She Used Me for a Dare… Now I Own Her Mother - Chapter 312: The Waiting Villa
Chapter 312: The Waiting Villa
The engine of the Porsche Taycan whined as Jennifer floored the accelerator, weaving through the evening traffic with a reckless precision that matched her mood.
Her knuckles were white against the leather steering wheel. Every mile that blurred past was another rehearsed line in the speech she was preparing.
’You abandoned us.’
’You ran while the house was burning.’
’I am here to save you from yourself.’
She checked the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of her own eyes. They were hard. Cold. They looked like Cassandra’s eyes.
“I am the only adult left in this family,” she muttered to the empty car, the words fueling her righteous anger.
She wasn’t just a daughter anymore. She was a cleaner. A fixer. She was driving into the dark to drag her mother back to the light, kicking and screaming if necessary. Vivienne had preached about duty for years; tonight, Jennifer was going to make her choke on it.
By the time she reached the outskirts of the city, the sun was nearly gone… a thin line of orange bleeding along the horizon, the sky above it darkening from purple to indigo.
The GPS chirped, signaling her arrival.
Roland Estate.
She slowed as the iron gates loomed ahead. They stood open. Not just unlocked—*open*. The heavy wrought iron panels pushed all the way back against the stone pillars, as though someone had driven through hours ago and simply never bothered to close them.
No security booth. No guard. No intercom asking who she was.
’Saturday night,’ Jennifer told herself, easing through. ’Private estate. People who live here don’t need guards at every corner.’
The road beyond curved gently upward, winding through landscaped grounds until it crested a low rise.
And then she saw them.
The villas.
Seven distinct structures carved into the hillside, arranged in a sweeping crescent that overlooked a private, artificial lake. In the fading light, they looked like jewels set against black velvet.
Soft amber lighting washed over the clean, geometric lines of white stone walls. Floor-to-ceiling glass reflected the shimmering water below. The landscaping was immaculate… sculpted hedges, stone pathways glowing with embedded LEDs. It was a sanctuary of quiet, understated power.
Beautiful.
Peaceful.
The kind of place where the noise and chaos of the city felt like a distant memory.
Jennifer’s gaze swept across the crescent, her eyes cataloging each villa as she drove past.
Villa One sat at the highest point… massive, commanding the best view of the lake and city lights beyond. It projected dominance. Power. Everything Jennifer valued.
Villa Two. Dark.
Villa Three. Lit but empty-looking.
Villa Four. Also dark.
Her phone sat in the cup holder, the message still glowing on the screen:
Subject: V.V.
Location: Roland Estate. Villa Six.
Jennifer’s eyes found it near the end of the crescent.
Villa Six sat tucked between Villa Five and Villa Seven, its position unremarkable. Not the biggest. Not the highest. Not the most isolated.
But it had lights on.
Warm light spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. A sense of occupancy that the other villas lacked
’There,’ Jennifer thought, turning the steering wheel.
She guided the Porsche into the circular driveway and killed the engine.
The silence that followed was immediate and absolute.
No traffic. No voices. No hum of distant machinery.
Just the faint rustle of leaves in a breeze she couldn’t feel and the soft tick of her car’s engine cooling.
Jennifer sat for a moment, staring at Villa Six’s entrance.
It was beautiful. Elegant. The kind of place that whispered wealth without shouting it.
A place where someone could disappear for a while without anyone asking questions.
’This is it,’ she thought, reaching for the door handle. ’This is where she’s been hiding.’
She stepped out of the car, her heels crunching softly against the gravel.
The air was cool. Clean. She could smell earth and grass and something floral she couldn’t identify.
For a fleeting second, she understood why someone might choose to hide here.
Then she remembered why she’d come.
Jennifer walked toward the front door, her stride purposeful, her jaw set.
She was done being patient. Done waiting for her mother to do the right thing.
Tonight, Vivienne Vanderbilt was going to face her responsibilities.
Whether she wanted to or not.
Jennifer reached the doorbell and paused, her finger hovered over it.
For the first time since leaving the city, doubt flickered through her mind.
’What if this is wrong?’
’What if the message was a mistake? What if someone was playing a cruel joke? What if she’d driven all the way out here based on a text from an unknown number and her mother wasn’t even…’
Jennifer shook her head sharply, cutting off the thought.
No.
She’d come too far to second-guess herself now. Reginald had sent that message. He had to have. Who else would know where Vivienne was hiding? Who else would care enough to help?
And even if this was some kind of prank… which it wasn’t… she was a Vanderbilt. Nobody had the audacity to harm her. Not here. Not anywhere.
She pressed the bell.
The chime echoed faintly from somewhere inside the villa. Soft. Melodic. Expensive.
Jennifer waited.
One second. Two. Three.
Nothing.
No footsteps. No voice calling out. No sound of movement at all.
Her impatience flared.
She pressed the bell again, harder this time, holding it down for a full second.
Still nothing.
“Mother?” she called, her voice sharp. “I know you’re in there. Open the door.”
Silence.
Jennifer’s jaw tightened. She reached for the handle… half expecting it to be locked, half planning to pound on the door until someone answered.
The handle turned.
Unlocked.
She hesitated for half a breath, that small voice in the back of her mind whispering again that something about this was wrong.
Then she pushed the thought away and stepped inside.
The interior of Villa Six was warm. Soft lighting. Polished floors. Everything pristine and expensive in that effortless way that only truly wealthy spaces managed.
But it was also empty.
Completely, utterly empty.
“Hello?” Jennifer’s voice echoed slightly in the open space.
No response.
She moved further inside, her heels clicking against the hardwood as she passed through the entryway into the main living area.
The villa was beautiful… floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the dark lake beyond, minimalist furniture arranged with designer precision, abstract art on the walls that probably cost more than most people’s cars.
But something about it felt… off.
Not abandoned. Not neglected.
Waiting.
The air itself seemed to hum with anticipation, as though the villa had been holding its breath for someone to arrive.
Jennifer’s unease deepened.
She moved through the living room toward what looked like a dining area. A long table.
Eight chairs. A chandelier overhead that cast soft, golden light across the polished surface.
Beyond that, she could see stairs leading to the second floor.
And that’s when she noticed it.
Flowers.
Fresh flowers arranged in elegant vases on the dining table. On the sideboard. On the small table at the base of the stairs.
Not just flowers… roses. White and red, their petals perfect, their scent subtle but unmistakable.
Jennifer stopped.
Her mother hated roses. Had always hated them. Too cliché, she’d said. Too obvious.
So why…
A faint sound made her freeze.
Footsteps.
Soft. Measured. Coming from upstairs.
The click of heels against hardwood, descending slowly, deliberately.
Jennifer’s pulse jumped. She turned toward the staircase, her breath catching.
A figure appeared at the top of the stairs.
A woman.
Tall. Elegant. Moving with the kind of poise that spoke of years of high-society training.
She wore a tailored dress in deep emerald that hugged her frame perfectly, her dark hair swept up in a style that was both sophisticated and effortless.
She was beautiful.
And she was smiling.
Jennifer’s mind struggled to place the face for half a second before recognition clicked into place.
“Helena?”
Her aunt descended the last few steps with unhurried grace, her smile widening slightly as she reached the ground floor.
“Jennifer,” Helena said warmly, as though this were a planned family visit and not a late-night confrontation in an isolated villa. “What a lovely surprise. I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”
Jennifer blinked, her confusion sharpening into irritation.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice harder than she’d intended.
“Where’s my mother?”
