The Range Rover pulled into the private alley behind a three-Michelin-star restaurant.

A bodyguard escorted Briana through the heavy steel back doors, leading her down a hallway lined with thick, sound-absorbing velvet carpets.

He pushed open a massive oak door. Inside the private dining room, low cello music played. Clark sat at the head of a long, black walnut table, slowly swirling a glass of dark red wine.

Briana intentionally dragged her feet, emphasizing her limp as she walked into the room. She kept her shoulders hunched, playing the terrified victim.

Clark didn't even look up. He picked up a thick manila envelope and tossed it onto the table. It hit the wood with a heavy smack.

Briana stopped. She stared at the envelope, her heart beating a rapid rhythm against her ribs. She calculated exactly how much he could have found out in an hour.

Clark tilted his chin toward the file. "Open it."

Briana bit her lower lip, letting her hand tremble as she reached out. She unwound the string and pulled out the papers.

The first page was a copy of Doyle's gambling debts from an underground casino. Attached to it was the transaction record of Doyle selling her to Preston for ten thousand dollars.

Briana forced her pupils to dilate. She let the tears spill over her lashes. Her shoulders began to shake violently.

She clutched the papers to her chest, her knees buckling. She collapsed into the chair, letting out a stifled, agonizing sob.

Clark watched her performance with dead, cold eyes. "You stabbed a man in the shoulder with broken glass and nearly severed his artery," he stated, his voice devoid of any pity.

The lie was exposed. Briana's crying stopped instantly. She lowered the papers. She looked up at him, the fake tears gone, replaced by the cornered, feral glare of a trapped animal.

Before she could speak, her stomach let out a loud, aggressive growl.

The sound shattered the heavy tension in the room. Briana's face flushed hot red. She dropped the file and stared directly at the steaming plate of Beef Wellington sitting in the center of the table.

Clark let out a short, humorless scoff. He gestured to the food. "Eat."

Briana didn't hesitate. She grabbed a fork and knife and tore into the expensive meat. She shoved huge pieces into her mouth, chewing with her mouth open, letting the rich gravy smear across her chin.

She ate like a starving dog. It was repulsive. It completely shattered any lingering illusion Clark might have had that this girl shared anything in common with the elegant, refined Imogen.

Clark watched her, a flicker of cold disappointment settling in his eyes. The absurd hope that had sparked in the car was irrational. This girl's desperation was raw, her vulgarity a harsh product of her environment. Whatever fleeting resemblance he had imagined was just that-a phantom conjured by his own mind. He would use her as a pawn, and when he was done, he would discard her. The mystery of her familiar gaze could wait.

Briana swallowed the last piece of meat. She grabbed a glass of lemon water and downed it in one gulp. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing the grease further.

Her eyes were now crystal clear and sharp.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "I need your protection."

Clark leaned back in his chair, looking at her like she was a joke. "And why would I protect a slum girl with a murder charge hanging over her head?"

Briana's hands gripped the edge of the table. "Because you are being suffocated by your family's pressure to marry."

She stated the name of the socialite he was supposed to meet tonight-a detail she had deduced from her past life. She knew the Ellis matriarch's obsessive habits; the old woman always scheduled Clark's mandatory dates on the last Friday of the month, and she had caught a fleeting glimpse of a text notification flashing on Clark's phone screen earlier that confirmed the target.

The temperature in the room plummeted. Clark's eyes narrowed into lethal slits. Murderous intent rolled off him in waves.

Briana fought the urge to shrink back. Her palms were sweating, but she held his gaze. "I can be your perfect shield. I'll get rid of any woman you don't want to deal with."

She leaned closer. "Keep me alive, and I'll sign whatever contract you want. I'll be your most obedient dog."

Clark stared at her. His long fingers began to tap rhythmically against the armrest of his chair. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

Suddenly, Clark's phone buzzed on the table. It was a text from his grandmother, demanding to know why he was late for his date.

A flash of pure annoyance crossed Clark's face. He flipped the phone face down. The corner of his mouth twitched upward into a cruel smirk.

"One month," Clark said, his voice like cracking ice. "You have a one-month trial. Starting tonight. You will get rid of the woman waiting for me."

Briana's lungs finally expanded. She stood up, grabbed the sides of her filthy jeans, and did a mocking, exaggerated curtsy. "Consider it done."

The Maybach glided smoothly up the private driveway of Beverly Hills. The massive wrought-iron gates of the Ellis Manor slowly parted in the darkness.

Briana stared out the window at the familiar marble fountain in the courtyard. Her chest tightened. She forced down the memories of attending summer parties here in her past life.

The car stopped under the grand portico. Jairo opened her door, his face a blank mask. He handed her a sleek black keycard.

Clark didn't move from the backseat. "Don't disappoint me," he said, the window rolling up before she could reply. The car pulled away toward the underground garage.

The head butler handed her off to a senior maid named Niamh. Niamh looked Briana up and down, her nose wrinkling at the cheap, blood-stained clothes.

Niamh led her up the sweeping Persian-carpeted staircase, rattling off a list of strict manor rules at lightning speed.

Briana widened her eyes, playing the clueless country bumpkin. She looked around with exaggerated awe. She reached out to touch a priceless Ming dynasty vase sitting on a pedestal.

"Don't touch that!" Niamh shrieked, slapping Briana's hand away. "You couldn't pay for that with your life!"

Briana snatched her hand back, hunching her shoulders and muttering pathetic apologies.

Niamh shoved her into a small guest room at the end of the hall. She threw a stack of ill-fitting maid uniforms onto the bed and walked out, slamming the door.

The second the latch clicked, Briana's pathetic posture vanished. She walked over to the full-length mirror and stared at her reflection. Her eyes were cold and dead.

She went into the bathroom and scrubbed the dirt and dried blood from her skin until it turned red. Her mind raced, scripting the "crazy woman" act she was about to perform.

She stepped out of the shower and ignored the maid uniforms. She opened the guest closet. It was stocked with emergency clothing for guests.

She bypassed the elegant gowns and pulled out the most atrocious dress she could find-a cheap-looking, neon-pink sequined mini dress with a plunging neckline. She put it on, intentionally pulling the fabric down to expose too much cleavage.

Sitting at the vanity, she applied a thick, heavy layer of black eyeliner, smudging it to look like a messy smokey eye. She smeared a garish, blood-red lipstick across her mouth.

She ran her fingers wildly through her damp hair, teasing it into a chaotic bird's nest.

She looked like a cheap, aggressive gold digger. Perfect.

She heard the sharp click of high heels echoing on the marble floor downstairs, followed by the butler's overly respectful greeting.

Briana cracked her door open, peering through the sliver of space like a spider waiting in the dark.

The heavy front doors opened. A woman walked in, surrounded by fawning staff. She wore a custom white silk gown, her posture radiating old-money elegance.

She took off her wide-brimmed hat.

Briana's breath stopped. Her pupils shrank to pinpricks.

It was Kathleen.

Briana's fingernails dug so hard into the wooden doorframe that splinters pierced her skin. Blood welled up under her nails.

A violent ringing started in her ears. The sensation of toxic waste filling her lungs returned, choking her. Her vision tinted red.

The woman Clark wanted her to get rid of tonight was Kathleen. The universe had handed her the perfect opportunity for revenge on a silver platter.

Downstairs, Kathleen smiled sweetly, gently scolding a maid for the placement of the lilies. The hypocrisy made Briana's stomach churn violently.

Briana let go of the doorframe. She took a deep breath, burying her murderous rage beneath the heavy makeup.

She picked up a cup of cold coffee from the nightstand and deliberately spilled half of it down the front of her sequined dress.

Downstairs, Kathleen sat gracefully on the velvet sofa, sipping Earl Grey tea. "When will Clark be joining me?" she asked the butler.

Briana kicked off her heels. Barefoot, she yanked the door open and ignored the sharp, radiating pain in her twisted ankle, stomping heavily onto the wooden landing. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Every head in the grand hall snapped up.

Kathleen's elegant brow furrowed. Disgust flashed in her eyes as she took in the sight of the messy, half-dressed woman.

Briana leaned over the mahogany banister, a crude, mocking smirk on her red lips. "Where the hell is Clark?" she yelled, her voice loud and grating.

The battle had begun. Briana marched down the stairs, bringing all her vulgarity and madness straight toward Kathleen.

Briana's bare feet slapped loudly against the pristine marble floor. She swayed her hips exaggeratedly, walking straight to the sofa and dropping her weight heavily onto the cushion directly across from Kathleen.

Kathleen instantly pressed a manicured hand over her nose, leaning back as if Briana's cheap perfume was toxic gas.

The butler rushed forward, his face pale. "Miss, you cannot be here-"

"Clark told me to stay here!" Briana shrieked, her voice echoing shrilly in the cavernous hall. "Who the hell is gonna touch me?"

At the sound of Clark's name, the polite mask on Kathleen's face cracked. Her jaw tightened. She looked down at Briana with absolute superiority. "And who exactly are you?"

Briana rolled her eyes dramatically. She grabbed the hem of her coffee-stained sequin dress and hiked it up her thigh. "Clark picked this out for me last night. In his car."

The implication hit Kathleen like a physical slap. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her teacup.

Kathleen let out a cold, condescending laugh. She unclasped her limited-edition Birkin bag, pulled out a checkbook, and scribbled a number.

She tossed the check onto the glass coffee table. It fluttered down like trash. "Take the money and get out. Don't dirty Clark's rugs."

Briana stared at the check. The memories of Kathleen stealing her family's company, her life, her future, boiled over.

A sharp, hysterical laugh burst from Briana's throat. It grew louder, echoing off the high ceilings, sounding completely unhinged.

The hair on Kathleen's arms stood up. "Guards! Throw this trash out!" she snapped.

Two massive bodyguards stepped forward.

Before they could reach her, Briana lunged. She grabbed the cup of Earl Grey tea from the table. With a vicious flick of her wrist, she sent the brown liquid splashing directly across Kathleen's pristine white gown and shocked face.

Kathleen gasped, a shrill, humiliated shriek tearing from her throat as the tea ruined her perfect makeup.

The guards lunged. Briana twisted her body, slipping out of their grasp like a snake. She grabbed a heavy crystal fruit bowl and hurled it at the closest guard's chest, knocking him back.

Chaos erupted. Briana sprinted across the hall toward a terrified maid who was holding a heavy mop bucket.

The bucket was filled with the day's filthy, grey mop water, thick with dirt and smelling of bleach and grime.

Briana snatched the bucket by the handle. Her eyes were dead, locked onto her target.

Kathleen was still shrieking on the sofa, wiping at her burning eyes.

Briana stepped up, raised the heavy bucket, and dumped the entire contents directly over Kathleen's head.

The filthy sludge ruined the custom white silk gown instantly. Kathleen sat frozen, dripping with grey mud, looking like a drowned rat pulled from a sewer.

The absolute humiliation shattered Kathleen's sanity. She let out a feral screech and lunged at Briana, hands outstretched to claw her face.

Briana was ready. She feigned a stumble, falling backward. As Kathleen leaned over her, Briana brought her knee up and drove it brutally into Kathleen's kneecap.

Kathleen cried out, her legs buckling. She crashed to her knees.

Briana instantly flipped their positions, straddling Kathleen's waist. She raised her hand and delivered a vicious, ringing slap to Kathleen's cheek. Then another.

Smack! Smack!

"That's for Clark!" Briana screamed, masking her personal vengeance as jealous rage. "He thinks you're disgusting!"

The bodyguards finally broke through the chaos. They grabbed Briana by the arms and violently hauled her off Kathleen.

Kathleen was sobbing hysterically, clutching her red, swollen face. The stench of the dirty water radiated off her. She couldn't even formulate a threat. She shoved the butler away, covered her face, and ran out the front doors into the night.

The roar of her sports car engine faded into the distance.

The grand hall was dead silent, save for Briana's heavy breathing. She was pinned to the floor by two guards, her hair a mess, but a wide, euphoric smile stretched across her face.

Up on the second-floor balcony, Clark stood in a black silk robe. He looked down at the wreckage, his eyes dark and unreadable.

Jairo stood beside him. "Should I have her thrown out, sir?"

Clark watched the feral, smiling girl pinned to his floor. Slowly, the corner of his mouth curved upward.

He raised a hand and flicked his fingers. "Let her go."