Helena reached the end of the long hallway. Her fingers closed around the cold brass handle of her bedroom door.

"Stop right there."

The words hit her back like ice water. Her stomach clamped down. She forced herself to take a slow breath before turning around.

Hayward stood at the opposite end of the hall. He was still wearing the same white terrycloth bathrobe, simply using a small towel to carelessly dry the ends of his damp hair. He leaned his shoulder against the wall, his eyes freezing cold as he draped the towel over his neck and crossed his arms over his chest.

"The family trust meeting is on Friday," Hayward said. His voice carried down the empty corridor, sharp and precise.

Helena felt the blood drain from her face. The trust fund. The only thing keeping her from living on the streets.

Hayward pushed off the wall and walked toward her. His footsteps made no sound on the thick carpet.

"My proposal to have you removed is at the top of the agenda," he said.

He stopped two feet away from her. He was too tall. She had to tilt her head back to look at his face.

"Whatever game you were playing in my closet, it won't work," Hayward said. "Theatrics don't move stock prices."

Her throat went dry. The crazy act had bought her five minutes. It was not going to save her trust fund. She had to keep the act going.

"I was not playing a game," Helena said. She kept her voice small. She rubbed her thumb over the edge of the coat pocket. "Eleanor wanted to see your tie collection."

The corner of Hayward's mouth twitched upward in a cold, humorless smile.

"Eleanor?" he repeated. "Tell Eleanor that if she costs the Hancock name one more negative headline, I will personally ensure she ends up in a facility where she can play with all the imaginary friends she wants."

Her lungs stopped working. He was threatening to lock her in a psychiatric ward.

She looked into his eyes. There was no bluff there. He would do it.

She let her lower lip tremble. She forced the moisture to pool in her eyes, letting the very real fear she was feeling show on her face.

"I... I do not know," she whispered. Her voice shook. "My head hurts lately. I cannot remember things."

Hayward stared down at her. He watched the tear form in the corner of her eye. His expression did not soften.

He reached into his pocket. He pulled out a crisp, white card and held it out to her.

"This is your new psychiatrist's card," Hayward said. "Your appointment is tomorrow at ten in the morning. Do not be late."

Helena reached out with a trembling hand. She took the card. The name Dr. Evelyn Reed was printed in black ink.

Hayward turned his back on her. He started walking toward his study.

"Wait," Helena called out.

He stopped. He did not turn around.

"I will be good from now on," she said, pushing every ounce of sincerity she had into the words.

Hayward stood perfectly still for three seconds.

"Prove it," he said.

He walked away.

Helena pushed her bedroom door open and slipped inside. She leaned her back against the solid wood and slid down until she hit the floor. Her legs felt like water.

She looked at the card in her hand. It was a leash.

She pushed herself up and walked into the massive bathroom. She stared at the mirror. The face looking back at her was stunning. High cheekbones, full lips, pale skin. It was the face of a villain.

Down the hall, Hayward walked into his study. He walked to the crystal decanter on his desk and poured two fingers of whiskey.

He took a drink. The burn settled in his chest, but it did not clear his mind.

He thought about the way she looked in the hallway. The old Helena was loud. She threw tantrums. She calculated every move to gain money or attention.

The girl in the hallway looked lost. She looked terrified.

He set the glass down hard on the desk. The pressure of losing her money must have finally cracked her brain. The thought did not bring him satisfaction. It only made a muscle in his jaw tick with deep, unexplainable annoyance.

The morning sun poured through the massive windows of the Hancock estate.

Before leaving her bedroom, Helena had stood in front of her vanity, thinking about how to navigate this new family dynamic. She needed allies, particularly Alaina, the female lead. She had dug through the original Helena's hoard of unopened shopping bags and selected a small, velvet box containing a silver Tiffany pen. It was understated but practical for a design student. She slipped it into the pocket of her dress, deciding to find an opportunity to give it to her step-sister today.

Helena walked down the wide, carpeted corridor. She was completely lost. The house was the size of a museum, and the original Helena's memories were a blurry mess of hangovers and shopping trips. She just wanted to find the breakfast room.

She stopped in front of a white door. She assumed it was a sitting room and pushed the handle down.

She stepped inside. The room was painted in soft pastels. A drafting table sat by the window, covered in charcoal pencils and sketch paper.

This was Alaina's room. The female lead of the novel. Her step-sister.

Helena took a step back to leave.

"Miss Helena, what are you doing in Miss Alaina's room?"

The voice cracked like a whip behind her.

Helena turned around. Arthur Giles, the estate's head butler, stood in the hallway. His posture was rigid. His eyes were filled with open disgust.

Behind Arthur stood a young woman with bright blonde hair and wide, terrified blue eyes. Alaina.

Alaina physically shrank back when she saw Helena. She pulled her arms tight against her sides.

Helena remembered the plot. Arthur hated the original Helena. He thought she was trash.

"I hope you were not looking for something that does not belong to you," Arthur said. His tone was sharp enough to cut glass.

He was accusing her of stealing.

Helena knew saying she was lost would sound like a pathetic lie. She looked at Alaina. She looked at the drafting table full of sketches.

She reached into the pocket of her dress. Her fingers brushed against the small, velvet box she had deliberately packed earlier. It was the perfect moment to use the peace offering she had prepared.

Helena pulled her hand out of her pocket. She smiled. It was a bright, genuine smile that reached her eyes.

She walked straight toward Alaina.

Alaina bit her lower lip hard and took a step back.

Helena stopped in front of her and held out the small box.

"Surprise," Helena said softly. "I wanted to give you your welcome-to-Hancock-Group gift in person."

Arthur froze. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.

Alaina stared at the box. Her hands were shaking as she slowly reached out and took it. She popped the lid open.

Inside sat a heavy, silver Tiffany pen.

"We start our internships at headquarters tomorrow," Helena said. She kept her voice warm and steady. "I thought you could use it for your sketches. I hope you like it."

Alaina looked up from the pen. Her blue eyes were wide with shock.

"For... for me?" Alaina whispered. "Thank you, Helena."

It was the first time Helena had ever spoken to her without screaming or throwing something.

Arthur cleared his throat. His face was flushed with embarrassment. His accusation now hung in the air, making him look foolish.

Helena turned to the butler. Her smile did not fade.

"Arthur, could you please show me the way to the breakfast room?" she asked politely. "I seem to have gotten turned around."

Arthur swallowed hard. He gave a stiff nod. "Right this way, Miss."

Helena turned and followed him down the hall.

Alaina stood in the doorway of her room. She clutched the velvet box tightly against her chest. She watched her step-sister walk away. The fear in her stomach was gone, replaced by a strange, warm feeling of curiosity.

Arthur walked briskly ahead of Helena.

"Mr. Hayward does not appreciate tardiness," Arthur said coldly over his shoulder.

"Thank you for the reminder, Arthur," Helena replied smoothly.

Arthur frowned. He did not know how to handle this calm, polite version of the girl he despised.

Back in her room, Alaina set the silver pen on her drafting table. She looked at her sketches. She decided right then that she would talk to her sister tomorrow.

Arthur opened the double doors to the sunlit breakfast room.

Helena walked in. The clinking of silver forks against porcelain plates stopped instantly. Four heads turned to look at her.

Hayward sat at the head of the long mahogany table. He wore a dark grey suit. He was reading a financial newspaper. He did not look up when she entered.

To his right sat Everette, her step-father, who offered a weak, polite smile. Next to him was Marian, her mother, whose hands gripped her coffee cup with nervous tension.

Alaina sat across from them. When she saw Helena, she offered a small, shy smile.

Helena smiled back. She walked over and pulled out the empty chair next to Alaina. She sat down.

The silence in the room was heavy. It felt thick enough to choke on.

Helena looked at the center of the table. She needed the salt for her eggs. She decided to test the waters with the family dynamic.

"Uncle Hayward, could you please pass the salt?" she asked.

The newspaper lowered.

Hayward slowly folded the paper in half. He placed it flat on the table. He did not look at her face. He stared at the crystal water glass in front of him.

"I am your legal guardian, Helena," Hayward said. His voice was low, but it cut through the quiet room like a blade. "Not your uncle. Address me as Hayward."

He loathed the title. It sounded sticky, full of forced, fake intimacy, exactly like the day her mother had married Everette. He had to extinguish any of her attempts to climb the family tree and manipulate his boundaries right from the start.

The air in the room vanished.

Marian let out a small gasp. Her face turned pale. She opened her mouth to speak, but Everette put a heavy hand on her arm, silencing her.

Alaina bit her lip so hard it turned white. She stared at her plate, her shoulders tense.

It was a public, brutal humiliation. The original Helena would have flipped her plate. She would have screamed until her throat bled.

Helena felt her chest tighten. She kept her hands resting quietly on her lap. She looked down at her plate.

"My apologies, Hayward," she said softly.

There was no anger in her voice. No sarcasm. Only complete submission.

She picked up her fork and took a bite of plain egg. She did not ask for the salt again.

Hayward's eyes snapped to her face. A muscle ticked violently in his jaw. He had thrown a punch, expecting a war, and hit empty air.

Everette cleared his throat loudly.

"Hayward is just particular about titles," Everette said, trying to force a light tone. "Do not mind him."

Helena looked up at Everette. She gave him a soft, understanding smile.

"It is alright, Dad," she said. "I understand. I should be more formal."

Everette's eyes softened. He let out a long breath, clearly relieved that a screaming match had been avoided.

Helena turned her attention to her mother. "Mom, this jam is delicious."

Marian's shoulders dropped. A genuine smile broke across her face. "I am glad you like it, sweetheart."

Alaina reached across the table. She picked up the small dish of strawberry jam and pushed it closer to Helena's plate.

Helena looked at Alaina and gave her a quick wink. Alaina's cheeks flushed pink, but she smiled wider.

At the head of the table, Hayward watched the exchange. He watched her call Everette 'Dad'. He watched her share a secret look with Alaina.

His fingers tightened around the stem of his water glass.

She was not throwing tantrums anymore. She was adapting. She was using submission and sweetness to build a wall of family support around herself.

It made her infinitely more dangerous.

Breakfast ended. Everette and Marian stood up. Marian walked over and kissed the top of Helena's head.

"Good luck at the internship tomorrow," Marian said warmly.

"We can ride in the same car," Alaina offered quietly.

"I would love that," Helena said.

Hayward stood up. He buttoned his suit jacket. He did not say a word as he walked out of the room, his mind already calculating his next move.