They Thought She Was Brain-Dead After The Crash, But The Underworld Queen Had Just Taken Over Her Body

Back at Winslow Manor, Megan Pierce was having the time of her life.

She had spent the entire afternoon ransacking Avery’s master dressing room. Velvet jewelry boxes were dumped haphazardly across the king-sized bed. Emerald necklaces, vintage Cartier watches, and heirloom pearl chokers were stuffed into three leather Louis Vuitton duffel bags resting on the vanity.

“Ethan should be CEO by now,” Megan muttered to herself, admiring a twelve-carat sapphire ring on her middle finger. “Tomorrow we fire all these miserable servants and hire our own staff from New York.”

Downstairs, Doreen was sitting in the conservatory, nervously biting her fingernails. Her neck was still bruised from Sophie’s grip the day before. Every creak of the floorboards sent a jolt of panic through her spine. She had tried calling Ethan four times, but his phone went straight to voicemail.

Suddenly, the front gates of the estate buzzed open.

Doreen peeked through the lace curtains. A silver Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled smoothly up the circular driveway, flanked by two Philadelphia Police patrol cruisers.

Doreen’s heart leaped. Arthur! Arthur must have brought the police to take Avery away to the asylum!

“Megan!” Doreen called out, rushing toward the grand marble foyer. “They’re here! Bring the bags down!”

Megan practically bounced down the sweeping staircase, a fur coat that belonged to Avery’s late mother draped over her shoulders, dragging two heavy duffel bags behind her. “Is Ethan with them?”

The massive oak front doors swung open.

It wasn't Arthur Vance.

Walking inside was Avery Winslow, flanked by Detective Miller and four armed uniformed officers. Avery looked radiant, pristine, and completely unbothered, her dark coat resting elegantly over her tailored suit.

Megan froze on the bottom step. “You? How did you get out of the hospital?”

Doreen stumbled backward, clutching the marble balustrade, her face turning translucent. “Where is my son? Where is Ethan?!”

Avery paused in the center of the foyer, looking up at the high, vaulted ceilings her grandfather had designed. She took a deep, refreshing breath of her family’s air.

“Ethan is currently being booked into the Curran-Fromhold Correctional Facility,” Avery said smoothly, unbuttoning her driving gloves. “No bail. Flight risk. Attempted murder charges carry quite a heavy bond in this state.”

Megan let out a shrill, hysterical laugh. “You’re lying! You’re just a brain-damaged freak! Ethan owns this house! He owns everything!”

“Actually,” Detective Miller interrupted, stepping forward with a warrant in hand, “the Winslow family trust owns this house, the land it sits on, the furniture, the cars, and every single piece of jewelry currently stuffed into those duffel bags you’re holding, Ms. Pierce.”

Megan’s laugh caught in her throat. Her eyes darted toward the officers. “What are you talking about? Ethan gave these to me!”

“Ethan doesn't own them to give,” Avery said, her voice dropping into that chilling, razor-sharp cadence. “That sapphire ring on your finger was given to my mother on her wedding day. Take it off.”

“No!” Megan screamed, clutching her hand to her chest. “Ethan loves me! We’re getting married! You can’t touch me!”

Two female police officers stepped forward without a word. One grabbed Megan’s wrist in an iron arm-bar, twisting her arm behind her back with mechanical efficiency, while the other smoothly slid the twelve-carat sapphire ring off her finger, along with the tennis bracelet and the Cartier watch.

Megan shrieked, thrashing against the officers as cold steel handcuffs snapped around her wrists. “Get off me! I’m a guest here! Doreen, tell them!”

Doreen couldn't speak. She was trembling so violently her knees struck the marble floor. She sank down, weeping, staring at Avery’s polished leather shoes.

“Avery... please,” Doreen begged, her voice cracking into pathetic whimpers. “I’m an old woman. I’m your mother-in-law. I took care of you when your parents died!”

Avery walked slowly toward Doreen, stopping mere inches from where the older woman knelt.

Sophie looked down at the woman who had locked Avery Winslow in dark closets, who had poured boiling tea near her feet, who had starved her and laughed while Megan paraded through her home.

“You didn't take care of me, Doreen,” Avery whispered softly, leaning down so only Doreen could hear. “You fed on me. Like a parasite. And do you remember what I told you yesterday morning about the silver spoon?”

Doreen squeezed her eyes shut, sobbing in absolute terror, covering her neck with her wrinkled hands. “Don't hurt me... please don't hurt me!”

“I won't hurt you,” Avery smiled, straightening up. “I’m far too civilized for that. But the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania has charged you as an accessory to attempted murder, elder abuse, and grand larceny. You have ten minutes to collect your personal medication. Whatever isn't on your person stays in my house.”

“Ten minutes?!” Doreen wailed. “I have nowhere to go! My bank accounts!”

“Your bank accounts were co-signed under the Winslow shell company,” Avery replied coldly. “They have been frozen by federal order. You have four dollars in your purse, Doreen. I suggest you look into municipal shelter options.”

Megan was dragged out the front doors, screaming profanities into the afternoon air, her designer dress tearing against the cruiser door as she was shoved into the back seat. Doreen was escorted out by two officers, clutching a plastic bag of prescription bottles, weeping hysterically as the estate gates closed behind her forever.