That was what it had all been about, really. Power. Bill’s power over my parents. Vanessa’s power over Peter. Luna’s power over Peyton. Even Peyton was playing a power game with her family when she died. And ultimately, it was lack of power that destroyed my family. Not just our lack of power, but Peter Fairchild’s as well. My mother lost her life because he had lost his beloved Vanessa.

But where everyone was wrong was in thinking Bill Hollis would always win. In the end, he didn’t. His control, his money-hunger, was his undoing. It was the undoing of all of them. Vanessa finally had her man and lost him to two kids who belonged to my mother and Brandi. Luna finally had her stardom and was in a morgue. Bill Hollis finally had his chance to take me down, and he failed.

Was I acting out of power, too? Was that what all this was—this dogged pursuit of answers?

No. No way. I was dragged into this mess. I was made to care about Peyton. I was grieving Dru. I was avenging my mother. But never was I looking for power.

I was looking for closure.

Hell, if I was being completely honest, I was looking for love. Sloppy, annoying, terrifying, magenta love. Because no matter how many times I told myself I didn’t need it, I did. Everyone did.

“I never meant to lie to you, Nikki,” Dad said. I could see tears in his eyes, behind his glasses. “I was trying to protect you. And to protect your mother’s memory. I wanted you to remember only the good things about her.”

“That is all I can remember,” I said. “Constructing this new version of her has been awful. Because the mom in my memories was kind and gentle and loving and so beautiful.”

“And that was exactly who she was. Just like you.”

I let out a snort. “Okay.”

“No, I’m serious. You look just like her. It’s like living with a ghost sometimes.”

I stared at him. How many times had I had the same exact thought about living with him?

The curtain fluttered as someone rooted around for the split. Then it parted, and Chris Martinez stuck his head through.

“Oh. Sorry. I’ll come back,” he said, ducking back out.

“No,” I called. “You can come in.”

There was a pause, and then his whole body appeared through the curtain. Wary. Awkward.

“I want you two to meet,” I said. I turned to Dad. “No more secrets.” I took a breath. This felt so weird. “Dad, this is Detective Chris Martinez. Chris, this is my dad, Milo Kill.”

Chris stuck out his hand. My dad looked at it, and then at me. “Detective?”

“The one who killed Bill Hollis, actually.” I took another breath, then let it out. “The one who inspired me to go into the academy.”