, brittle hair materialized before me.

Her crimson eyes bored into mine.

"Ava Collier, I am you, twenty years from now. This vision lasts only forty seconds, so don't miss a single word."

"You think this is insane, but I know about the backup ledger your father hid in the wine cellar, and I know you threw away a scholarship to the Sorbonne for your first love, Julian."

A chill shot through me, my blood turning to ice. Before I could demand how she knew all this, the woman steamrolled ahead, ignoring my shock as her words spilled out in a torrent.

"First, your daughter, Daisy, is not your biological child. She was switched at birth by your best friend, Chloe, who conspired with your husband, Julian. They've been having an affair for years."

"Second, do not go to the Hamptons next month. They're going to drown you at the family's seaside villa and seize the entire business empire your father left you."

"Third, the only person you can trust is Dante Russo—the man who tried to warn you before his family exiled him."

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1

The woman's words sliced through the fog of my sleep. I jolted awake, my hair plastered to my forehead with a cold sweat that had soaked the pillow.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

Julian, lying beside me, was startled. Without opening his eyes, he shifted closer, his arm snaking around my waist with a familiar, lazy possessiveness.

I clutched my chest, my heart pounding a deafening rhythm against my ribs.

Beside me, my daughter, Daisy, was sleeping soundly.

I gazed at her delicate face, and a snippet of conversation echoed in my mind.

"Your daughter is such a little beauty, especially those green eyes. They're so striking."

"It's just funny—neither you nor Julian has that eye color."

"Maybe it skipped a generation."

Everyone in my family has deep brown eyes. I’d always just assumed she got it from some distant relative on Julian’s side.

Thinking back now, Chloe, my best friend, had the exact same shade of green eyes.

Chloe's face began to superimpose itself over my daughter's. I fought down a surge of panic and turned, forcing a smile as my husband began to stir.

"It's nothing. Just a bad dream."

The next morning, I slipped my daughter's comb into my purse.

"I'll take Daisy to her art class today," I announced, watching Julian's expression from the corner of my eye.

When I caught a sharp, questioning look in his eyes, my stomach tightened. But I kept my expression casual and added, "She's been complaining about the studio lately, and after that nightmare I had... I just want to check on her myself."

My protectiveness over our daughter bordered on paranoia, so Julian simply nodded, accepting my explanation without further questions.

I let out a silent sigh of relief. This was my chance to get a sample for a DNA test.

I just didn't expect to run into Chloe at the entrance of the art studio.

"You're back from your trip? Why didn't you tell me you were teaching here!"

"By the way, where's your daughter? Doesn't she have class today?"

The unease in my chest spiraled, but on the surface, I kept up our usual warm banter.

"With that dreamy head of hers, it's not like she's learning much anyway..."

For the first time, I heard the condescending malice lacing her tone.

Watching her lead Daisy into the classroom with an easy intimacy, a cold dread washed over me.

The likeness was undeniable.

I turned and raced to Chloe's apartment.

Ever since Daisy had gotten a little older, I'd become a homebody, mostly keeping in touch with Chloe by phone. Only then did it strike me how much my daughter looked like her.

If that vision was real...

Then my real child...

My hand trembled as I took out the spare key.

Chloe and I had grown up together, closer than sisters. We’d bought our own apartments at the same time and exchanged spare keys as a symbol of our bond.

The door swung open, revealing a sallow, emaciated little girl.

The moment I saw her, tears streamed down my face.

My God, how could a child be so covered in bruises, both old and new? She didn't even flinch as I burst in, just stared at me with numb, vacant eyes.

I took out a piece of chocolate, offering it in exchange for a quick swab of her cheek.

She was four years old, yet she couldn't speak a single word.

Tears blurred my vision. I fought back the overwhelming urge to scoop her up and run, instead rushing to the nearest private clinic.

After handing the samples from myself and the two children to the doctor, I leaned against the cold corridor wall, a bone-deep exhaustion weighing me down.

I couldn't let myself think about it.

If that little girl was really my daughter, what was I going to do?

Time crawled by until the doctor reappeared, holding the rushed test results.

The results confirmed it: There was no maternal link between me and Daisy.