The morning the news broke, Stephie felt a chill that had nothing to do with the foggy Malibu coastline outside. Something deep within her stirred before logic could catch up, an instinctive warning that the world had shifted irrevocably. Taylor was dead. A hiker had discovered her body near a sharp curve along the upper ridge—a treacherous intersection where cliff met trail. Authorities called it a tragic accident, a misstep in the morning mist. They described Taylor losing her footing and falling, succumbing to injuries before help could reach her.

But Stephie recoiled from their words. Taylor knew the terrain; she had hiked that ridge since Stephie’s childhood. The explanation sounded clinical, too neat to be true. Even Ridge tried to rationalize it, whispering that Malibu cliffs had claimed lives before, that accidents happened to the most careful hikers. The officer at the house repeated the same lines: no evidence of foul play, no suspicious footprints, no tire tracks—everything pointed to an accident. Yet, each attempt at reassurance only sharpened Stephie’s unease, turning grief into something heavier, a suspicion she could not ignore.

At the funeral, as condolences floated past, Stephie lingered by Taylor’s framed photograph. Her mother’s eyes seemed to urge her attention, silently questioning the story the world tried to sell. Returning to the cliffside herself, Stephie examined the terrain. The soil was disturbed, yes, but not chaotically. It bore marks of intention, of someone trying to obscure the truth. Her mind immediately jumped to Sheila Carter—a persistent shadow in the family’s life, a woman capable of obsession, manipulation, and violence.

Stephie remembered a recent encounter Taylor had with Sheila, witnessed by Lee. Sheila had coldly warned Taylor to stay away from Deacon, hinting that Taylor’s presence was a problem to be “removed.” At the time, it seemed like another of Sheila’s empty threats. Now, it felt prophetic. Stephie began scrutinizing Taylor’s belongings. Her mother’s phone had a missing call record, the hiking boots damp in ways inconsistent with the terrain, and her jacket carried a faint, strange chemical scent. Each detail whispered orchestration.

Stephie sought reassurance from Ridge and Finn, but their responses were cautious. Ridge wanted to believe in the accident, and even Finn, supportive yet hesitant, reminded her that grief often searches for villains. Lee, however, validated Stephie’s fears: Sheila had threatened Taylor, and now her death brought those threats back to life with a new, chilling significance.

Determined, Stephie reconstructed Taylor’s morning. Her mother had left early, dressed for a private walk, not a casual outing. Camera footage along the route was offline that morning—an “accidental” glitch with suspicious timing. Stephie pressed the police to investigate. The more obstacles arose, the more resolute she became. Taylor deserved the truth.

Late one night, alone at the ridge, Stephie felt the familiar weight of presence. The soil bore faint, unnatural impressions, subtle but deliberate. A chemical trace lingered, matching Taylor’s jacket. Someone had lured her here, incapacitated her, and staged the fall. Sheila had the motive, the means, and the history. Stephie turned over her findings to the police, who listened carefully but reminded her that circumstantial evidence was insufficient for a legal case.

When Sheila was finally questioned, Stephie observed from behind the glass, flanked by Finn and Lee. Sheila’s calm demeanor masked a cold precision. She offered an airtight alibi, deflected questions about the cameras and the missing call, and presented herself as a victim of circumstance. Yet subtle tells betrayed her. A fleeting flicker of bitterness, a careful gaze toward Stephie—warnings disguised as casual motions. By the end, Sheila’s final glance, almost a smile, left no doubt: she enjoyed the game, she thrived on control, and she knew how close she had come to escaping notice.

Stephie understood why. Taylor had chosen a path of honesty and openness, ready to live her life on her own terms, particularly regarding her relationship with Deacon. To Sheila, Taylor was an obstacle—a threat to the carefully controlled world she pretended to inhabit. By removing her, Sheila had reasserted her dominance, her message clear: she controlled who lived and who died in her orbit.