Giana pushed open the heavy oak door of the Caldwell mansion in Long Island. The hinges groaned, echoing through the massive foyer.

She stepped inside. Delilah was sitting on the Victorian sofa, holding a bone china teacup.

Delilah's eyes darted to Giana's messy hair and the oversized men's coat. A spark of malicious joy flashed in Delilah's eyes.

"Oh my god, Giana!" Delilah slammed the teacup down on the saucer. She jumped up and ran forward, her voice pitched loud enough to wake the dead. "Where have you been all night?"

The noise worked. Angele Caldwell hurried out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. Her face was tight with worry.

Delilah reached out, trying to grab Giana's arm to pull her into the light, wanting Angele to see the state she was in.

Giana's eyes went cold. She shifted her weight and stepped back. Delilah's hands grabbed empty air, and she stumbled forward awkwardly.

"Why are you screaming, Delilah?" Giana asked. Her voice was flat and steady. "Are you trying to make sure the neighbors know I wasn't home?"

Delilah froze. Her face flushed. She quickly put her hand over her chest and widened her eyes.

"I... I was just so worried! You drank so much at the party last night and then you vanished..." Delilah looked at Angele, making sure the word 'drank' landed.

Angele's expression hardened. "Giana, where exactly were you?"

In her past life, Giana would have screamed and thrown a tantrum. But screaming had gotten her absolutely nothing. She clenched her fists at her sides, digging her nails so deeply into her palms that the skin nearly broke. The sharp, grounding pain cleared the lingering fog in her head. It was time to play an entirely different game. She thought of every betrayal she had suffered, letting the genuine agony morph into a mask of vulnerability. She took a deep, shuddering breath, forced tears to well up in her eyes, and walked straight to Angele.

She threw her arms around her mother's neck and buried her face in her shoulder.

"Mom, I'm so sorry. I was so scared," Giana whispered. Her voice shook perfectly.

Angele stiffened. She wasn't used to Giana hugging her. The anger melted out of her posture. She awkwardly patted Giana's back.

"I went outside to get some air," Giana lied, her voice muffled against Angele's sweater. "Some drunk guys started following me. They cornered me."

"What? !" Angele gasped, pulling Giana back to inspect her face. "Did they hurt you?"

"No. A nice man saw what was happening and chased them off. He let me sleep in his guest room because I was too shaken up to drive. He lent me his coat." Giana pulled the oversized lapels tighter around her neck.

Delilah stared at Giana, her mouth slightly open. She had personally spiked Giana's drink. She had paid the waiter to take her to that old man's room. Hero? Guest room?

"Are you sure he was just being nice?" Delilah stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. "That coat..."

Giana snapped her head toward Delilah. Her eyes were like daggers. "You sound disappointed that I didn't get hurt, Delilah."

Delilah physically recoiled. Her face went pale. "No! I just..."

Angele frowned at Delilah. "That's enough, Delilah. Giana is safe. Stop asking questions."

Delilah bit her lip. Her fingernails dug into her palms. "Yes, Aunt Angele."

Giana leaned her head against Angele's shoulder. "Mom, I'm so tired. Can I just take a hot shower?"

"Of course, sweetie. Go upstairs. I'll have the kitchen make you some soup." Angele kissed her forehead.

Giana turned and walked toward the grand staircase. As she passed Delilah, she let a slow, mocking smirk spread across her face.

Delilah's stomach twisted with rage. She watched Giana walk up the stairs. She needed to know what actually happened last night.

She waited until Angele went back into the kitchen. Then, she slipped off her heels and crept silently up the stairs, following Giana's shadow.

Giana pushed open her bedroom door. The bright pink walls and fluffy white rugs made her stomach turn. It was the room of a stupid, easily manipulated girl.

She shrugged off Cornel's heavy coat and tossed it onto the chaise lounge.

The bedroom door creaked open. Delilah slipped inside like a rat.

Giana saw her reflection in the vanity mirror. Her jaw tightened, but she quickly wiped the anger from her face. She turned around and let out an exhausted sigh.

"You're supposed to knock before entering someone's room, Delilah." Giana's voice was cold and sharp.

Delilah stopped in her tracks. She forced a fake, sweet smile. "Sorry. I just wanted to make sure you didn't have any bruises."

Delilah took a step toward the chaise lounge. Her eyes were glued to the men's coat. She wanted to check the pockets. She wanted to find a name.

Giana saw her target. She walked fast, grabbed the coat by the collar, and shoved it deep into the wicker laundry hamper.

"It's just dirty laundry," Giana said. She crossed her arms and stared down at Delilah.

Delilah gritted her teeth. She dropped the sweet act. "Who was the guy, Giana? Did you sleep with some random trash from the club?"

Giana laughed. It was a dry, hollow sound. "You should write movies, Delilah. Your imagination is wild."

Giana took a step forward, backing Delilah toward the door. "If you're so curious about last night, why don't we call the police? We can ask them to pull the security footage from the party. We can see exactly who put something in my drink."

Delilah's pupils shrank to pinpricks. The blood drained from her face. She took a step back, her heel hitting the doorframe.

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," Delilah stammered. Sweat broke out on her forehead.

Giana watched the panic consume her. She smiled. "Relax. I'm just joking. You look like you're going to pass out."

Delilah let out a shaky breath. She needed to change the subject immediately. She pulled her trump card.

"Gary was looking for you all night," Delilah said softly. "He was going crazy."

In her past life, hearing Gary's name would make Giana melt. Now, a wave of pure nausea hit her stomach.

Giana walked to her vanity and picked up a cotton pad. She started wiping the smeared mascara from under her eyes. "Oh? If he was so worried, why didn't he come here to wait for me?"

Delilah stared at Giana's back. This wasn't the reaction she expected.

"He was exhausted. He went home to sleep," Delilah said, trying to plant a seed of guilt. "You can't blame him. You disappeared."

"I don't care if he sleeps in a ditch," Giana threw the dirty cotton pad into the trash can. It hit the plastic with a sharp thud.

Giana turned around. "You seem to care a lot about my fiancé's sleeping habits, Delilah."

Delilah's face turned bright red. "You're misunderstanding me! I'm just trying to help your relationship!"

"If you want to help, get out of my room. I'm taking a shower." Giana pointed at the door.

Delilah's chest heaved. She turned around and practically ran out of the room.

The door clicked shut. Giana's shoulders dropped. She let out a long breath.

She walked to the full-length mirror and unbuttoned the white shirt. She stared at the dark purple bruises covering her ribs and collarbones. Cornel's violence was stamped all over her skin.

A loud engine roared in the driveway outside.

A few seconds later, the front door opened.

"Giana! Giana, where are you?" Gary's voice echoed up the stairs. It sounded desperate and full of fake love.

Giana's blood turned to ice. The memory of him stealing her inheritance and leaving her to die exploded in her brain. Her hands curled into tight fists.

She ripped the bedroom door open and marched toward the stairs.

Giana stomped down the hallway and stopped at the top of the curved walnut staircase. She grabbed the carved wooden railing. She gripped it so hard her knuckles turned stark white.

She looked down at the grand foyer.

Gary Fletcher stood near the entrance. He wore a tailored khaki trench coat. He held a massive bouquet of red roses. He was looking around with a perfectly practiced expression of panic.

Bile rose in Giana's throat. This was the man who had looked her in the eye and told her she was worthless right before taking everything she owned.

Delilah stepped out from the hallway below. She saw Gary and immediately put on her soft, victim face.

"Gary, you're finally here," Delilah whispered. She stepped close to him, letting her shoulder brush against his chest.

Gary instinctively put his hand on Delilah's waist. For one split second, they looked at each other. It wasn't a look of concern. It was a look of shared, dirty secrets.

Giana saw the look. The betrayal from her past life crashed into her current reality. The rage was too big for her body to hold.

"Gary?" Giana whispered his name. Her voice was trembling, perfectly laced with a mixture of heartbreak and shock. She let her lower lip quiver just enough to sell the performance.

Gary and Delilah jumped. They ripped themselves apart and looked up at the second floor.

When Gary saw Giana standing there, a flash of disappointment crossed his eyes. He quickly masked it with a wide, relieved smile.

"Oh, Giana! Thank God!" Gary started walking toward the bottom of the stairs, holding the roses out. "Where were you? I was dying of worry!"

His fake voice echoed in her ears. It mixed with the memory of his cruel laughter.

She needed him to think she was completely devastated by what she had just witnessed. She marched down the stairs to confront him, her eyes fixed on his guilty face, ignoring the steepness of the steps. She took a hasty step forward, but she was wearing smooth silk socks. Her foot hit the polished hardwood floor and slipped.

She lost her balance completely. She threw her hand out to grab the railing, but her fingers closed around empty air.

"Watch out!" Delilah screamed from below. It sounded entirely fake.

Giana's body pitched forward. She tumbled down the steep wooden stairs. Her shoulder slammed into the edge of a step. Her ribs cracked against the wood. The world flipped upside down in a violent blur of pain.

She hit the marble floor at the bottom with a sickening thud. Her forehead smashed against the bottom step.

Hot blood instantly poured down the side of her face.

Her vision went black at the edges. She couldn't move. She could only see Gary and Delilah's blurry faces hovering over her.

"Giana! Wake up!" Gary yelled. He put his hand on her shoulder, but Giana could feel that his grip was weak. He wasn't trying to help her up. He was just touching her for show.

Angele ran out of the kitchen. She saw the blood pooling on the white marble and let out a blood-curdling scream.

"Call an ambulance! Gary, call 911!" Angele dropped to her knees and pressed her hands against Giana's bleeding head.

Gary slowly pulled his phone out of his pocket. Delilah stood behind him, her hands covering her mouth, but Giana could see the corners of her eyes crinkling. Delilah was smiling.

The sound of sirens pierced the air. Paramedics rushed into the house.

They lifted Giana onto a stretcher. A plastic oxygen mask was strapped over her face. The smell of plastic and blood mixed in her nose before she finally passed out.

Hours later, the sharp smell of bleach woke her up.

Giana didn't open her eyes. She felt the heavy bandage on her forehead. She felt the needle of an IV tube taped to the back of her hand. She was in a hospital bed.

She kept her breathing slow and even. She listened.

"The doctor said it's just a minor concussion and some bruising. She's not going to die." Gary's voice floated from the corner of the room. He sounded deeply annoyed.

"She is so incredibly lucky," Delilah giggled softly. "To fall from that high up and only get a minor concussion."

Giana's heart pounded against her ribs. They thought she was asleep.