Chapter 6: The Weight of the Crown
The Bentley parked beneath the overpass of an abandoned industrial park on the edge of the city limits. The rain had finally started, drumming a relentless, hypnotic rhythm against the roof of the car. Jane sat alone in the back, the driver having stepped out to keep watch in the downpour.
She poured herself a glass of water from the minibar, watching her own reflection in the dark glass. She wondered if she was a monster. Society would certainly say so. To order the execution of one's husband and mother-in-law was the act of a sociopath. But society had never sat at the Vanguard dining table. Society had never felt the agonizing psychological suffocation of being stripped of one's humanity day by day.
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She remembered Arthur's face on their wedding day. There had been a fleeting moment of genuine hope in his eyes, a silent plea that perhaps they could make this arranged nightmare work. But the moment Eleanor stepped into the room, Arthur folded. He chose his mother’s viciousness over his wife’s sanity every single time.
Jane didn't feel joy at the impending massacre. She felt a profound, heavy emptiness. This was survival. In the world of the Thornes and the Vanguards, you were either the butcher or the cattle. She had played the cattle for far too long. At exactly 8:00 PM, she would reclaim the knife.
