Delina watched Hiram adjust his cufflinks. His movements were precise, mechanical. She fought the urge to walk over and help him, to touch the hands that had ripped a car door off its hinges for her.

She took a step forward. "Hiram, about last night..."

Hiram flinched slightly. He didn't turn around. "The contract stipulates no discussion of indiscretions."

Delina bit her lip. The "contract." <b>In her past life, she'd believed it was her idea, a shield she'd desperately erected to keep the monster at bay. Now, looking back with eyes that had seen him weep, she wondered if it hadn't been his cage all along-a set of rules he'd agreed to, to keep his own demons from touching her.</b>

She changed tactics. "I'm not drunk anymore. I want to have breakfast with you."

Hiram turned slowly. His eyes narrowed through the holes of the silver mask. He scanned her face, looking for the trap. Was she asking for money? Was this a ploy from her father?

"I have a meeting," he said flatly. He grabbed his suit jacket from the bed.

He walked past her, leaving a trail of scent-sandalwood and cold rain. It made her chest ache.

Delina reached out and caught his sleeve.

Hiram froze. He stared at her hand on the expensive fabric of his suit as if a spider had landed there.

"Have a safe trip," she whispered. There was genuine warmth in her voice, a softness he had never heard directed at him.

Hiram pulled his arm away abruptly, as if burned.

"Stop acting," he growls. The words were low, dangerous.

He stormed out of the room without looking back.

Delina sighed, letting her hand fall. Undoing three years of damage wouldn't happen in a day. But at least she had made him react.

She went to the closet. She pushed aside the pastel, modest dresses she usually wore-the ones Florene said made her look "sweet." She pulled out a sharp, tailored black jumpsuit she had bought on a whim and never worn.

She dressed, fixed her hair into a severe bun, and opened the bedroom door.

She stepped into the grand hallway. A maid was dusting a vase near the railing. The girl looked at Delina with thinly veiled contempt, likely mimicking the attitude of the head housekeeper.

Delina ignored her and headed for the stairs.

Suddenly, a sharp pain stabbed her temples. It was blinding, white-hot. She stumbled, grabbing the railing to keep from falling. Her vision blurred for a second, the world tilting.

A strange whisper echoed in her mind. Not a sound, but a thought that wasn't hers.

Move.

The maid dropped her duster. She jumped, looking around startled. "Did you say something, Ma'am?"

Delina blinked, the pain receding as quickly as it had come. She hadn't spoken aloud. Had the maid heard her thought?

She shook it off. Stress. It had to be stress.

She continued down the stairs. At the bottom, in the foyer, stood Mrs. Creola Stone.

The housekeeper was on the phone, her back to the stairs, her voice hushed and conspiratorial.

Delina stopped. She recognized that posture. It was the posture of a spy.

Mrs. Stone turned, saw Delina, and quickly hung up the phone, sliding it into her apron pocket. She put on a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Good morning, Mrs. Tyson. Your mother called," Stone lied effortlessly. "She just wanted to check on you."

Delina stood on the bottom step, looking down at the woman who had reported her every move to Florene for three years.

Delina descended the last few steps slowly. She maintained eye contact with Stone, letting the silence stretch until it was uncomfortable.

"Did she?" Delina asked coolly. "What exactly did Florene want?"

Stone's smile faltered for a microsecond at the use of the first name. Delina always called her 'Mother'.

"Just checking on your health, Ma'am. She worries."

Delina remembered the champagne toast. To the end of the nuisance.

Anger flared in her chest. The headache returned, sharper this time, focusing behind her eyes like a laser.

She stared at Mrs. Stone's polished black shoes near the edge of the Persian rug.

An intrusive thought formed in Delina's mind. It wasn't a wish. It was a command.

She will trip.

The thought pushed out of her forehead with physical force. The air around them seemed to vibrate with a low, electric hum.

Mrs. Stone turned to walk away, dismissing Delina with a subtle roll of her shoulders.

<b>It was a flicker of mental static, a momentary lapse in coordination. Stone's brain, for a fraction of a second, forgot the simple command to lift her foot. Her polished shoe dragged, catching on the plush fibers of the perfectly flat rug, tangling with her other foot.</b>

Her arms windmilled wildly. She pitched forward, gravity taking her with brutal speed.

She crashed onto the marble floor with a sickening thud. Her momentum carried her sliding forward, colliding with a heavy decorative pedestal.

The expensive Ming vase atop the pedestal wobbled.

Delina watched, time seeming to slow down. Fall.

The vase tipped. It fell, shattering right next to Stone's head. Shards of blue and white porcelain exploded, slicing into Stone's arm.

Mrs. Stone screamed. She clutched her bleeding arm, wailing in shock and pain.

Delina stood frozen. Her heart raced. I did that.

The maid from the hallway ran down the stairs, gasping. "Mrs. Stone! Oh my god! The floor must be slippery!"

Delina looked at the floor. It was bone dry.

She realized then. It wasn't just a headache. It was Suggestion. She could manipulate probability. She could plant thoughts.

A sense of dark satisfaction filled her. It was cold and heavy, but it felt better than fear. No more victimhood.

She composed her face into a mask of concern.

"Oh my goodness! Call 911!" Delina commanded the maid, her voice sharp and authoritative.

She knelt beside the sobbing housekeeper. She leaned close to Stone's ear, her voice dropping to a whisper only they could hear.

"You really should be more careful, Creola," Delina said.

Stone looked up at her. Her eyes were wide with a primal fear she couldn't explain. She saw something in Delina's eyes that hadn't been there yesterday. A predator.

Delina stood up, feeling drained but powerful.

Paramedics wheeled the sobbing Mrs. Stone out the front door. The red lights of the ambulance washed over the foyer, a chaotic counterpoint to the usual stillness of the mansion.

Butler Hayes approached Delina. His face was stoic, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

"A regretful incident, Madam. I will contact the agency for a replacement immediately."

Delina walked to the velvet sofa in the living room and sat down, crossing her legs.

"No need, Hayes. I don't want strangers in the house right now."

Hayes raised an eyebrow. "But the housekeeping..."

"Distribute her duties among the junior staff. Give them a raise," she ordered. "Twenty percent."

Hayes nodded slowly. He had never liked Stone's imperious attitude. "Very well, Madam."

The landline phone on the side table rang. Hayes checked the caller ID. "It's Mrs. Ballard."

Delina smiled. It was a cold, sharp smile. "I'll take it."

She picked up the receiver. "Florene. How psychic of you to call."

Florene's voice was sickly sweet, dripping with fake concern. "Delina, darling! I heard sirens near your estate. Is everything alright?"

Delina knew Stone must have texted her from the stretcher.

"Yes, poor Mrs. Stone. She had a terrible fall. Clumsy thing."

Florene gasped. "Oh no! Listen, I can send over my housekeeper's cousin to help until-"

"That won't be necessary," Delina cut her off.

"But darling, you can't manage-"

"Hiram has already hired a security-cleared nursing team," Delina lied smoothly. "He's become very particular about who enters the house. New protocols."

There was a pause on the other end. The mention of Hiram always made Florene hesitate. Everyone feared Hiram Tyson.

"I see," Florene said, her tone tightening. Her spy was gone, and the replacement was blocked. "Well, surely you can come to tea tomorrow? Kassidy misses you terribly."

Delina gripped the phone tight. The image of Kassidy laughing over her death flashed in her mind.

"I'd love to," she said. "I have so much to tell you."

She hung up before Florene could push further.

Delina turned to Hayes. "Mrs. Stone is terminated effective immediately. Prepare the severance package. And the NDA. Make sure it's the strict one."

"Reason for termination?" Hayes asked, pen poised over his notepad.

"Gross negligence and damage to property," Delina said, pointing to the shards of the Ming vase being swept up by a maid.

Hayes allowed a small smirk to touch his lips. "Understood."

Delina walked to the window. The rain was starting again. She had secured the home front. Now she needed to secure her life.

She pulled out her cell phone and dialed her agent, Lana.

"Lana? Don't book that commercial," Delina said. "I have a better idea."