Kandy lunged forward. Her manicured fingers dug into Janet's wrist as she snatched the phone away, hurling it onto the tangled bedsheets.

"You think you can dismiss me?" Kandy hissed, pacing the narrow space between the bed and the wardrobe like a caged peacock. "Jax just bought a penthouse in Tribeca. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Private elevator."

Janet watched her. She didn't look at the phone. She looked at Kandy's hands. There was a slight, undeniable tremor in Kandy's fingers. Hyperarousal. Her nervous system was red-lining, desperately trying to convince herself of a lie.

"And we're going to have the perfect family," Kandy bragged, her voice pitching higher. "Four kids. All Ivy League legacies. Jax's bloodline is superior."

Janet's mind instantly accessed the encrypted medical files she had memorized in her past life. The dark web IVF records. Jax Adler didn't have a bloodline. He was sterile. Those four blonde, blue-eyed children were purchased from a high-end donor catalog.

"I am going to be the absolute matriarch of the Adler empire," Kandy declared, stopping to strike a pose, her chin lifted high.

Janet turned her back on her. She walked over to the cheap vanity, picked up a black hair tie, and gathered her long hair into a tight, practical ponytail. The movement was dismissive. It was a physical erasure of Kandy's presence.

Kandy let out a frustrated shriek. She slapped her palm against the vanity mirror. The glass rattled in its cheap wooden frame.

Janet paused. She met Kandy's furious gaze through the reflection in the mirror.

"Do you know what chromosome microdeletion is?" Janet asked. Her voice was flat, devoid of any emotion.

Kandy blinked. The medical term hit her like a foreign language. She quickly recovered, letting out a harsh scoff.

"Save your community college nursing vocabulary for the cripple," Kandy sneered.

Janet narrowed her eyes, her gaze dropping to Kandy's trembling hands and the erratic, shallow rise of her chest. Her reborn intuition was razor-sharp, picking apart the micro-expressions of Kandy's face. She didn't need any special powers to see the raw, deep-seated anxiety rolling off her cousin in waves. It was written in the tense line of her jaw and the frantic darting of her eyes.

Emboldened by Janet's silence, Kandy stepped closer. She thrust her index finger out, the sharp acrylic nail poking hard into Janet's shoulder.

"Gaylord is rotting in a military hospital," Kandy spat, the words dripping with venom. "His organs are literally liquefying. He's a corpse."

A strange, fierce heat flared in Janet's chest. It was an instinctual, violent urge to protect the man who was destined to be her ally.

Janet's right hand shot out. It was a blur of motion.

Her fingers clamped down on Kandy's wrist, her thumb pressing precisely into the radial nerve pulse point.

Kandy let out a piercing scream. Her knees buckled as her entire arm went instantly, terrifyingly numb.

Janet squeezed, just a fraction of an inch harder.

"Never point that filthy finger at me again," Janet whispered, her voice dropping to a deadly register.

She released the wrist. Kandy stumbled back, clutching her deadened arm against her chest. Tears of genuine physical pain welled in her eyes, but her face quickly twisted into a mask of pure, ugly hatred.

"I saw the news in the future!" Kandy cried out, her voice trembling. "I saw Gaylord's autopsy report! It was horrific!"

Janet felt a cold smile pull at the corner of her mouth. She knew exactly which report Kandy was talking about. The fake autopsy fabricated by Wall Street short-sellers to crash the Bradford stock.

Janet took a slow step toward Kandy.

"Can you tell the difference between cellular necrosis and high-dimensional physiological hibernation?" Janet asked, her tone mocking.

Kandy backed up until her spine hit the wall. "You're delusional. A pathetic little nurse can't raise the dead."

Janet was done wasting oxygen on her. She turned away, pulled open the squeaky closet door, and dragged out a faded canvas duffel bag. She started tossing her few plain shirts inside.

Kandy felt the sting of being ignored again. It was worse than the physical pain. She kicked out with her heavy Chanel heel, striking the side of the duffel bag.

The bag tipped over. Three massive, hardcover medical textbooks spilled out onto the floor. Advanced Neurosurgery. Cellular Pathology.

The air in the room froze.

Janet stared down at the books. Her eyes went completely dead. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

Kandy swallowed hard, intimidated by the sudden shift, but she forced a laugh. "Taking your little picture books to the mansion? You're going to be the laughingstock of New York society."

Janet crouched down. Her movements were slow, deliberate. She picked up the neurosurgery textbook, gently wiping a speck of dust from the cover.

She stood up, holding the heavy book against her side. She looked Kandy dead in the eye.

"Very soon, Kandy," Janet said, her voice carrying the absolute weight of a prophecy, "those high-society elites you worship will be kneeling on the pavement outside my door, begging me to save their miserable lives."

Kandy stared at her for a second. Then, she threw her head back and let out a hysterical, grating laugh. She clutched her stomach, acting as if it was the funniest joke she had ever heard.

Kandy's hysterical laughter echoed off the peeling wallpaper. It was loud, forced, and desperate. But it died in her throat the moment she realized Janet wasn't reacting.

Janet just stood there, her dark eyes locked onto Kandy with the detached fascination of a scientist observing a struggling insect.

Humiliated by the silence, Kandy decided to go for the throat. She targeted the one thing she knew would draw blood.

"You're just as pathetic as Marlene," Kandy sneered, using Janet's mother's first name with deliberate disrespect. "A miserable, subprime mortgage gambler. She couldn't pay her debts, so she sold her own daughter to a deformed vegetable."

Janet's body went completely rigid.

The strange energy in her blood spiked. Tiny, invisible sparks crackled at the very tips of her fingers, begging for a release.

Kandy didn't notice the danger. She leaned in, her lips curling into an ugly sneer. "Your mother was crying like a street whore in bankruptcy court-"

Janet moved.

She didn't step; she launched. The distance between them vanished in less than a second. Kandy's pupils dilated in sudden terror. The insult died on her tongue. She didn't even have time to raise her hands.

Janet's right hand swung in a perfect, brutal arc.

The slap sounded like a gunshot in the cramped room.

The sheer kinetic force of the blow threw Kandy off balance. Her head snapped to the side, and her body slammed violently into the solid wood of the wardrobe. She slid down the door, her expensive dress bunching up around her thighs.

Kandy sat on the floor, stunned. She slowly brought her trembling hand to her rapidly swelling left cheek. She looked down at her fingers. There was a smear of blood where her own five-carat diamond had scraped against her skin from the impact.

The sight of her own blood shattered Kandy's sanity.

She let out a feral, bloodcurdling scream. She scrambled up from the floor, her manicured hands hooked into claws, aiming directly for Janet's eyes.

Janet didn't flinch. She simply pivoted on her heel, letting Kandy's momentum carry her forward. Janet grabbed Kandy's outstretched arm, twisted it sharply, and pinned it high up between Kandy's shoulder blades.

With a hard shove, Janet slammed Kandy face-first into the cold drywall.

Kandy whimpered, her face squashed against the peeling paint, completely immobilized.

Janet leaned in. Her lips were barely an inch from Kandy's ear.

"You talk about his perfect life, his perfect future," Janet whispered. Her voice was the chilling calm of a grim reaper reading a sentence. "But have you actually looked at him, Kandy? Looked past the tailored suits and the trust fund?"

Kandy's struggles stopped instantly. Her body went stiff against the wall. The sheer weight of Janet's absolute certainty created a terrifying blank space in her rage.

"The exhaustion he can't hide? The way his hands shake when he thinks no one is watching?" Janet continued, her voice slipping into Kandy's ear like ice water. "You saw the money, Kandy. You saw the penthouse. But you didn't look close enough at the man. You're building your entire dynasty on a foundation of sand."

"No," Kandy choked out, shaking her head against the wall. "He's the strongest man on Wall Street. You're lying. You're just trying to scare me."

Janet let out a dark, humorless chuckle. She released Kandy's arm and stepped back, letting the girl slide down the wall like a discarded ragdoll.

"Next time you're in that beautiful Tribeca penthouse," Janet commanded, staring down at her, "pay attention to the prescriptions hidden behind his imported cologne. Pay attention to the reality you just married into."

Kandy pushed herself up onto her hands and knees. Her legs were shaking so violently she couldn't stand. She looked up at Janet, her eyes wide with a horrifying mix of denial and dawning realization.

"You're making this up!" Kandy screamed, her voice cracking. "You're a jealous psycho!"

Janet looked at her with absolute disgust.

"Think about your precious future, Kandy. Those four kids you bragged about. What did they look like?"

Kandy's breath hitched. Her eyes darted frantically as she dug into her polluted reborn memories.

"They were blonde," Janet said softly, delivering the final, fatal blow. "Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Jax Adler has dominant dark hair and brown eyes. Basic genetics, Kandy. It's impossible."

Kandy's brain short-circuited. The fragmented memories of the future collided with the brutal biological facts Janet just laid out. The image of the four perfect children suddenly twisted into a grotesque mockery.

She realized she hadn't stolen a billionaire dynasty. She had stolen a dying man and a lifetime of being a cuckold.

Kandy clutched her head, her fingers digging into her scalp. She let out a low, agonizing wail of pure psychological defeat.

Janet stood over her, watching the breakdown without a single ounce of empathy. A slow, terrifyingly controlled smile spread across Janet's face. It was the smile of someone who held all the cards and enjoyed watching the house burn down.

Kandy scrambled backward on the floor, her expensive dress catching on a stray nail in the floorboards. She pressed her back against the side of the bed, one hand desperately covering her bruised, swollen cheek.

Her chest heaved. The terror in her eyes morphed into the cornered desperation of a rabid animal.

"I'm calling the police," Kandy hissed, her voice trembling but laced with venom. "I'm going to have you arrested for assault. The military medical center will run a background check. They'll never let a violent felon near Gaylord Bradford!"

Janet didn't even blink at the threat. She turned her back on Kandy, walking calmly toward the battered oak desk in the corner of the room. She pulled open the bottom drawer.

Her fingers brushed past old notebooks until they found the heavy, textured weight of a legal document.

Janet pulled it out. She walked back to Kandy and tossed the thick parchment onto the floor. It landed with a heavy thud right next to Kandy's scuffed Chanel heels.

Kandy flinched. Her eyes dropped to the document. The bold, crimson wax seal of the Perkins Family Trust Fund glared back at her.

"Section four, paragraph two," Janet recited. Her voice was a monotonous, mechanical drone that offered no room for negotiation. "The Morals Clause. Any collateral family member receiving living stipends who engages in behavior detrimental to the primary heir's reputation will be immediately severed from the trust."

Kandy's face went ashen. The blood completely drained from her lips. She realized in that agonizing second that Janet didn't just hold the physical high ground; she held the financial guillotine over Kandy's entire immediate family.

"If you breathe a single word of this to the police," Janet warned, her eyes narrowing into dark slits, "I will initiate the eviction protocol. Your parents will be out on the street before sunset."

Kandy's jaw trembled. "How... how did you get the executive copy? The elders-"

"I am the future Mrs. Bradford," Janet interrupted, lifting her chin. The sheer arrogance of the title felt foreign on her tongue, but she wielded it like a broadsword. "This document is legally binding. If you breathe a single word of this to the police, I will initiate the eviction protocol myself. The Morals Clause is absolute. You and your parents will be out on the street before sunset. You want to test the weight of the Bradford name, even a ruined one? Be my guest."

The absolute dominance in Janet's voice snapped something inside Kandy's fragile psyche.

"Bradford is a sinking ship!" Kandy shrieked, her voice echoing off the ceiling. "They're going to be liquidated in six months! The whole empire is going bankrupt!"

Janet's eyes snapped onto Kandy. The air in the room seemed to vacuum out.

Janet took a slow, deliberate step forward. "And how exactly do you know the precise timeline of a private corporate liquidation, Kandy? You don't even read the Wall Street Journal."

Kandy slapped both hands over her mouth. Her eyes widened in sheer horror. She had just played her biggest card in a moment of blind panic.

Janet loomed over her, her shadow swallowing Kandy whole. "Who told you?"

"I... I heard it!" Kandy stuttered, pressing herself harder against the bedframe. "At Jax's yacht party! The investment bankers were talking about the short-selling data!"

"Lie," Janet stated coldly. "Jax Adler is currently under active investigation by the SEC. His accounts are frozen. He hasn't thrown a yacht party in eight months. He doesn't have access to Bradford's short data."

Kandy was trapped. The walls were closing in. Her chest heaved in a full-blown panic attack.

"I just know!" Kandy screamed, tears of frustration spilling over her eyelashes. "I'm chosen! God showed me the future! I know everything!"

Janet stared at her. Deep in her chest, a cold knot of certainty formed. It was the final confirmation. Kandy was a low-level reborn, her memories a polluted mess of half-truths and delusions of grandeur.

Janet decided right then. She wouldn't expose Kandy's delusion. Letting Kandy walk blindly into a doomed future, believing she was a prophet, was a punishment far worse than death.

Janet turned away. She grabbed the zipper of her duffel bag and yanked it shut with a sharp, metallic zip. She hoisted the heavy bag onto her shoulder.

Kandy saw Janet leaving and felt a sudden, desperate need to reclaim some shred of victory. She scrambled to her feet and lunged sideways, blocking the bedroom doorway.

Janet stopped. She looked at Kandy. It wasn't a look of anger. It was the look a human gives a dead cockroach on the floor. It made the hairs on Kandy's arms stand up.

"I hope," Janet whispered, her voice soft and dripping with lethal sweetness, "that in a few years, when you're changing Jax's adult diapers because his kidneys have completely shut down, you'll still be smiling at that diamond."

Kandy's stomach violently lurched. The visceral image of the smell, the sickness, the decay flashed in her mind. She gagged, her hand flying to her mouth.

"He's going to be a billionaire!" Kandy yelled through her fingers, tears streaming down her face. "He won't be sick!"

Janet didn't reply. She dropped her shoulder and slammed it hard into Kandy's collarbone. Kandy cried out, spinning out of the way.

Janet walked out the door, leaving her cousin weeping in the ruins of her own delusions.