Sunlight hit Clora square in the face, pulling her out of a restless doze. She sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbing the grit from her eyes. She hadn't slept, but her mind felt sharper than it had in years. The fog of the past life was gone, burned away by the cold reality of survival.

A sharp knock came at the door before it cracked open. One of the maids stepped in, carrying a silver tray. The woman kept her eyes down, her face a mask of professional distance. She set the tray on the small table by the window and left without a word.

Essex's eyes and ears. Of course.

Clora walked over to the tray. Fresh fruit, toast, black coffee. She sat down and took a slow bite of the toast, chewing mechanically while her brain ran through the upcoming scenario.

Seven years ago-no, in this timeline, just days ago-Mila Thorne had walked through that door with red-rimmed eyes and a trembling voice. She had held Clora's hand and told her how awful Essex was, how she needed to get out. And like an idiot, Clora had eaten it up. She had let Mila fuel her anger, let her arrange that disastrous meeting with Preston.

Not this time.

The doorbell chimed downstairs. Faint, but audible.

A minute later, the maid returned. "Miss Parrish? A Miss Thorne is here to see you."

Clora's hand paused halfway to her coffee cup. Right on schedule.

"Send her in," Clora said, her voice flat.

She quickly rearranged her face. She dropped her shoulders, letting them hunch inward. She widened her eyes, making them look wet and haunted, and wrapped her arms around her stomach as if she was trying to hold herself together.

The door opened.

Mila Thorne swept in, wearing a pale pink sundress that probably cost more than a month's rent. Her blonde hair was perfectly curled, and her face was painted with a look of absolute devastation.

"Oh, Clora!" Mila rushed across the room, her arms outstretched. She pulled Clora into a tight hug, burying her face in Clora's shoulder. "I was so worried! When I heard what happened... are you okay? Did that monster hurt you?"

Clora stood stiffly in the embrace. As Mila leaned in, a scent hit her nose. Sandalwood and dark musk. Essex's cologne.

Bile rose in Clora's throat. She hadn't noticed it before. She had been too blind, too desperate for affection to realize that her best friend smelled like her captor. Mila had been wearing it like a badge of honor, a sign of how close she wanted to get to the king.

Clora pulled back, breaking the hug. She lowered her head, letting her messy hair fall forward to hide her expression. "I'm fine, Mila."

Mila guided her over to the small sofa, sitting down close enough that their knees touched. "Look at you, you're shaking," Mila cooed, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "It's okay, I'm here now. He can't touch you while I'm here."

Clora nodded along, letting out a small sniffle. She watched Mila from under her lashes. The woman was practically vibrating with excitement, barely able to contain her glee under the mask of concern.

Mila patted Clora's hand, her expression hardening into something serious. "Clora, you can't just give up. You can't let him break you. Preston... Preston has been out of his mind. He's been calling me every night."

Here it comes.

Clora looked up, making sure her eyes looked lost and desperate. "Preston? But... what can he do?"

A malicious glint flashed in Mila's eyes, so quick Clora would have missed it if she hadn't been looking for it. Mila leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"I have a way to get him in to see you. Tonight."

Clora felt a chill run down her spine. It was exactly the same. Mila had bribed one of the gardeners, a guy who worked the night shift on the east wall. She was going to sneak Preston onto the grounds.

And at the exact same time, Mila would "accidentally" let it slip to one of Essex's guards that she was worried about Clora's mental state. She would paint a picture of a suicidal runaway, guaranteeing that Essex would come looking for her the second Preston stepped foot in the garden.

It was a perfect setup for a tragedy.

Clora twisted her fingers in the hem of her shirt, making her hands look nervous. "But... if Essex finds out..."

Mila squeezed her hand hard, cutting her off. "I'll handle everything. I promise, it will be completely secret. No one will know. You just have to trust me."

Clora stared into Mila's bright, eager eyes. She wanted to laugh. Trust her? The woman who had orchestrated her downfall.

She forced her lips into a wobbly, grateful smile. "Mila... thank you. You're the best friend I've ever had."

Mila beamed, the picture of a supportive companion. In her mind, the trap was set. The stupid little rebel was going to walk right into the fire, and Mila would be there to fan the flames.

They talked for a few more minutes, Mila offering more empty platitudes before standing up to leave. "Get some rest. Tonight will be your chance."

Clora watched the door close behind her. The second the latch clicked, the fragile, scared expression melted off her face like ice under a blowtorch.

She stood up and walked over to the window. Down in the circular driveway, Mila was getting into her red convertible. She was probably already texting Preston, telling him the plan was a go.

Clora turned away from the window. She walked over to the breakfast tray and picked up the small silver fruit knife. She picked up an apple from the bowl and started peeling it, her movements slow and deliberate. The ribbon of red skin fell onto the white plate in one unbroken spiral.

In her last life, she had been the apple, carved up and thrown away. In this life, she was going to hold the knife.

She looked at her reflection in the polished silver blade. Her eyes were cold, calculating.

Tonight's show was going to be spectacular. But first, she needed to make sure the star of the show-Essex Langley-was watching.

The night air was freezing. It cut right through the thin fabric of Clora's silk nightgown, raising goosebumps on her arms. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering as she stood on the damp grass of the garden.

It wasn't an act. She was genuinely cold. But the shivering served a dual purpose. It made her look vulnerable, fragile. Like a lost little girl waiting for a savior.

She glanced up at the second floor of the manor. The study window was a slab of black against the lit hallway. He was up there. She couldn't see him, but she could feel his gaze like a physical weight on the back of her neck. Essex never missed a detail, especially when it came to his possessions.

Good. Let him watch.

She took a step further into the shadows of the rose bushes. This was the exact spot. Seven years ago, she had stood here, her heart pounding with hope, waiting for Preston to rescue her. She had thought he was her knight in shining armor.

Now, the memory just made her sick.

A rustling sound came from the dense hedge to her left. A figure emerged, brushing leaves off his expensive jacket.

Preston Vaughn. He looked exactly as she remembered. Perfectly styled dark hair, a jawline that belonged on a magazine cover, and eyes that always seemed to be calculating the value of whatever they landed on.

"Clora!" He hurried over, his face a mask of desperate concern. He reached out and grabbed her wrist, his grip tight and sweaty. "Thank god you're okay. I got your message. We have to move fast. Come with me right now, I can get you out of here."

Clora looked at his hand on her wrist. His touch made her skin crawl. She didn't pull away, though. Not yet. She needed to play this just right.

She looked up at the dark window again, just for a second. The air around them felt heavy, charged with a violent energy that was pressing down on them from above. Essex's fury was a living thing, building in the dark.

Preston misread her hesitation. He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her in a suffocating hug. He buried his face in her neck, his voice dropping to a smooth, seductive murmur.

"Don't be scared, Clora. I'm here now. I won't let that tyrant touch you ever again. Just come with me. We'll go back to the city, we'll get married tomorrow. I'll protect you."

Clora stared over his shoulder at the dark hedges. Married. Right. Preston didn't want her. He wanted the Parrish family shares that came with her. He wanted the ego boost of stealing Essex Langley's property. He was a scavenger, picking at the scraps of the powerful.

She felt a wave of disgust so strong it almost choked her. This was the man she had ruined her life for. This pathetic, greedy coward.

She could feel Essex's patience snapping. The tension in the air was like a pulled rubber band, ready to snap back and take someone's head off.

It was time.

Preston leaned in, trying to kiss her. "Just trust me, Clora. We belong together-"

Clora ripped her arm out of his grip. She shoved him back hard, the force of her rejection surprising them both.

Preston stumbled, nearly tripping over a root. He caught his balance and stared at her, his perfect face twisting in confusion. "Clora? What are you doing?"

Clora took a step back, putting a solid five feet of cold night air between them. She looked at him, really looked at him, and let all the contempt she felt show on her face.

Preston's brow furrowed. "What's wrong with you? I'm trying to save you!"

Clora didn't answer him. Instead, she tilted her chin up and looked directly at the dark study window.

"Have you seen enough?" she called out. Her voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the quiet garden like a knife.

Preston froze. The color drained from his face. He slowly turned his head to follow her gaze, staring up at the black window.

For a second, nothing happened. Just the chirping of crickets and the pounding of Preston's visible panic.

Then, a tiny orange glow flared in the darkness. The cherry of a cigar. It illuminated a sliver of a harsh jawline and a pair of eyes that glowed with predatory intent.

Essex Langley stepped forward, visible in the faint moonlight. He stood at the window like a dark god looking down on his domain, his expression unreadable, but the threat in his posture unmistakable.

Preston made a choking sound. He hadn't actually believed Essex would be there. He thought Mila's plan was foolproof. He took a step back, his legs visibly shaking.

Clora watched Preston's terror with a sense of grim satisfaction. The mouse had just realized the cat was in the room.

She crossed her arms over her chest, a cold smile playing on her lips. The stage was set. The spotlight was on. Now it was time to burn the house down.

Preston's head snapped back and forth between Clora and the dark figure upstairs. His chest heaved, and his voice cracked as he pointed a shaking finger at her.

"You... you set me up?" he sputtered. "You told Mila you wanted to see me! You wanted me to get caught!"

Clora ignored him. She kept her eyes locked on the window above, her smile widening just a fraction. She could practically hear the gears turning in Essex's head. Was this a trap for Preston? A declaration of war? Or something else entirely?

She turned back to Preston, dropping the smile. She looked at him the way one might look at a bug crawling across a dinner plate.

"Preston Vaughn," she said, her voice clear and sharp in the quiet night. "Did you really think I was still that stupid little girl who would fall for your crap?"

Preston flushed red, a mix of anger and embarrassment. "I don't know what game you're playing, but I came here to help you! You're acting like a crazy person!"

"Help me?" Clora let out a short, bitter laugh. "Help me with what, Preston? With your family's bankrupt shipping business? Or are you trying to salvage the bruised ego you got when Essex threw you out of the engagement party?"

Every word hit its mark. Preston's jaw clenched, and he took a step toward her, his hands balling into fists. "You ungrateful bitch. I'm offering you a way out of hell, and you're throwing it back in my face?"

Upstairs, Essex shifted his weight. The tiny movement seemed to release a wave of pressure into the garden. The air grew heavier, thick with the promise of violence. But he didn't move to intervene. He just watched.

Clora took a step toward Preston, closing the distance between them. She didn't flinch. She looked him dead in the eye, her gaze icy.

"Hell?" she scoffed. "At least the devil is honest about what he is. Essex doesn't hide what he wants. His power, his wealth, his control-it's all right there in the open."

She reached out and poked Preston hard in the chest, right over his heart. "But you? You're a thief hiding behind a white knight costume. You're broke, Preston. Your family is drowning in debt, and you thought you could parade me around like a trophy to get the Langley name off your back."

Preston looked like he had been slapped. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Clora dropped her hand, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. She slowly shifted her gaze from Preston's face back up to the second-floor window, making sure Essex heard every word.

"Besides," she said, her tone shifting, becoming almost... intimate. "You couldn't even tie Essex Langley's shoes, let alone compare to him."

The words hung in the air. Preston stared at her, his mouth hanging open in shock.

Clora took a breath and let the lie flow smoothly from her lips. "His taste, his power, this entire estate... even the way he punishes me, it's more real than your pathetic little 'love' ever was. At least when he hurts me, I know I'm alive. At least he's a man worth fighting."

She was laying it on thick, practically serving it on a silver platter. It was outrageous. It was insane. It was exactly what a twisted mind like Essex's would want to hear.

Upstairs, Essex's shadow shifted again. The cigar glow paused halfway to his mouth. He was listening. He was interested.

Preston, on the other hand, looked like he was going to be sick. "You're insane," he whispered. "You're defending him? He's a monster!"

Clora dropped the act. Her face went blank, her eyes turning to ice. She pointed toward the garden gate.

"Get out, Vaughn," she commanded. "Walk away while you still have legs. Because if I see your face here again, I won't stop him from breaking them."

She threw the threat out like a bone to a dog, giving Essex the power. It was his right to punish the intruder. She was just the messenger.

Preston didn't need to be told twice. The fight completely drained out of him. He shot Clora a look of pure venom, then turned and scrambled through the bushes, his expensive shoes slipping in the mud as he ran for his life.

The garden was quiet again. The crickets slowly started back up.

Clora stood alone in the moonlight. She looked up at the study window. Essex was still there, a dark silhouette against the glass.

Her heart was beating so fast she thought it might burst. She had just gambled her life on a monologue. If he thought she was mocking him, if he thought this was a trick, she was dead.

The shadow at the window moved. Essex turned and disappeared into the room.

Clora's breath caught. The back doors of the manor opened with a heavy click. Heavy footsteps echoed on the stone patio.

Essex Langley stepped out into the garden. The cold night air seemed to wrap around him, making him look even larger, more imposing. His face was in shadow, but his eyes caught the moonlight, burning with an intensity that made Clora's knees weak.

He walked toward her, stopping just a few feet away. The scent of his cigar smoke mixed with the night chill.

Clora forced herself to stand tall. She didn't step back. She didn't cower. She met his gaze head-on, even though every nerve in her body was screaming at her to run.

The real test was just beginning.