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.

Three days later, Boone Manor was a fortress of light. Limousines lined the driveway like a parade of shining beetles.

Elaina stood in front of the full-length mirror.

She was wearing a dress she had found in the back of a vintage store in SoHo. It was black velvet, long-sleeved, with a high neck and a deep, plunging back. It was severe, elegant, and timeless. She had spent two nights tailoring it herself, pricking her fingers until they bled to get the fit perfect.

She wore no jewelry except for simple pearl studs. Her hair was swept up in a loose, sophisticated chignon.

The door opened. Cordero walked in. He was adjusting his cufflinks. He stopped when he saw her.

For a second, the room was silent.

He looked her up and down. There was no sneer. No mockery. Just a blank, stunned appraisal.

"You're ready," he said. It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes."

He held out his arm. "Let's get this over with. Try not to embarrass me."

"I'll do my best," she said dryly.

She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. The contact was electric. Even through the layers of fabric-her velvet, his wool suit-she felt the heat of his skin. Her heart skipped a beat, betraying her. She hated that her body still reacted to him.

They walked down the stairs. The ballroom was packed. The air smelled of expensive perfume and lilies.

As they entered, heads turned. The whispers started.

"Is that the foster girl?"

"She looks... decent."

"Where are the sequins?"

They navigated the crowd. Suddenly, a wall of floral perfume blocked their path.

Joanna Olsen, Amanda's mother, stood there. She was wearing a dress that looked like it was made of gold foil. She held a martini glass dangerously tilted.

"Well, well," Joanna sneered, her eyes raking over Elaina. "Cordero, you brought the charity case. And look at that dress. Black? For a birthday? It looks like you're going to a funeral. Is it second-hand? It smells like mothballs."

A few women nearby tittered behind their fans.

Cordero stiffened. His jaw clenched. He opened his mouth to speak, to defend the family name if not her.

Elaina squeezed his arm gently, stopping him.

She smiled at Joanna. It was a radiant, terrifying smile.

"Actually, Joanna, black is the color of elegance in every fashion capital from Paris to Milan. Vogue just did a whole spread on the return of gothic minimalism." She paused, letting her eyes drift over Joanna's shiny, crinkled gold dress. "But I love your dress. It's so... festive. You look exactly like a Ferrero Rocher wrapper. It makes me want to unwrap you and see if there's a nut inside."

Someone choked on their drink. A ripple of laughter spread through the circle.

Joanna's face turned a violent shade of beet red. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish.

Cordero looked down at Elaina. The corner of his mouth twitched. He looked like he was fighting a smile.

"Excuse us," Elaina said politely. She steered Cordero away, leaving Joanna fuming in her gold foil.

"Ferrero Rocher?" Cordero murmured, leaning closer to her ear.

"It was the kindest thing I could think of," Elaina whispered back.

Just then, a hush fell over the room.

The double doors opened. Amanda made her entrance.

She was flanked by two assistants carrying a massive, flat box wrapped in white silk. She was wearing a white ballgown that looked like a wedding dress.

She walked straight toward Mrs. Boone, who was holding court near the orchestra.

"Happy Birthday, Mother Boone!" Amanda cried out, her voice projecting to the back of the room.

Elaina tightened her grip on Cordero's arm.

"Watch this," she said softly.