A few days later.
The day of the carnival.
A sedan pulled into the Sawyer estate.
Two people stepped out when it reached the house—it was Heather's adoptive parents.
Unlike their usual sloppy appearance in tank tops and baggy shorts, this time, both were dressed meticulously. Heather's adoptive father had even put on a suit.
"Remember, tell her you love her," Heather's adoptive mother reminded him as she rang the doorbell.
"Heh."
Heather's adoptive father scoffed at his wife's words. "Now that she's rich, of course, I love her."
"Dad, Mom, you're here."
Instead of the buzzing sound of a chainsaw, they were greeted by Heather's warm smile.
"Oh, my dear daughter."
Heather's adoptive father exaggeratedly rushed forward and embraced her. "I love you."
"I love you both, too."
Heather maintained her smile as she welcomed them inside, leading them on a tour of the house. As they gasped in awe and delight, she guided them to the underground wine cellar.
For a pair of alcoholics like them, nothing could have been a better invitation.
"All of this is ours now."
Heather's adoptive father, upon seeing the vast collection of wine, waved his hand and proclaimed ownership.
Heather's adoptive mother's eyes sparkled with greed as well.
"It's all yours," Heather said with a smile. "Dad, you go ahead and drink. I'll make some appetizers for you. Mom, come with me—I need to talk to you about something."
"Alright, alright."
Heather's adoptive father was overjoyed. He grabbed a bottle, uncorked it, and took a deep breath of its rich aroma before eagerly gulping it down.
Although reluctant, Heather's adoptive mother still followed Heather upstairs.
Heather, walking behind her, glanced at her father as they reached the cellar door. Without hesitation, she pulled the heavy iron door shut and locked it with the large key. Once upstairs, she turned on the gramophone and cranked up the volume.
"Mom, do you like it here?"
Heather looked at her adoptive mother, who was reclining on the sofa with her eyes closed, savoring the moment.
"I love it. Absolutely love it."
Her mother was utterly enraptured.
"That's good. Then stay here—endless cigarettes, unlimited alcohol. Sound good?"
Heather's smile carried a deeper meaning.
"Perfect, perfect!"
Her mother clapped her hands in joy. "You really are my good daughter. With all this, I have no regrets in life."
"That's all I needed to hear."
Heather smiled.
Originally, she had planned to kill both her adoptive parents to exact revenge. But when the moment arrived—when she saw her adoptive mother's joyful expression through the peephole and heard her delighted words—she suddenly hesitated.
Her adoptive father was irredeemable. But her adoptive mother had been somewhat kind to her.
Without her, Heather wouldn't have survived the massacre all those years ago—or her father's cruelty afterward.
Forget it. She decided to let her adoptive mother live.
She understood her mother well enough to know that she wasn't a particularly sentimental person.
In reality, people who smoked and drank excessively were often selfish.
With the wealth she had inherited, Heather was confident she could buy her mother's silence.
Half an hour later.
Heather drove to Newt Town.
"Wow."
A young white police officer, patrolling in his squad car, was instantly mesmerized when he saw Heather. He immediately pulled over, adjusted his uniform, and casually walked toward her.
"Hey, you look unfamiliar. Are you from out of town?"
"Are you interrogating me?"
Heather's lips curled into a smirk.
"Of course not."
The officer raised his hands with a grin. "It's just that a girl as beautiful as you showing up in town—it's my duty as an officer to ensure your safety."
"Thanks."
Heather smiled. "I may have just arrived, but I'm not exactly an outsider. My home is here, in town."
"No way."
The officer shook his head. "If you were from this town, I'd definitely know you. Where do you live?"
"Homestead Road."
Heather's smile deepened.
"Homestead Road?"
The officer was stunned. "No one lives there except the Sawyers."
"That's right."
Heather's tone was laced with meaning. "I'm a Sawyer. I just inherited the estate from my grandmother."
At that moment, a middle-aged man dressed as a cowboy approached.
"Is this officer bothering you? If so, I can get rid of him."
"Oh, he definitely could."
The officer laughed, playing along.
"Go back to your patrol."
**(For the full chapter, visit 69 Book Bar!)**
The cowboy gave an order.
The officer nodded and left.
"I'm the mayor of this little paradise—Burt Hartman."
"Heather."
After their introductions, Mayor Burt scrutinized Heather.
"Well, Heather, if I heard correctly, you just said you're a Sawyer and inherited the Sawyer estate?"
"That's right."
Heather nodded.
"You're Verna's granddaughter. You have her eyes."
Burt stared at her intently. "I've known your family for a long time. And trust me, they wouldn't want you dealing with that mess. Let me be direct—I'll be taking over that entire property."
"No, thanks."
Heather turned to leave.
"Playing tough, huh? I'm starting to like you."
Burt called after her with a grin.
Heather felt the sharp gaze behind her, but her smile only widened.
"Pigo, gather the crew. There's still a little Sawyer brat left."
Burt immediately made a phone call. "We need to finish the job."
After hanging up, Burt sneered. "Everything the Sawyers had belongs to me. No one is taking it."
Years ago, when the sheriff had gained control of the situation, Burt had led a mob to massacre the entire Sawyer family. It wasn't just a spur-of-the-moment decision—it was for cold, hard profit.
The Sawyer land was worth a fortune.
But he hadn't expected Verna, who wasn't home at the time, to be a formidable woman. Against all odds, she took over and rebuilt the Sawyer family, thwarting his plans.
Over the years, as the Sawyer estate thrived under Verna's management, Burt's greed grew. He had been waiting for her to die.
Now that she was finally gone, a little girl had suddenly popped up to inherit the estate. And worse—Heather was the very baby who had gone missing all those years ago.
That was absolutely unacceptable.
Even if Heather seemed clueless and had done nothing yet, Burt wasn't about to take any chances. He had to eliminate her immediately.
That was just how ruthless he was.
He couldn't summon a massive mob like before, but several men who had followed him back then—those who had participated in the massacre—were still around.
Taking out one girl?
A piece of cake.
At the police station.
The sheriff got word of the situation and immediately left to find Heather.
"Kid, you need to leave," the sheriff warned. "You're not safe here."
"Why?"
Heather feigned ignorance.
"Well…"
The sheriff hesitated.
Burt was, after all, his boss.
But the slaughter of the Sawyers had always been his greatest regret. And now, seeing an innocent girl about to suffer the same fate, he couldn't stay silent.
Finally, he decided to tell her everything.
He explained the truth, emphasizing that Burt was planning to kill her soon. Her only chance of survival was to flee immediately.
"Are you joking?"
Heather feigned shock. "Is this still the land of the free? A mayor can just murder people? And as sheriff, instead of arresting him, you're just telling me to leave?"
The sheriff fell silent in shame.
Heather turned and walked away.
She had come here precisely to lure Burt out.
Now, she also knew that the fat man who had once laughed gleefully while holding a severed leg was one of Burt's closest men.
If Burt came, so would he.
Perfect.
She could end this once and for all.