She had assumed Stella was calling to beg for mercy, but after thinking it through calmly, she realized the girl had an entirely different motive.
Stella clearly just wanted to provoke her, hoping to push her into an emotional meltdown.
Logically, things shouldn't have escalated to this level of hostility. Provoking her now did absolutely nothing to help the Whitmans.
The only plausible explanation was that someone was using this incident as leverage, blackmailing Stella into doing their dirty work.
A single name flashed across Willa's mind: Scarlett Sterling.
What exactly was she plotting?
Willa pressed a hand to her stomach, experiencing a crushing wave of terror for the first time.
Later that evening, Randal made an unexpected return to the Estate, though she was already tucked into bed by the time he arrived.
Exhausted by her pregnancy, she had made a habit of going to sleep as soon as the sun went down, never anticipating his sudden visit.
Randal slipped into her room with quiet steps and flicked on the light.
The sudden glare stung her eyes, and Willa immediately squinted. "Turn the light off."
He reached out and plunged the room back into darkness.
"Why are you asleep so early? Are you still feeling sick?" Randal's voice carried a heavy, unmistakable exhaustion.
As Willa's eyes adjusted to the dimness, the faint moonlight filtering through the window allowed her to make out his silhouette.
"I'm not sick, just tired," she mumbled, her voice raspy as she sat up and pulled the covers tighter around herself. "Why are you back?"
He sat on the edge of the bed, a faint trace of tobacco lingering in the air around him.
She covered her nose, her brow furrowing. "You've been smoking?"

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