Sunlight sliced through the heavy velvet curtains, hitting Elaina right in the eyes. She woke up instantly, no grogginess, just a sharp, clear alertness.

She sat up. The sofa was empty. The pillow was on the floor. Cordero was gone.

Good.

Elaina threw off the covers and marched into the massive walk-in closet. She flipped the light switch.

It was a horror show.

Rack after rack of neon colors, animal prints, sequins, and feathers. In her past life, Amanda had "helped" her shop, telling her that the Boone family loved bold, artistic statements. She had told Elaina that Cordero liked women who dressed "exotically" to match her Latina heritage.

Elaina had looked like a clown. A caricature.

She grabbed a handful of hangers holding a leopard print jumpsuit with rhinestones. She ripped it off the rack and threw it on the floor.

Then a neon pink tulle skirt.

A gold lamé blouse.

She moved with a frantic, focused energy, stripping the closet bare of the atrocities. By the time she was done, a mountain of expensive, tacky fabric lay in the center of the room.

She went to the back corner, where she had hidden her old clothes-the ones from before she tried to be "Mrs. Boone."

She found a pair of straight-leg vintage Levi's and a crisp, white button-down shirt. She put them on. She rolled the sleeves up to her elbows.

She went to the bathroom. She washed her face, scrubbing away the residue of the heavy night creams Amanda had insisted she use. Her skin was glowing and youthful. She didn't need layers of foundation.

She pulled her thick, dark hair back into a high, severe ponytail, exposing the elegant line of her neck.

She looked in the mirror. She didn't look like a rich man's toy anymore. She looked like Elaina Velasquez. Dangerous. Clean. Sharp.

A knock at the door. A maid peeked in, holding a feather duster.

"Oh!" The maid jumped when she saw the pile of clothes. Then she looked at Elaina, her eyes widening. She clearly didn't recognize the woman standing there. "Ma'am?"

"Take all of this," Elaina said, gesturing to the pile. Her voice was cool and authoritative. "Donate it. I don't care. Just get it out of my sight."

"Y-yes, Mrs. Boone." The maid scrambled to comply.

Elaina walked out of the room. She descended the grand staircase, her hand gliding over the mahogany banister. The portraits of Boone ancestors seemed to glare at her, but she stared right back.

She reached the dining room.

Cordero was sitting at the head of the table, a newspaper spread out, a cup of coffee in hand.

Amanda was there too. Of course she was. She was sitting to Cordero's right, leaning in close, laughing at something on her phone. She was wearing a floral sundress that looked innocent and sweet.

Elaina's heels clicked on the marble floor. Click. Click. Click.

Cordero looked up.

His eyes widened. He froze. The coffee cup stopped halfway to his mouth. He stared at her, his gaze traveling from the white shirt to the jeans to the ponytail. He looked confused, as if he was trying to reconcile this image with the woman he married yesterday.

Amanda turned, a smile plastered on her face. "Elaina! Good morn-"

The smile died. She blinked. She looked at Elaina's outfit, then at her face. The lack of makeup. The confidence.

Elaina didn't say a word. She walked past Amanda. She walked past the empty seat on the side where she usually sat.

She walked to the foot of the table-the seat opposite Cordero. The Matriarch's seat.

She pulled the heavy chair out. The sound scraped against the floor, echoing.

She sat down. She crossed her legs. She laced her fingers together on the table.

"Good morning," Elaina said. Her voice was calm, devoid of the desperate, high-pitched tone she used to have.

The silence in the room was absolute.

Cordero slowly lowered his cup. He was staring at her with an intensity that made her skin prickle. It wasn't hatred anymore. It was shock.

Amanda shifted in her seat. She looked unsettled. "Elaina, you look... different. Are you feeling okay? That outfit is very... casual for breakfast at the Manor."

"It's clean," Elaina said, holding Amanda's gaze. "I decided I was done wearing costumes."

Amanda flinched as if she'd been slapped.

Elaina turned her head to the butler standing by the sideboard. "Black coffee. No sugar."

The butler, a man named Henderson who had always ignored her, snapped to attention. "Yes, Madam. Immediately."

Elaina looked back at Cordero. He was still watching her. His dark eyes were narrowed, calculating. He was seeing her for the first time.

The silence stretched, thin and brittle. The only sound was the clinking of silver against china as Henderson placed the coffee in front of Elaina.

Amanda cleared her throat. The sound was too loud. She needed to regain control. She clapped her hands together lightly.

"Well! Since it's the first morning, I thought we should keep the Boone tradition alive," Amanda chirped. She signaled to a maid. "I had the kitchen prepare the celebratory mimosas and the fertility pastries."

A maid brought a tray. On it was a plate of small, intricate pastries and three crystal flutes of champagne.

"Just a sip for luck!" Amanda said, beaming. She reached for a glass and slid it across the polished wood toward Elaina. "To the happy couple."

Elaina stared at the glass. The bubbles rose in a mesmerizing dance.

Déjà vu.

She remembered this. In the last life, she had downed the glass because she was nervous and wanted to please Amanda. Twenty minutes later, she had become hysterical, crying and laughing uncontrollably at the table. She had thrown a plate. Cordero had looked at her like she was insane and left the house for three days.

It wasn't alcohol. It was a cocktail of psychotropics.

Elaina didn't touch the glass. She looked at Amanda. "I'm not drinking this morning, Amanda."

Amanda's smile faltered. "Oh, come on. It's tradition! Don't be a spoilsport. Cordero hates a spoilsport." She looked at Cordero for backup.

Cordero didn't look at Amanda. He was still watching Elaina, his brow furrowed.

"Actually," Amanda said, her voice taking on a nervous edge. She reached into the sleeve of her cardigan. "I have... I have some vitamins too. I take them every morning. Maybe you need one? You look pale."

It was a clumsy move. Desperate. Amanda was trying to retrieve the second part of the dose she usually slipped in.

Amanda's hand shook. A small, amber plastic bottle slipped from her cuff.

It hit the table with a loud thwack. It rolled.

It rolled right across the mahogany surface, spinning past the floral centerpiece, and came to a stop directly in front of Cordero's newspaper.

Time stopped.

Amanda gasped. She lunged forward, trying to grab it. "Oops! My clumsy hands-"

Elaina was faster. Her hand shot out and clamped over the bottle before Amanda could touch it.

"What's this?" Elaina asked. Her voice was innocent, curious.

"It's just... calcium!" Amanda stammered. Her face was draining of color. "Give it to me."

Cordero looked at the bottle under Elaina's hand. He looked at Amanda's panicked face.

"Calcium?" Elaina tilted her head. She picked up the bottle. There was no label. "Funny. Calcium pills are usually huge. These look like... micro-dots."

She made a show of trying to unscrew the cap. "Should we put one in the champagne? If it's just vitamins, it won't hurt, right?"

"No!" Amanda shrieked. She stood up so fast her chair tipped over backward with a crash. Coffee sloshed onto the tablecloth.

Cordero stood up. His movement was fluid and menacing. He reached out and plucked the bottle from Elaina's fingers.

He held it up to the light. He rattled it.

"I know what this is," Cordero said. His voice was terrifyingly quiet. "We found this on a guest at the club last week. It's a hallucinogen. 'Blue Haze'."

He turned his gaze to Amanda. It was colder than the pond water.

"Why do you have illegal narcotics at my breakfast table, Amanda?"

"I... I don't..." Amanda was hyperventilating. "Someone must have put it in my coat! I didn't know!"

Elaina took a sip of her black coffee. It was bitter and hot. It tasted like victory.

"Strange place to keep vitamins," Elaina mused aloud. "In your sleeve. Like a magician."

Cordero looked from the bottle to Amanda, then to the untouched glass of champagne in front of Elaina. The realization hit him. His jaw tightened until a muscle feathering in his cheek jumped.

He didn't yell. He didn't explode. That wasn't the Boone way.

He dropped the bottle into his pocket.

"Get out," he said to Amanda.

"Cordero, please-"

"Get out of my house."

Amanda looked at him, then shot a look of pure, unadulterated venom at Elaina. She grabbed her purse and ran out of the room. The sound of her sobbing echoed in the hallway.

Cordero stood there for a moment. He looked at the champagne glass. He picked it up and poured the contents into the potted fern behind him.

Then he looked at Elaina. There was no apology in his eyes-he wasn't ready for that. But the disgust was gone. Replaced by a sharp, probing suspicion.

"I'm going to the office," he said.

He turned and walked away.

Elaina watched him go. She set her coffee cup down. Her hand was trembling slightly now that the adrenaline was fading.

She had won the first round.

The front door slammed shut, signaling Cordero's departure. The vibration seemed to shake the house.

Elaina sat alone in the vast dining room. The spilled coffee on the tablecloth was spreading, a dark, ugly stain.

She stood up and walked to the window where Amanda had fled. She saw Amanda's car peeling out of the driveway, gravel spraying.

Elaina knew this wasn't over. Amanda was a cockroach; she would survive this. She would spin a story-stress, a misunderstanding, a prescription mix-up. She had the Boone family wrapped around her finger.

Elaina needed leverage. And she needed resources.

She went upstairs to the master bedroom and opened the safe in the closet. She knew the combination-Cordero hadn't changed it from the default factory setting yet. 0-0-0-0. He didn't care enough to secure anything from her because he thought she was too stupid to steal.

Inside, there was cash, watches, and documents. She ignored the cash. Taking it would make her a thief in his eyes.

She reached for a small velvet box in the back. It contained a diamond necklace. It wasn't a Boone heirloom. It was the one gift her biological mother had left her before disappearing. It was the only thing of value Elaina actually owned.

In her last life, Amanda had convinced her to trade it for a fake Hermes bag to "fit in."

Elaina pocketed the necklace.

She called an Uber. She didn't use the family driver. She needed to be invisible.

An hour later, she was in a pawn shop in the Diamond District. The man behind the counter, a guy with thick glasses and thicker fingers, sneered at her jeans and ponytail.

"Thirty thousand," he grunted, barely looking at the stone. "Market is down."

Elaina leaned forward. Her eyes were hard. "This is a vintage Cartier setting from 1985. The center stone is a 2.5-carat cushion cut, VVS1 clarity, color E. The setting alone is worth fifty thousand at scrap value. The stone is worth at least two hundred."

The man paused. He looked up, adjusting his glasses. He looked at her properly.

"I'll give you one hundred and fifty thousand," he said, his tone changing.

"One hundred and eighty. Cash. Or I walk to the guy next door who knows I know what I'm talking about."

The man grunted again, but he opened the register.

Elaina walked out with a thick envelope of cash. It wasn't a fortune, but it was freedom. As she was about to leave, something in a dusty display case caught her eye. It was an old, black fountain pen with a worn gold nib. Frowning, she leaned closer. The faint, tarnished inscription was almost unreadable, but she recognized the elegant script: 'To Arthur, Love Mary, 1965'. Grandpa Boone's name was Arthur. His late wife was Mary. She remembered his stories about a lost pen, a treasured gift. She turned back to the counter, her heart pounding. "How much for the pen?" she asked, keeping her voice steady. After a brief haggle, she bought it with a small fraction of her new funds, a priceless weapon secured for a pittance.

She went to a bookstore. She bought several contemporary German business journals and a book on Hamburg's corporate etiquette. She knew Cordero's company was merging with a Hamburg firm next month. In her last life, the deal failed because of a cultural misunderstanding.

She sat in a coffee shop, counting her money.

Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

An image loaded. It was a photo of Cordero and Amanda, taken from a distance. They were standing close together. It looked intimate.

He needs comfort after living with a psycho, the caption read.

Elaina zoomed in. She recognized the background. It was the parking lot of Cordero's office building. Amanda had ambushed him. And looking closely at Cordero's body language... his arms were crossed. He was leaning away.

Elaina deleted the message.

"Nice try," she whispered.

She needed to prepare for the Gala. It was in three days. Mrs. Boone's 60th birthday. It was the event of the season.

In her past life, she had worn a red dress that was too tight and too short. Amanda had told her it was "sexy." Everyone had laughed.

This time, she was going to war. And she needed armor.

She remembered something. Amanda was planning to gift Mrs. Boone a "handmade" gown. She claimed she had sewn it herself for months.

Elaina smiled. A cold, predatory smile.

She knew exactly where that dress really came from.