"Your mother Caroline? I took care of her too."

Alta's voice echoed in the endless black, twisting from a sweet laugh into a manic cackle. The sound wrapped around Annalise's throat, squeezing until she couldn't breathe.

A scream ripped from Annalise's chest, raw and tearing. The pain of it was physical, a white-hot blade slicing through her ribs. Her mother. They killed her mother.

The blurry figure appeared again, closer this time. Lightning flashed, illuminating a tall, broad-shouldered silhouette. He was slamming his fists against the twisted metal of the car door, his movements desperate, frantic.

The void shuddered. A massive force slammed into Annalise's back, like falling from a skyscraper and hitting the concrete.

Annalise's eyes snapped open.

She shot upright, her mouth gaping as she sucked in huge gulps of air. Cold sweat plastered her silk pajamas to her skin, dripping down her spine. Her chest heaved, the frantic rhythm of her heart pounding so hard it bruised her ribs.

She wasn't in the car. There was no rain. No blood.

Her eyes darted around the room. The vaulted ceilings, the crystal chandelier, the soft cream wallpaper with the delicate gold trim. This was her bedroom in the Knowles estate.

Her hands flew to her chest, her fingers clawing at the fabric. No blood. No shattered ribs. Just the rapid, thundering beat of her heart under her palm.

The heavy oak door crashed open, banging against the wall.

Eddy Martin nearly broke the door off its hinges surging into the room, his large frame immediately positioning itself between Annalise and the doorway. One hand reached back to shield her, while the other pressed firmly against the grip of his holstered weapon, his sharp, alert eyes sweeping the room in a practiced arc. He checked the corners, the balcony doors, the bathroom entrance. Finding no immediate threat, his shoulders dropped slightly, his hand relaxing on the holster.

"Miss Knowles, are you alright?" Eddy's voice was calm, but the concern was evident in the way he stepped closer, his eyes scanning her face.

Annalise stared at him. He looked so solid. So alive. In her other life, the last time she had seen him, he was being escorted off the property by security, his face bruised, his badge ripped from his chest because Greggory had convinced her father he was a liability.

She reached out a trembling hand. Her fingers brushed against his jaw. The stubble was rough, the skin warm. Real.

Eddy stiffened, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. He didn't step back, but his confusion was obvious. "Miss Knowles?"

She pulled her hand back, her throat too tight to speak. She turned her head, her gaze landing on the antique vanity across the room.

The calendar sat next to her jewelry box. The bold red numbers seemed to glow in the dim light.

October 14th.

The air left her lungs in a rush. That was the date of her 21st birthday.

She threw the covers off and bolted from the bed. Her bare feet slapped against the cold hardwood floor as she ran to the mirror.

The woman staring back at her was young. Her skin was unblemished, her eyes bright, lacking the hollow, dead look she had seen in her final moments. There were no scars from the steering wheel, no stitches, no bruises.

Caroline. They killed Caroline.

The thought was a poison that burned through her veins. Annalise's hands curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms so hard she felt the skin break. The sharp pain grounded her.

Eddy took a step toward her, his hand outstretched. "Annalise, you're scaring me. What is it?"

The coldness in her eyes when she met his gaze stopped him in his tracks. He had never seen that look on the sweet, naive heiress before. It was the look of a woman who had crawled out of her own grave.

"I'm fine, Eddy," she said, her voice flat and steady. She uncurled her fists, taking a deep breath that filled her lungs with the scent of her bedroom, not gasoline. "Get the car ready. The party is still on."

Eddy hesitated, clearly unconvinced. But the steel in her voice left no room for argument. He nodded once and backed out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

Annalise walked to the window. The sprawling lawns of the estate stretched out below, illuminated by the soft glow of the landscape lighting. Huge white tents dotted the grass, the catering staff buzzing around like bees.

And there, strolling through the rose garden like he owned the place, was Greggory Fitzgerald.

The sight of him made her stomach lurch. The fear was there, a reflex from the crash, but it was instantly swallowed by a rage so cold it made her shiver.

She turned away from the window and marched to her closet. She pushed past the racks of pastel dresses, the soft pinks and baby blues she used to favor. They looked like costumes for a fool.

Her eyes landed on the back of the closet. A dress she had bought on a whim but never had the courage to wear. It was a deep, blood-red silk, form-fitting and severe. It was the kind of dress that commanded attention, not affection.

She pulled it off the hanger and laid it on the bed. It looked like a weapon.

"Keep it smooth," Annalise said, her eyes locked on the mirror.

The maid knelt at her feet, carefully adjusting the hem of the crimson gown. The silk clung to every curve, the color a stark contrast to her pale skin.

Annalise stared at her reflection. The woman in the mirror looked dangerous. The soft, approachable girl from her past life was gone, replaced by someone with sharp cheekbones and a sharper gaze.

She remembered the last time she wore a dress for this party. It had been a pale pink, and she had spent the whole night trailing after Greggory like a lost puppy, hanging on his every word. The memory made her sick.

A soft sound broke her focus. A rustle of paper, sliding across the floor.

Annalise's eyes dropped to the gap under the door. A thick manila envelope had been pushed through, landing silently on the carpet.

The maid stood up, frowning. "I'll get it, Miss Knowles."

"No." Annalise's voice was sharper than she intended. Her heart gave a sudden, violent thump against her ribs. She crossed the room in three strides and snatched the envelope off the floor.

There was no return address. Just her name, printed in a stark, unfamiliar handwriting.

She ripped the seal open. Her fingers closed around a glossy rectangle, and she pulled it out.

The air vanished from her lungs.

It was a photograph. High resolution, perfectly lit. Greggory and Alta were pressed together in a dark corner, their bodies flush against each other. Alta's arm was wrapped around his neck, her fingers playing with the hair at his nape. Greggory's face was buried in her shoulder, but the expression on Alta's face was unmistakable-triumph and raw lust.

Annalise's fingers trembled. But it wasn't grief. It wasn't shock.

It was pure, electric excitement.

In her last life, she had walked into that party blind. She had died without ever seeing the knife coming. But now, the evidence was sitting right in her palm. The universe was handing her the ammunition on a silver platter.

She flipped the photo over. Blank. No note, no explanation.

She turned and yanked the door open, stepping out into the hallway. The long corridor was empty, the antique lamps casting warm pools of light on the carpet.

At the far end, near the service stairs, a figure in a black suit-indistinguishable from the event security staff-slipped through the door. It was just a flash of a back, gone in a second.

Annalise didn't chase. It didn't matter who sent it. A sympathetic guest, a rival, or maybe the universe itself. It was a tool, and she was going to use it.

She stepped back into the room and closed the door. She walked to the vanity, pulling open the bottom drawer. She placed the photo inside, sliding it under her passport.

She couldn't just wave it around. That would be too easy. It would give them a chance to spin a lie, to explain it away. She needed to destroy them in a way they could never recover from. She needed a public execution.

The maid held up a velvet box. "The diamonds, Miss Knowles?"

Annalise looked at the simple diamond tennis necklace, then shook her head. She pointed to the heavy, ornate box at the back of the table. "The rubies."

The maid hesitated. The ruby necklace was aggressive. It was loud. It was exactly what Annalise wanted.

She fastened the clasp around her neck. The heavy stones rested against her collarbone, the deep red matching her dress. Tonight, every eye in the room would be on her. She would be the only predator in the room.

The distant sound of a string quartet drifted up from the floor below. The party had started.

A sharp knock came at the door. "Miss Knowles?" Eddy's voice was muffled. "It's time."

Annalise took a deep breath, pushing the boiling rage down into the pit of her stomach. She let it harden into ice.

Her gaze swept across the desk, landing on a miniature voice recorder she used for her university lectures. A thought struck her-words could be denied, but sounds could not. She grabbed the small, metallic device, slipping it into the hidden pocket of her dress. The cold metal against her skin gave her a sliver of extra courage.

She pulled open the door. Eddy stood there, his suit perfectly pressed, his face impassive.

She gave him a smile that didn't reach her eyes. It was a confident, sharp thing.

Eddy blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. He had never seen her look like that-like she was about to go to war.

"I'm ready," she said.

She walked past him, her heels clicking on the hardwood. The music grew louder with every step. She paused at the top of the grand staircase, looking down at the glittering crowd below.

Her gaze landed on the towering champagne fountain in the center of the room. A wicked idea began to form in her mind, taking shape around the image of shattering glass and flowing liquid.

She lifted her chin and placed her hand on the railing, stepping out into the light.

The ballroom was a sea of glittering chandeliers and clinking crystal. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and ambition. Men in tailored tuxedos leaned in to whisper to women dripping in diamonds, the usual dance of money and power playing out on the marble floor.

Greggory stood near the center of the room, a champagne flute in his hand. His eyes kept darting to the top of the grand staircase, a small, expectant smile playing on his lips.

Alta hovered a few feet away, wearing a virginal white gown that made her look like a debutante. She kept her eyes downcast, playing the part of the demure younger sister, but her fingers were twisting the clasp of her purse so hard the metal was warm.

Greggory leaned toward a gray-haired man beside him, lowering his voice. "Just watch. She's going to make a scene tonight."

He was absolutely certain. Annalise was a creature of emotion. She would see him, lose her mind, and publicly refuse the arranged marriage. It would be the perfect scandal to justify their elopement.

The quartet shifted their tempo, the music swelling into a grand, sweeping melody.

The lights in the room dimmed, leaving only a single spotlight focused on the top of the stairs.

The crowd went silent. Hundreds of heads turned, their conversations dying mid-sentence.

Annalise stepped into the light.

A collective murmur rippled through the ballroom. The red dress was a shock of color against the white marble, clinging to her figure like a second skin. She looked powerful, untouchable, and furious.

Greggory's breath caught in his throat. His eyes darkened with a greedy hunger. She was magnificent. And she was his.

Annalise began her descent. The sharp click of her heels on the stone echoed through the quiet room, a steady, rhythmic heartbeat. She kept her chin high, her gaze sweeping over the crowd like a queen surveying her subjects.

Her eyes found Greggory. He puffed out his chest, offering her a slow, confident smile. The kind of smile that said, "I'm here. Come to me."

The corner of Annalise's mouth twitched. It was a smile that held no warmth, only a chilling mockery. Then, she looked right past him.

Her gaze slid over to Alta. The younger girl flinched, taking a half-step back. The look in Annalise's eyes wasn't sisterly affection. It was the flat, assessing stare of a butcher looking at a side of beef.

Alta's skin prickled with goosebumps. Something was wrong.

Annalise reached the bottom of the stairs. Instead of turning toward the expectant Greggory, she pivoted sharply to the left.

She walked straight toward the head table, where her father sat talking to the governor.

Greggory's smile froze. His hand, holding the champagne, hovered in the air. He took a confused step forward, but the crowd was too thick.

Annalise reached the table and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her father's cheek. She murmured something in his ear, and Harrison Knowles beamed, his chest swelling with pride. He took her hand, helping her into the seat beside him.

She was claiming her place. The heiress. The one in control.

Greggory was left standing in the middle of the floor, looking like a man who had just missed his cue. People were starting to glance at him, then back at Annalise, the whispers starting anew.

He tried to push his way toward the head table, his charming mask slipping. "Annalise," he called out, trying to catch her eye.

She didn't even turn her head. She was engaged in a lively conversation with the senator's wife, her laughter ringing out clear and false.

Alta tried to follow, to slip into the inner circle, but two broad-shouldered security men stepped smoothly into her path. They didn't say a word, just stood there like a wall of black suits.

Annalise took a slow sip of her water, watching the two of them struggle from her peripheral vision. It was a mild irritation, nothing more. The main event was yet to come.

She set her glass down and turned her gaze to the center of the room. The champagne tower glittered under the lights, a fragile mountain of glass and bubbles.

She caught Eddy's eye across the room. He was standing near the balcony doors, his hands clasped in front of him.

She gave him a slight, almost imperceptible nod.

Eddy returned the gesture, his face unreadable. The trap was set.