The serenity of the cliff house shattered the moment Luna’s shadow darkened its doorstep once more. Stephie had hoped the worst was behind them, but her instincts screamed otherwise. As Luna stood there, uninvited and unnervingly composed, Stephie saw not just a girl broken by her past—but a storm fueled by obsession, delusion, and dangerous resolve.

Finn stood by his wife, unwavering in his loyalty, but shaken by Luna’s persistence. Her crocodile tears no longer fooled him. Not after everything. Not after the lives lost. He knew now, without a doubt, that the girl once seeking forgiveness had evolved into something far more terrifying—calculated and untethered from reality.

As Ridge joined them, the gravity of the situation escalated. His paternal fury was unmistakable. A woman who had tried to murder his daughter was now freely roaming the city, whispering twisted fantasies about love and revenge. And to everyone’s disgust, it was Bill Spencer’s legal maneuvering that had opened the gates to this chaos.

Meanwhile, across town, Luna stared at a glowing image of Finn on her laptop, fingers trembling over the barrel of a 9mm pistol. Her once-soft features contorted in a twisted mixture of longing and rage. Her voice, cold as steel, whispered promises to the woman she blamed for everything: Stephie.

At Deacon and Sheila’s apartment, tensions boiled over. Deacon demanded answers—why had Sheila met Luna in secret? Why had she not told him Luna was unraveling? Sheila tried to defend herself, swearing she had warned Luna to leave town. But her voice quivered. Deep down, she knew—Luna hadn’t listened.

Later that evening, Luna returned to the cliff house. Unseen. Undeterred. She walked the corridor like a ghost trapped between vengeance and despair. When she saw Stephie standing alone by the fireplace, unaware of her presence, something inside Luna cracked completely. She stepped forward, heart pounding, gun in hand—and then, the world stopped.

The gun fired.

Stephie collapsed.

Blood soaked into the marble floor as Luna froze in horror.

Seconds later, Sheila appeared in the doorway, breathless and wide-eyed. Without a word, she took the gun, wiped the handle clean, and whispered just one sentence: “You need to go. Now.”

Luna vanished into the night as sirens wailed in the distance. Sheila stayed behind, playing the role of villain one more time. When the police arrived, her confession was ready—well-practiced and convenient. To the world, it would seem that Sheila had snapped once again.

But across the city, Luna sat by the ocean, haunted and broken. The guilt was unbearable. The silence, deafening. And the truth? Too dangerous to tell.