The heavy doors of the study remained closed.

Alistair, Arthur.

He paced back and forth across the thick rug in the living room.

He held his phone tight against his ear.

Sweat dripped down his forehead.

He nodded rapidly, muttering frantic agreements into the receiver.

He hung up the phone.

He wiped his forehead with a silk handkerchief and walked into the living room.

Arthur, Edwina, and Hailie looked up at him.

Alistair cleared his throat.

His voice shook slightly.

"They agreed."

Alistair looked at Arthur in disbelief.

"Maison Étoile agreed to the rush order. And they waived the emergency fee."

Arthur.

His thick eyebrows shot up toward his hairline.

He leaned back in his leather chair.

That brand was notorious for its extreme arrogance.

They never bent their rules for anyone, not even billionaires.

Edwina clapped her hands together.

She stood up, her face glowing with sudden pride.

"You see?"

Edwina looked at Arthur.

"It is the Rollins name. They know our status in New York. They respect us."

Hailie touched her collarbone.

She bit her lower lip, forcing a shy, sweet smile onto her face.

"Actually, Mother."

Hailie lowered her voice to make it sound modest.

"I played a cello solo at the Lincoln Center last week."

She smoothed the skirt of her Chanel dress.

"The head designer of Maison Étoile liked my photos on Instagram. I think they are doing this for me."

Edwina gasped in delight.

She rushed over and grabbed Hailie.

"Of course. My beautiful, talented girl."

Edwina kissed Hailie.

"When the dress arrives, you must try it on first. We need to take pictures for your social media."

Hailie lifted her chin.

Her chest swelled with vanity.

She imagined Gina standing in the corner, watching her wear the most expensive dress in the world.

At exactly three o'clock, the heavy iron gates of the Rollins estate swung open.

Three massive, black Mercedes-Benz Sprinter vans drove up the private driveway.

The tires crunched loudly against the gravel.

The maids and butlers stopped washing the windows and sweeping the steps.

They stared at the vehicles.

The side doors of the vans slid open simultaneously.

Six assistants stepped out.

They wore immaculate black tailored suits and spotless white cotton gloves.

The last person to step out of the lead van was Adrianne Vega.

She was the Director of North American Operations for Maison Étoile.

She wore a sharp, dark navy smoking suit.

Her black stilettos clicked sharply against the pavement.

Two assistants carefully rolled out a massive, heavy-duty clothing rack.

A thick, black velvet dust cover completely hid the garment hanging on it.

Arthur led his family out onto the grand portico.

He stretched his lips into a wide, fake, corporate smile.

He walked down the steps and extended his right hand toward Adrianne.

Adrianne stopped walking.

She slowly took off her dark sunglasses.

Her eyes swept over Arthur.

She looked at his extended hand.

She did not raise her own.

Arthur.

He awkwardly pulled his hand back and shoved it into his trouser pocket.

He let out a loud, forced laugh.

"Artists. Always so temperamental."

Hailie pushed past her father.

She stepped right in front of Adrianne.

She plastered her sweetest, most innocent smile on her face.

"Ms. Vega, it is such an honor."

Hailie clasped her hands under her chin.

"I am a huge fan of your work. Thank you so much for coming for me."

Adrianne looked down at Hailie.

A microscopic twitch of absolute disgust pulled at the corner of Adrianne.

Adrianne gave a single, robotic nod.

"We require your largest, best-lit fitting room. Immediately."

Adrianne.

Edwina snapped her fingers at the head butler.

"Take them to Hailie."

The assistants pushed the heavy rack up the grand staircase.

They rolled it into the massive, mirror-lined closet on the second floor.

Four tailoring assistants immediately began adjusting the overhead spotlights.

Hailie bounced on her toes.

She followed the rack into the center of the room.

She reached out her hand.

Her fingers moved to grab the heavy brass zipper of the black velvet cover.

An assistant stepped directly into Hailie.

The assistant raised a white-gloved hand, physically blocking Hailie.

"Do not touch the fabric."

The assistant.

"This piece features extremely fragile French embroidery. Only the client may handle it."

Hailie.

The blood rushed to her cheeks, turning them a splotchy, angry red.

She forced a tight smile.

"I am the client. I am here to try it on."

Hailie turned to Adrianne.

Her voice grew sharp and commanding.

"Take it out. Now."

Adrianne opened a thick, gold-embossed leather binder.

She did not look at Hailie.

She looked past the angry girl.

Her eyes locked onto the dark shadows at the far end of the hallway outside the closet.

Adrianne raised her voice.

Her tone shifted from icy professionalism to absolute, unwavering respect.

"Could someone please tell me."

Adrianne.

"Which one of you is Miss Gina Rollins?"

The air inside the massive closet instantly turned to ice.

Hailie froze.

Her hand was still suspended in the air.

The sweet, demanding smile on her face cracked, leaving her mouth hanging open in a grotesque shape.

Edwina shoved past the tailoring assistants.

Her heels dug into the thick carpet.

She marched right up to Adrianne.

"You have made a mistake."

Edwina yelled, her voice echoing off the mirrored walls.

"You have the wrong name."

Adrianne slowly turned the heavy leather binder around.

She held it up so the overhead spotlights hit the page.

Written in flawless, gold-leaf calligraphy across the top of the order form were two words.

Gina Rollins.

"This gown was flown in from Paris three hours ago."

Adrianne.

"It was hand-altered overnight based on the exact measurements we received. It belongs exclusively to Miss Gina."

Hailie felt a physical blow to her chest.

The humiliation burned her throat.

Tears of pure, acidic jealousy welled up in her eyes.

She bit her lip so hard she tasted copper.

She spun around and ran out of the closet, her sobs echoing down the hall.

Edwina.

She glared at the doorway.

Gina stood in the hall, wearing her faded, ill-fitting clothes.

Edwina shot Gina a look of pure murder before chasing after Hailie.

Gina slowly walked into the closet.

The moment she crossed the threshold, Adrianne snapped her fingers.

The four tailoring assistants immediately stepped out into the hallway.

They pulled the heavy double doors shut behind them.

The heavy click of the lock sealed the room.

Adrianne.

Her icy, arrogant posture softened imperceptibly. She stepped forward and crouched slightly, pretending to adjust the hem of Gina's faded pants. She leaned in close, her body acting as a perfect shield from any hidden cameras. Her eyes were red. Her voice was a rapid, hushed whisper that shook with suppressed emotion. "Boss."

Gina reached down.

She gripped Adrianne.

Her eyes lost their dead, vacant stare.

They sharpened into the calculating, lethal gaze of a predator.

"Report."

Gina.

Adrianne stood up.

She grabbed a measuring tape and draped it around Gina.

She began to physically measure Gina, maintaining the cover of a fitting just in case the room was bugged.

She leaned in close.

Her voice was a rapid, hushed whisper.

"The marriage is a fraud."

Adrianne pulled the tape tight across Gina.

"Kerr Brooks is not a tech prodigy looking for a wife. He was in a massive car crash in Silicon Valley two weeks ago."

Adrianne moved to measure Gina.

"He suffered catastrophic trauma. He is in a deep, unresponsive coma. A vegetative state."

Gina did not flinch.

Her breathing remained perfectly steady.

"The Brooks family is hiding it to stop their stock from crashing."

Adrianne.

"They need a wedding to distract the media. Arthur Rollins needs the Brooks cash injection to save his failing company."

Adrianne knelt to measure the hemline.

"Arthur sold you to a dead man because he didn't want Hailie to be a widow."

Gina looked at her own reflection in the three-way mirror.

Her pale face looked like carved marble.

A low, dark chuckle vibrated in her chest.

She reached out and grabbed the brass zipper of the velvet cover.

She pulled it down.

The dress was a masterpiece.

It was midnight blue, the color of a starless sky.

Thousands of microscopic black diamonds were hand-stitched into the bodice.

Gina ran her fingertips over the cold, hard stones.

There was no sadness in her eyes.

Only the thrilling, violent spark of absolute war.

"If they want me to marry a corpse."

Gina whispered to the mirror.

"I will use his empire to bury them all alive."

"Do you want me to mobilize the dark web operatives?"

Adrianne asked, her hands shaking with anger.

"We can destroy the press conference tomorrow."

"No."

Gina dropped her hand from the dress.

"Let them play their game. Track the Brooks family money. Find out where every cent is going."

Fifteen minutes later, the heavy closet doors swung open.

Gina stepped out into the hallway.

The midnight blue gown clung to her body like a second skin.

The black diamonds caught the light, flashing like shattered glass.

She no longer slouched.

Her spine was perfectly straight.

She radiated the suffocating, terrifying aura of a queen stepping onto a battlefield.

Gustaf was walking up the stairs, holding a mug of hot coffee.

He looked up.

He saw Gina.

His jaw went slack.

His fingers lost their grip.

The ceramic mug hit the carpet.

Hot coffee splashed across his expensive shoes.

Gina did not look at him.

She lifted the heavy silk skirt.

She walked down the stairs, her heels clicking in a slow, deadly rhythm.

She looked down into the foyer.

Edwina was still hugging a crying Hailie.

Gina.

"The game begins now."

The camera flashes blinded the reporters at the press conference.

Gina stood on the stage, wearing the midnight blue gown.

She smiled perfectly.

She answered every question with flawless, rehearsed grace.

The next evening, the New York tabloids hit the stands.

Gina.

Hailie sat on the edge of her four-poster bed.

She held a newspaper in her trembling hands.

She screamed and ripped the paper in half.

She tore the photo of Gina into tiny, jagged pieces and threw them onto the floor.

"Trisha."

Hailie yelled.

The young maid scurried into the room, her head bowed.

Hailie opened the drawer of her nightstand.

She pulled out a thick stack of crisp, hundred-dollar bills.

She shoved the money into Trisha.

Then, Hailie reached into the bottom compartment of her makeup box.

She pulled out a tiny, unlabeled glass vial.

Clear liquid sloshed inside.

"Put this in her dinner tonight."

Hailie whispered.

Her eyes were wide and manic.

"It is a hallucinogen. It will make her lose her mind completely. They will lock her back in the asylum tomorrow."

Trisha looked at the thick stack of cash.

She swallowed hard.

Her fingers curled tightly around the glass vial.

She nodded and slipped the vial into her apron pocket.

Back in her small guest room, thirty minutes before dinner, Gina had carefully peeled back the rubber sole of her canvas shoe. From a microscopic waterproof pouch hidden inside, she had extracted a tiny, clear pill-her final line of defense developed during her years in the asylum's underground lab. She had slipped it securely under her tongue, anticipating their next move.

Dinner was served at eight o'clock.

The long oak dining table was empty except for Gina.

She sat at the very end, staring at the polished wood.

Trisha walked out of the kitchen.

She carried a silver tray.

On the tray was a porcelain bowl of steaming black truffle mushroom soup.

Trisha.

Her hands shook violently.

She set the bowl down in front of Gina.

The silver spoon rattled against the porcelain with a loud clink.

Gina slowly raised her eyes.

She looked at Trisha.

Trisha quickly looked down at her shoes.

"The chef made this specially for you, Miss."

Trisha stuttered.

Gina picked up the silver spoon.

She dipped it into the thick, dark soup.

She stirred it once.

The hot steam rose into the air.

Gina inhaled.

Beneath the heavy, earthy smell of the truffles, her nose caught something else.

It was a faint, sharp, chemical bitterness.

Gina.

She had spent five years in the asylum operating as an underground surgeon and chemist.

Her brain instantly broke down the molecular structure of the smell.

It was a high-purity LSD derivative.

A massive overdose.

Enough to cause permanent psychosis and terrifying visual hallucinations.

Gina did not stop stirring.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow move on the second-floor landing.

Hailie was hiding behind the banister, watching.

A microscopic smirk touched the corner of Gina.

She brought her left hand up to her mouth, pretending to cough.

Under the cover of her hand, her tongue pushed the hidden broad-spectrum antidote capsule from her cheek to her teeth.

She bit down.

The capsule shattered.

The bitter, neutralizing liquid burned down her throat.

Gina lowered her hand.

She scooped up a large spoonful of the poisoned soup.

She put it in her mouth and swallowed.

She ate the entire bowl.

Trisha let out a massive, shaky breath.

Gina put the spoon down.

She reached up and pressed her fingers hard against her temples.

She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a soft groan, swaying slightly in her chair.

Trisha turned and practically sprinted up the stairs to tell Hailie the job was done.

Gina stood up.

She dragged her feet, stumbling slightly as she walked back to her small guest room.

She pushed the door shut and locked it.

The moment the lock clicked, Gina.

Her posture snapped straight.

Her eyes opened.

They were clear, sharp, and completely focused.

The poison was already neutralized in her stomach.

Even without the antidote, her body had endured so many chemical trials in the asylum that this dose would barely give her a headache.

Gina walked to the window.

Outside, thick black clouds rolled over New York.

Lightning flashed, followed by the deep rumble of thunder.

A storm was breaking.

Gina pulled her suitcase from under the bed.

She unzipped a hidden waterproof compartment.

She pulled out a micro-Bluetooth speaker, an infrared smart bulb, and a folded piece of white fabric.

She shook the fabric out.

It was an old, blood-stained maid.

It belonged to Aine, the maid Hailie had pushed down the stairs five years ago.

Gina looked at the uniform.

If Hailie wanted to play with hallucinations.

Gina would give them a nightmare they would never wake up from.

She began to wire the room.