Chapter 2

The police were closer than Bianca realized, but Aunt Dana’s house sat at the end of a winding subdivision, and every passing minute felt dangerous.

Bianca ordered Poppy into the bedroom to watch television.

I wanted to refuse, but Reed caught my eye.

We needed time.

Once Poppy disappeared down the hall, Bianca sat at the kitchen table like we were about to negotiate a used-car purchase.

“Here’s what you’re going to do,” she said.

She wanted a public apology.

I would admit I had lied about her surgeries and school. I would say jealousy had made me obsessive. I would claim I had been harassing her for weeks.

Then she showed me screenshots.

They appeared to be messages from my social media account threatening her.

I had never sent them.

My profile picture was there. My username was there. The words were convincing.

Reed stared at the screen.

“Those are fake.”

Bianca shrugged.

“Prove it.”

“You kidnapped a child.”

“I borrowed her.”

My stomach turned.

Bianca leaned closer.

“Mia humiliated me. She ruined my relationship with my parents. She made everybody think I’m some kind of liar.”

“You are lying right now,” Reed said.

Bianca looked at him with contempt.

“You’ve always been their favorite. You don’t know what it’s like.”

Something old lived underneath that sentence.

Something I had nothing to do with.

Bianca had spent years comparing herself to Reed, resenting his easy relationship with their parents, building a version of herself that could never be criticized.

I had simply become the person who punctured it.

“I’ll post the apology,” I said.

Reed looked at me sharply.

“But Poppy comes home tonight.”

“Tomorrow.”

“No.”

“Then no apology.”

I pretended to consider it.

“Let me see her first.”

Bianca rolled her eyes.

“Fine.”

I found Poppy sitting cross-legged on a bed, watching cartoons with the sound low.

The moment the door closed behind me, she wrapped both arms around my neck.

“I was scared.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“She told me you’d be mad if I didn’t go with her.”

“I’m not mad. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Poppy showed me her scraped elbow.

Then she whispered something that made my blood run cold.

“She put me in the closet earlier.”

“Why?”

“She was talking on the phone and said bad people might come. She said I had to be quiet.”

I kissed her forehead.

“We’re getting you home.”

Back in the kitchen, Reed and Bianca were arguing.

I interrupted.

“I’ll make the post.”

Bianca brightened immediately.

She stood over my shoulder while I typed.

I wrote that I had exaggerated things because of insecurity and jealousy. I said I regretted embarrassing Bianca’s family. I said I was working on myself.

Bianca made me change three sentences.

“More remorseful.”

I wanted to throw the phone through the window.

Instead, I posted it.

Within minutes, people began commenting.

Some expressed sympathy.

Others asked what had happened.

A few accused me of being jealous.

Bianca watched the reaction with satisfaction.

“There. Was that so hard?”

“Now Poppy.”

“Tomorrow.”

My stomach dropped.

“You promised.”

“I said we’d discuss it.”

Reed stood.

“Bianca.”

She pointed toward the door.

“Take your girlfriend home. I’ll bring the kid back when I’m sure she doesn’t delete anything.”

I squeezed Reed’s hand.

“Let’s go.”

He stared at me.

I gave him the smallest possible nod.

Outside, once we were inside his car, I burst into tears.

“I am not leaving her there.”

“We aren’t.”

Reed held up his phone.

“I recorded everything.”

I stopped crying.

“What?”

“The second she started telling you what to post, I turned on the recorder.”

He played part of it.

Bianca’s voice filled the car.

Tomorrow. After I’ve seen the apology stays up.

It was useful.

But not enough.

She still hadn’t clearly admitted breaking into our house and taking Poppy.

Then I remembered the photograph through Aunt Dana’s window.

And Bianca’s anonymous messages.

And Poppy’s statement about climbing out through her bedroom window.

“We need her to say it,” I whispered.

Reed understood immediately.

We drove to his parents’ house because Bianca believed we had gone home.

His parents were frantic.

Bianca had texted them earlier claiming she was staying with a friend.

We told them only that she was involved in something serious and that police had been contacted.

Then Reed and I went upstairs.

I posted another social media story.

Sometimes admitting you were wrong is the hardest part. Grateful for second chances.

It made me sick.

But Bianca loved winning.

We counted on that.

Reed called her on speaker.

She answered on the third ring.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he said. “I wanted to tell you something.”

“What?”

“I think I’m done with Mia.”

Even knowing it was fake, hearing the words hurt.

Bianca laughed softly.

“Finally.”

“I can’t be with somebody who lies about my family.”

“Exactly.”

“She really believes her apology?”

“People are eating it up.”

Bianca sounded pleased.

Reed waited.

Then casually asked, “I still don’t understand why you took Poppy.”

A pause.

“I told you, she thought it was a sleepover.”

“Bianca, you took her through a window.”

“She climbed.”

“In the middle of the night.”

“She was fine.”

“Why?”

Another silence.

Then Bianca’s ego defeated her caution.

“Because Mia needed to learn something.”

Reed remained calm.

“So you broke into her house and took her little sister because she embarrassed you?”

“She deserved it.”

My heart pounded.

Reed looked at me but kept talking.

“That’s kidnapping.”

“It wasn’t kidnapping.”

“What was it?”

“A lesson.”

“And the scrape?”

“She slipped climbing out. She’s clumsy.”

Reed’s hand trembled around the phone.

“You realize how insane this sounds.”

Bianca exploded.

“Insane? She humiliated me in front of everybody! She destroyed everything. So yes, I took her stupid sister, and I’d do it again. Maybe now she’ll understand that she can’t mess with me.”

The confession sat between us.

Clear.

Complete.

Reed closed his eyes.

Then he said, “Bianca, I recorded this.”

Silence.

“You’re bluffing.”

I sent her a copy.

We heard her phone chime.

A moment later, her own voice played faintly through the speaker.

Then she whispered, “You idiot.”

The call ended.

My stomach dropped.

“She knows.”

Reed grabbed his keys.

I called police.

This time, we told them she might run.

When we reached Aunt Dana’s street, Bianca’s car was still there.

But every light in the house was off.

The front door stood slightly open.

We didn’t rush inside.

A dispatcher kept me on the line while officers approached.

Then, through the darkness, I heard something.

A muffled cry.

The officers entered first.

Minutes later, one of them emerged carrying Poppy.

Her wrists had been loosely tied with a scarf. Tape had been placed across her mouth.

I ran toward her.

She buried herself against me and sobbed.

“She got mad after the phone call.”

“Where is Bianca?”

“She said we had to leave. I cried and said I wanted you. Then she put me in the closet.”

Bianca had disappeared through the back of the property before officers arrived.

Her car remained behind.

A detective named Elena Alvarez took possession of our recordings, screenshots, photographs, and phones.

She listened to Bianca’s confession once.

Then again.

“This matters,” she said.

Reed looked toward the house.

“Will you find her?”

“We’re going to try.”

The next twelve hours were the longest of my life.

Police found Bianca’s abandoned car at a regional bus station.

By morning, an alert had been issued.

Then my phone received another anonymous message.

This isn’t over.

Detective Alvarez traced everything she could.

Later that day, I received a call from a woman named Naomi who had seen discussion of Bianca online.

She said Bianca had terrorized her in high school after an argument. Rumors. Threats. Damage to her car.

Then Naomi mentioned Bianca once using a fake identification card.

The name was Dana Whitlock.

Her aunt’s name.

We gave the information to Alvarez.

That afternoon, police found a woman using that name at a roadside motel nearly two hours away.

Bianca was arrested without anyone getting hurt.

When Alvarez called, I sat on the kitchen floor and cried from relief.

Then she told us what officers had found in the motel room.

Notes.

Addresses.

My school schedule.

My mother’s work hours.

Names of my friends.

Reed’s routines.

Bianca hadn’t simply panicked after one argument.

She had planned.

And suddenly the polished woman I had once feared looking inadequate beside seemed like something entirely different.

Not powerful.