Hayward stepped out of the breakfast room and walked down the hall toward his study.

"Everette. A word."

Everette stopped halfway down the corridor. He turned around, adjusting his tie. He walked back to where Hayward stood outside the heavy oak doors of the study.

"I have contacted Le Rosey in Switzerland," Hayward said. He did not lower his voice, but his tone was absolute. "They have an opening for the spring semester."

Everette frowned. The skin around his eyes tightened.

"Hayward, we have been over this," Everette said. "Marian would be devastated if we shipped her off to Europe."

Hayward let out a harsh breath. "Marian's feelings or the stability of a multi-billion dollar company? Which one is your priority?"

He stepped closer to his older brother.

"Look at her track record," Hayward said coldly. "The club incidents. The paparazzi. Every time she breathes, the PR department has to work overtime."

"She was different this morning," Everette argued. He crossed his arms. "She was quiet. Respectful. Maybe the threat of losing the trust fund is actually working."

"And now this new act," Hayward cut in, his eyes narrowing. "This feigned madness. The sudden sweetness. Do not be fooled by her display this morning. She is no longer the idiot who only knows how to throw tantrums. She has learned to use submission to build a wall of family support around herself, which is far more manipulative than any of her past tricks. It is more unpredictable. It is more dangerous."

Everette looked away. He rubbed the back of his neck.

He thought about his wife. Marian had cried in bed last night. She felt guilty for ignoring Helena ever since Alaina moved into the house. Marian believed Helena's bad behavior was a cry for attention.

Everette could not break his wife's heart.

"Let us give her one more chance," Everette said. His voice was firmer now. "Let her do the internship at the company. Under our noses. If she steps out of line, even once, I will personally drive her to the airport."

Hayward stared at his brother. His jaw locked.

"You are making a mistake," Hayward said.

"Perhaps," Everette replied. "But I am not willing to risk my wife's happiness on a perhaps."

Everette patted Hayward heavily on the shoulder. "She is your ward. Keep a close eye on her."

Everette turned and walked toward the front doors to leave for the office.

Hayward stood alone in the hallway. The muscles in his back were tight. Everette had pulled rank as the CEO and the father.

Hayward pulled his phone from his inside jacket pocket. He opened a message thread with his head assistant, Milos.

His thumbs hit the screen with sharp, aggressive taps.

I want a full report on Helena's every move at the office. Starting tomorrow. Everything.

He hit send. He shoved the phone back into his pocket. If she wanted to play games in his building, he would watch every single move she made until she slipped.

Upstairs, Helena sat on the edge of her massive bed. She was looking at a row of designer dresses, trying to pick one for her first day. She had no idea she had just survived being exiled to Switzerland.

A soft knock came at her door.

"Come in," Helena said.

The door opened. Alaina stood there. She was holding two large ceramic mugs. Steam rose from the tops.

"I... I thought we could pick out our clothes together," Alaina said softly. She held out one of the mugs. "It is hot cocoa."

Helena felt a genuine warmth spread through her chest. She stood up and took the mug.

"Of course," Helena smiled.

Alaina walked into the room. She looked at the dresses lined up on the rack.

Outside the window, a black SUV pulled away from the estate. Hayward sat in the back seat, staring straight ahead, preparing for war.

The black stretch Lincoln glided smoothly along the highway toward Manhattan.

Helena sat on the plush leather seat. She wore a simple, perfectly tailored white sheath dress. She rested her arm on the door, watching the trees blur past the tinted window.

Across from her, Alaina sat rigidly upright. She wore a stiff navy blue business suit. Her hands were clamped tightly around a thick black folder resting on her lap. She kept biting her lower lip, chewing on the skin until it turned red.

The silence in the car was thick with Alaina's nervous energy.

Helena turned her head. "Nervous about the first day?"

Alaina jumped slightly. She nodded. "A little. I am worried I will not do well."

"You graduated from Parsons," Helena said smoothly. "You will be brilliant."

Alaina's eyes flickered with a brief light at the mention of her design school, but it faded quickly. She looked down at the black folder in her lap. Her fingers traced the edge of the plastic cover.

She took a deep breath, unclasped her hands, and held the folder out across the space between them.

"These are some of my sketches," Alaina said, her voice shaking. "Could you... could you take a look?"

Helena reached out and took the folder. She opened it and rested it on her knees.

Inside were pencil and watercolor sketches of evening gowns.

Helena's posture changed instantly. Her eyes narrowed in focus. Her thumb automatically moved to the seam of her white dress, rubbing the fabric in a slow, rhythmic motion.

The designs were beautiful. Alaina had raw talent. But the structural logic of the garments was flawed.

Helena turned the page. The silence stretched.

Alaina held her breath. Her stomach twisted into knots. She was terrified Helena would laugh at her.

"This draping is beautiful," Helena said suddenly. She tapped her finger against a sketch of a flowing blue gown. "The way you have handled the chiffon creates a sense of movement. Like water."

Alaina let out a shaky breath. Her shoulders dropped an inch.

"But for this silhouette," Helena continued, her eyes scanning the lines, "you might want to consider a heavier silk blend for the lining. It will give the skirt more structure without losing the flow. Right now, the weight of the bodice will drag the waistline down."

Alaina stared at her. Her mouth parted slightly.

Helena turned another page. "And here. The seam placement on the bias cut will pucker if you use this satin. Move the zipper to the side seam."

She spoke with absolute authority. It was the voice of a seasoned professional.

Alaina scrambled to open her purse. She pulled out a pen and leaned forward, writing notes directly onto the plastic sleeves of her folder.

"Helena..." Alaina stopped writing and looked up. "How do you know all this?"

Helena froze. Her thumb stopped rubbing the seam of her dress. She had slipped into her old life.

She looked at Alaina's wide, amazed eyes.

Helena let out a light, breathy laugh. She leaned back against the leather seat.

"I am not entirely sure, honestly," Helena said, waving her hand with a touch of hesitation. "I think I read it in an editorial in Vogue once? They were talking about how heavy fabrics need proper lining. Plus, I ruined a perfectly good bias-cut dress last year because the zipper was in the wrong place. You just pick these things up when you buy enough couture and ruin half of it."

Alaina blinked. The explanation fit the old Helena perfectly. The shopping addict.

Alaina smiled. The tension completely left her body. She reached into the folder, pulled out a sketch of a stunning red cocktail dress, and handed it to Helena.

"This is for you," Alaina said softly. "As a thank you."

Helena took the paper. She looked at the careful pencil strokes.

"It is beautiful," Helena said. "Thank you, Alaina."

The Lincoln pulled up to the curb in front of the massive glass-and-steel Hancock Group headquarters.

When Alaina stepped out of the car, she did not look at the ground. She looked up at the building, her chest filled with a new, quiet confidence. She walked close to Helena, trusting her completely.

The lobby of the Hancock Group building was a cavern of white marble and polished steel.

Helena and Alaina walked through the revolving glass doors. Heads turned immediately. Whispers hissed through the air as employees recognized the two daughters of the CEO.

They walked straight to the private elevators and rode up to the top floor.

The Human Resources Director stood waiting for them in his glass-walled office. He wore a tight smile that did not reach his eyes.

"Welcome to the company, ladies," the Director said. He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk.

He handed them each a thick packet of paperwork.

"Miss Alaina," the Director said, his voice warming up. "You will be joining Design Group Two. It is our core evening wear design team, led by Mr. Sterling. He is one of our best."

Alaina's face lit up. She clutched her packet tightly to her chest. "Thank you so much."

Helena smiled for her. Group Two was the elite team.

The Director turned his head to look at Helena. His smile became stiff and mechanical.

"Miss Helena," he said. "You will be in Design Group One."

Behind the Director, a young HR assistant holding a clipboard suddenly looked down at her shoes. Helena saw the pity flash in the girl's eyes.

Her stomach tightened.

"What does my sister's team do?" Alaina asked happily.

The Director cleared his throat. "Group One handles... special projects. More experimental concepts."

Experimental. In corporate language, that meant a graveyard.

"The assistant will show you to your floors," the Director said, standing up to signal the meeting was over.

The young HR assistant led them back to the elevator. The doors slid shut.

The elevator stopped on the twentieth floor.

"Good luck, Alaina," Helena said.

Alaina hugged her quickly and stepped off the elevator. The doors closed again, leaving Helena alone with the assistant.

The elevator began to drop.

The assistant shifted her weight from foot to foot. She looked at the security camera, then looked at Helena.

"Miss Hancock," the assistant whispered quickly. "About Design Group One... you should be prepared."

"Prepared for what?" Helena asked, keeping her voice calm.

"It is... different," the assistant said, her eyes darting nervously. "It is where they send designers who are too difficult to manage. Or who are not performing. We call it the Island of Misfit Toys."

Helena felt a cold knot form in her chest.

"The team leader, Lysander, is a genius," the assistant added. "But he is notoriously eccentric. No one has stayed in that group for more than six months."

Helena stared at the metal doors. Hayward. He had arranged this. He wanted her to quit.

The elevator dinged at the twelfth floor. The doors opened.

The hallway looked nothing like the rest of the building. The walls were covered in chaotic, spray-painted graffiti. Music thumped faintly from behind a heavy metal door at the end of the hall.

The assistant pointed to the door. "This is it. Good luck."

The girl hit the lobby button and the elevator doors shut instantly, as if she were fleeing a fire.

Helena stood alone in the hallway. She looked at the metal door. She felt the familiar urge to rub the seam of her dress, but she stopped herself.

She let out a slow breath. Hayward wanted her to break.

She walked down the hall, grabbed the heavy metal handle, and pushed the door open.