The grand dining room was cavernous. A ten-meter-long oak table dominated the space, covered in a pristine white linen cloth. Silver candelabras cast flickering, warm light across the crystal glassware.

Eileen followed Harrison into the room. A server immediately pulled out the chair to the right of the head seat.

It was the position of the lady of the house. Eileen didn't hesitate. She sat down smoothly, adjusting her posture. Carlisle maneuvered his wheelchair into the space at the head of the table.

The kitchen staff moved in a synchronized ballet.

The head chef approached Eileen with a silver cloche. He lifted it, revealing a small, sad plate. It contained a handful of dry arugula leaves and three cherry tomatoes, glistening with a microscopic drop of olive oil.

Eileen stared down at the plate. Her stomach cramped violently, letting out a pathetic, audible gurgle.

She lifted her chin. Her eyes bypassed the salad and locked onto the center of the table.

Sitting on a silver platter was a massive Beef Wellington. The golden pastry was perfectly baked. It had just been sliced open, revealing a center of flawless, pink, steaming tenderloin. The rich smell of butter, mushrooms, and roasted meat filled her nostrils.

Carlisle picked up his wine glass. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her staring at the meat. He saw her throat bob as she swallowed hard. His fingers paused on the stem of the glass.

Eileen reached out and shoved the salad plate away. The porcelain scraped loudly against the table.

She grabbed the heavy silver serving tongs.

The two servers standing nearby froze in shock. They watched as Eileen clamped the tongs around the thickest, center cut of the Beef Wellington. She lifted it, the rich juices dripping onto the tablecloth, and dropped it onto her own bone china plate.

She didn't stop there. She grabbed a serving spoon and scooped a massive mound of creamy, butter-heavy mashed potatoes next to the meat.

Harrison stopped cutting his fish. He stared at her plate, his eyes wide behind his reading glasses.

"Eileen, my dear," Harrison stammered. "That is... quite high in calories."

Eileen picked up her steak knife and fork. She sliced through the pastry and the tender meat. She dragged the piece through the dark truffle jus and shoved it into her mouth.

She closed her eyes. A soft, involuntary moan of pure pleasure vibrated in her throat.

She opened her eyes and looked at Harrison, her cheeks bulging slightly as she chewed.

"Screw the Hollywood diet," she mumbled through the food. "I want to actually enjoy being alive."

Harrison blinked. Then, a booming laugh erupted from his chest. He slapped his hand on the table, making the silverware rattle. "Good! Good! Young people should eat! You're too thin anyway!"

Carlisle slowly lowered his wine glass.

He stared at her. He watched her chew, watched the way she unapologetically wiped a drop of sauce from her bottom lip with her thumb. The vain, neurotic woman who used to faint from starvation to fit into a size zero dress was completely gone.

Eileen felt his heavy gaze.

She swallowed her food. She cut another piece of the tenderloin, making sure it had a perfect ratio of meat and pastry.

She stabbed it with her silver fork. She leaned across the corner of the table, extending her arm, and held the bite of food directly in front of Carlisle's lips.

Carlisle's body violently recoiled.

He threw himself back against his chair. His eyes turned into chips of ice. The air pressure in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

"Move it," he ordered. The words were razor blades.

The room went dead silent. The servers stopped breathing. Harrison froze with his fork halfway to his mouth.

Eileen didn't blush. She didn't look embarrassed.

She simply shrugged her shoulders. She rotated her wrist, brought the fork back to her own mouth, and ate the piece of meat herself.

"Your loss," she mumbled, chewing happily.

The crushing tension in the room evaporated instantly. Her absolute lack of shame defused the bomb.

Carlisle stared at her lips, watching them move as she chewed. His Adam's apple bobbed once. He looked down at his own plate and picked up his knife, his grip white-knuckled.

The dinner proceeded. Eileen decimated two massive slices of the Wellington and scraped her potato bowl clean.

When the servers cleared the plates and poured the black tea, Eileen picked up her white napkin. She dabbed the corners of her mouth and stood up.

She walked over to Harrison and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, giving him a firm hug. "Thank you for the food, Grandpa. It was amazing."

She pulled back and turned to Carlisle.

The playful, relaxed aura vanished. Her eyes hardened, turning sharp and clear.

"I need to go to Aura Entertainment," she announced, her voice flat and businesslike. "I have a mess to clean up."

Harrison frowned, worry creeping back into his eyes. "Tonight? The paparazzi are swarming the city."

"There is a tumor in my team," Eileen said coldly. "If I don't cut it out tonight, it will kill me tomorrow."

Carlisle looked at her. He saw the absolute resolve in her posture.

He turned his head slightly toward the head butler. "Ainsworth. Have the Team One security detail escort the Madam to the agency."

The word 'Madam' hung in the air. It carried a heavy, undeniable weight of authority.

Eileen's heart skipped a beat. She looked at Carlisle, giving him a single, firm nod of gratitude.

She turned on her heel and marched out of the dining room. Her steps were fast and purposeful, carrying her out of the warm light and into the dark night.

Four black Range Rovers tore through the streets of Century City. The convoy moved in a tight, aggressive formation, projecting absolute dominance.

They descended into the private underground parking garage of the Aura Entertainment building. Tires screeched as they boxed in the elevator entrance.

Three paparazzi hiding behind a concrete pillar raised their cameras. Before they could press the shutters, two massive bodyguards in black suits slammed into them, shoving the lenses down hard against the pavement.

Eileen stepped out of the center vehicle.

Her four-inch stilettos clicked against the concrete. Flanked by four guards, she walked straight into the VIP elevator. She hit the button for the top floor.

The doors opened to the executive suite.

Eileen pushed open the frosted glass door to Gwen's office. A thick cloud of cigarette smoke hit her face.

Gwen was pacing furiously in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Crumpled newspapers and printed screenshots littered the floor. In the corner, huddled on a leather sofa, sat Mindy, the team's junior assistant. She was chewing her fingernails, looking terrified.

Gwen spun around at the sound of the door. She opened her mouth to scream, but the sight of the four towering bodyguards filling the hallway choked the words in her throat.

Eileen waved her hand dismissively. The guards stepped back and pulled the door shut, sealing the room.

Eileen ignored Gwen's glaring eyes. She walked over to the wet bar, picked up a crystal glass, and poured herself some ice water. The cold liquid soothed her dry throat.

Gwen marched over to her desk and slammed a stack of glossy, high-definition photos onto the wood.

"What the hell were you doing?" Gwen hissed. "Look at these!"

Eileen took a sip of water. She walked slowly to the desk and looked down.

The photos showed a woman with a similar build to hers, standing in the shadows of a hotel stairwell, entangled with a tall man. The lighting was terrible. The faces were obscured.

Eileen let out a short, derisive scoff.

She reached out and tapped her index finger hard against the glossy paper, right on the woman's wrist.

"Look at the shape," Eileen said, tapping the photo. "That's the Alhambra clover. I have a documented nickel allergy, and I've always found that specific design incredibly tacky anyway. I haven't worn a metal bracelet in five years. You know this."

Gwen frowned, leaning in to squint at the blurry gold chain.

The detail was slightly blurred, but the distinct four-leaf shape was undeniably there. It was a fatal flaw in the setup.

"Second," Eileen continued, her tone turning surgical. "The Beverly Hills Hotel has military-grade security on the VIP floors. Paparazzi do not accidentally wander into the twelfth-floor fire escape."

Eileen turned her head slowly. Her gaze swept across the room and locked onto the girl shrinking into the sofa.

"There is only one explanation," Eileen said, her voice echoing in the quiet office. "Someone sold my room number and my private itinerary to the press."

Mindy's shoulders jerked violently. The tablet in her lap slipped and clattered onto the floor.

Gwen whipped her head around, staring at the assistant. "Mindy? You've been with us for three years."

Eileen set her water glass down on the desk. She walked toward the sofa. Her stilettos sank into the plush carpet, muffling her steps, making her look like a predator stalking prey.

She stopped right in front of Mindy, looking down at her.

"Where were you between three and four o'clock this afternoon?" Eileen asked. The question was soft, but heavy with pressure.

"I... I went down to the lobby to get coffee," Mindy stammered, her eyes darting everywhere except Eileen's face.

Eileen leaned down, bringing her face level with the assistant's.

"It takes an hour to get a coffee?" Eileen sneered. "And why does the hem of your skirt have a grease stain on it? The kind of grease you only get from brushing against a car bumper in an underground parking garage."

Mindy gasped. Her hands flew down to cover the edge of her skirt in a desperate, guilty reflex.

Gwen realized the truth instantly. She lunged forward, grabbing Mindy by the collar of her blouse. "You sold her out? Who paid you?!"

Tears spilled out of Mindy's eyes. She started shaking her head frantically. "No! I didn't! You have to believe me!"

Eileen stood up straight. She was done playing detective.

She turned to Gwen. "Revoke all her email access. Deactivate her keycards. Cut off her company phone. Tomorrow morning, have the legal department pull her bank records."

At the words 'legal department' and 'bank records', Mindy's legs gave out. She collapsed back onto the sofa, her face turning the color of ash. She began to sob hysterically.

Eileen picked up her water glass and slammed it down on the glass coffee table. The sharp crack made Mindy flinch.

"You're fired," Eileen said coldly. "Get out of my sight."

The adrenaline crash hit Eileen the moment she stepped out of the Aura Entertainment building.

She rubbed her throbbing temples as the bodyguards escorted her back into the black Range Rover. The heavy doors slammed shut, sealing her in the quiet, climate-controlled cabin.

The convoy sped through the midnight streets of Los Angeles. Neon lights bled across the tinted windows. Eileen leaned her head against the leather headrest and closed her eyes.

This body was weak. The original owner's extreme dieting and lack of exercise meant that a few hours of high-stress confrontation had completely drained her physical reserves. Her stomach twisted with a dull ache, and her muscles felt like lead.

The cars glided silently through the gates of the Vinson estate.

Eileen thanked the guard who opened her door. She slipped her stilettos off, holding them in one hand, and walked barefoot across the thick carpets of the mansion.

She moved quietly down the dim hallway. As she passed Carlisle's study, she noticed a thin sliver of warm light spilling from under the heavy oak door. She didn't stop.

She reached her bedroom at the end of the hall. She stepped inside and immediately threw the deadbolt, locking the door with a solid click.

She dropped her expensive handbag onto the floor. She walked straight to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows and yanked the heavy blackout curtains shut.

The room plunged into absolute darkness. The silence was absolute.

Eileen walked to the center of the room and sat down cross-legged on the Persian rug. She rested her hands on her knees, palms facing up. She took a deep breath, forcing her heart rate to slow.

She closed her eyes and focused all her mental energy on a single point right between her eyebrows.

This was the secret she had carried from her original world. She needed to know if it had crossed over with her soul.

As her concentration deepened, a tiny spark of heat ignited behind her forehead. The heat rapidly expanded, turning into a powerful, magnetic pull that enveloped her entire body.

A violent sensation of weightlessness hit her. It felt like falling backward off a cliff in the dark.

The sensation lasted for half a second. Then, her body hit solid ground.

Eileen snapped her eyes open.

She was no longer in the dark, stuffy bedroom. She was standing under a sky that had no sun, yet radiated a soft, perfect, ambient light. The air was incredibly pure, thick with the smell of rich, wet soil and growing things.

She looked down. She was standing on a patch of jet-black soil, about the size of half a football field. The edges of the dirt were swallowed by a dense, impenetrable wall of gray fog.

In the exact center of the black soil sat a circular well made of ancient, moss-covered stones.

Water bubbled up from the center of the well, the water level slowly rising as a single drop formed at the lip of the stone every few seconds with a crisp, musical trickling sound.

Eileen let out a breathless laugh. She sprinted toward the well, her bare feet sinking slightly into the soft earth.

She dropped to her knees beside the stones. The water inside was crystal clear, emitting a very faint, pulsing blue glow.

She cupped her hands and plunged them into the freezing water. She brought her hands to her mouth and drank greedily.

The water was icy and sweet. The moment it hit her stomach, it exploded into a wave of intense, soothing heat.

The heat rushed through her veins like liquid fire. The dull ache in her stomach vanished instantly. The heavy fatigue in her muscles dissolved. The lingering toxins from the original owner's hangover and poor diet were flushed out of her system in seconds.

Eileen looked down at her hands. The pale, sickly skin was rapidly taking on a healthy, vibrant pink flush. Her fingernails looked stronger.

She stood up, her body buzzing with limitless energy.

She paced around the well, her mind racing. This pocket dimension was tied to her soul. The spring water was a biological miracle. It repaired cellular damage at an impossible rate.

If this water could fix her ruined body in seconds, what could it do to Carlisle's legs?

The doctors had declared his spinal nerve damage permanent. But they didn't have magic water.

Curing the most powerful media mogul in the country wasn't just about paying him back for his protection. It was about creating an unbreakable bond. If she gave him his legs back, he would give her the world.

She knelt back down and studied the flow of the water. The well only produced a slow trickle. It would take a full day to gather a small glass. She would have to dose him slowly, secretly.

Her plan was set.

Eileen closed her eyes and focused on the heat between her brows.

The weightlessness returned. When she opened her eyes, she was sitting on the Persian rug in her dark bedroom.

She felt incredible. She stood up and walked into the master bathroom. She flipped on the harsh vanity lights and looked in the mirror.

Her skin was glowing. Her eyes were bright and sharp.

She smiled at her reflection. "Watch your back, Hollywood."