Nora rushed toward the edge of the pool. Her eyes were wide with panic as she recognized the man thrashing in the water.

"Oh my god! Mr. Harrison!" Nora shrieked. She dropped the coat and reached her hands out, leaning over the water to pull him up.

Hester's eyes went dead.

She lunged forward. Her hand clamped around Nora's wrist like a steel vice. She squeezed so hard that Nora's manicured fingertips turned instantly white.

Nora gasped in pain. She whipped her head around, staring in shock at her usually meek and soft-spoken employer. She tried to yank her arm back, but Hester's grip was immovable.

"Do not touch him," Hester ordered. Her voice was a low, freezing rasp. "He tried to attack me. He's a monster."

Nora looked back at the water. Domenic's lips were purple. He was barely keeping his head above the surface. The allure of saving the President's son and securing a favor was too strong for the greedy assistant.

"Are you crazy? !" Nora snapped, actually raising her voice at Hester. "He's going to die!"

The disrespect hit Hester's ears. It was the exact same tone Nora had used right before she forced the poison down Hester's throat in her past life.

The murderous rage inside Hester boiled over.

Hester didn't argue. She raised her free hand and swung.

Smack.

The slap was deafening. It echoed louder than the splashing water. Hester's palm connected with Nora's cheek with so much force that Nora's head snapped violently to the side.

Nora's cheek instantly swelled, turning an angry, mottled red. A thin line of blood broke at the corner of her mouth. She stood completely paralyzed, her brain short-circuiting from the shock of the strike.

Hester let go of her wrist. She pulled a silk handkerchief from her pocket with her left hand and wiped her right palm, as if she had just touched raw sewage. She let the wind carry the silk square away.

In the pool, Domenic finally found the submerged stone steps. He dragged himself up until the water was at his chest. He was shaking violently, his teeth chattering so hard they sounded like castanets.

He pointed a shaking, blue finger at the two women on the bank.

"I'll... I'll put you both in federal prison!" Domenic roared, his voice cracking from the cold.

Hester ignored him completely. She looked down at her own chest, her hands suddenly flying to her torn collar. She patted her chest frantically, her eyes widening in perfectly acted panic.

She snapped her head up and glared at Nora.

"My brooch," Hester gasped. "The antique sapphire brooch the First Lady gave me. It's gone."

Nora, still holding her bleeding cheek, took a step back. Her eyes darted around nervously. "M-maybe you dropped it in the sitting room?" she stuttered, desperate for an excuse to run away from this nightmare.

Hester stepped forward. Her heels clicked sharply against the stone.

"No," Hester said, her voice hard and absolute. "It fell off when he was attacking me. It fell in the water."

She pointed a rigid finger at the dark, freezing pool.

"Get in there and find it. Now."

Nora stared at the black water. She looked at Domenic, who looked like he was ready to murder someone. The physical terror of the freezing water outweighed her fear of Hester.

"No!" Nora screamed, backing away. "I won't do it! I'm going to tell the First Lady you tried to kill him! You're insane!"

Hester smiled. It was a cold, terrifying stretching of her lips.

That was the excuse she needed.

Hester closed the distance between them in one explosive step. Her hands shot out, grabbing the thick lapels of Nora's winter coat.

Using Nora's own backward momentum, Hester twisted her hips and hurled the assistant forward with all her strength.

Nora let out a blood-curdling shriek as her feet left the ground.

She flew over the edge of the marble rim and slammed into the deep end of the pool, right next to Domenic.

A massive wave of water splashed directly into Domenic's face. He wiped his eyes just in time to see Nora surface, thrashing wildly.

Nora didn't know how to swim. Her heavy winter coat absorbed the water instantly, turning into a lead weight that dragged her down. Blind with panic, she reached out and grabbed the only solid thing near her.

She locked her arms around Domenic's neck.

Domenic, already exhausted and freezing, was suddenly pulled under by the dead weight of a panicking adult.

The two of them erupted into a violent, desperate struggle. They clawed at each other's faces, kicking and shoving, each trying to push the other down to keep their own head above water. It was a brutal fight for survival.

Hester stood on the edge, looking down at the chaos. Her eyes glittered with dark, vengeful satisfaction.

Then, a faint rustle of fabric caught her attention.

Hester's head snapped to the right. She looked past the bare trees, toward the shadowed alcove of the White House colonnade, thirty meters away.

A tall man in a black trench coat stood perfectly still in the shadows. He was watching her.

Hester couldn't see his face, but the heavy, oppressive weight of his stare made her heart skip a beat.

Her brain calculated the risk in a fraction of a second. She didn't panic. She didn't try to silence him.

She sucked in a sharp breath, forcing a fresh wave of tears to spill over her eyelashes. She grabbed the hem of her ruined skirt, turned on her heel, and ran.

She sprinted toward the First Lady's quarters, leaving the two people drowning in the pool behind her.

Vice President Kyle Harrison stepped slowly out of the shadows.

The dim glow of the colonnade wall sconces illuminated the sharp, unforgiving angles of his jaw and his deep, stormy gray eyes.

He looked toward the pool. The splashing was getting weaker. Domenic had managed to pry Nora off his neck and was now simply holding her head under the water to keep himself afloat. It was pathetic.

Kyle's earpiece crackled. His lead Secret Service agent's voice came through. "Sir, we have a disturbance at the South Pool. Should we initiate a rescue?"

Kyle raised his right hand, tapping his earpiece.

"Maintain radio silence," Kyle ordered, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "Do not intervene."

He turned his gaze back to the path where Hester had disappeared. The image of her fluid, brutal kick and the dead, cold look in her eyes replayed in his mind. The corner of his mouth twitched upward into a dark smirk.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a heavy, glittering object.

It was the antique sapphire brooch. He had picked it up off the carpet outside the East Wing sitting room ten minutes ago.

Kyle slipped the brooch into his breast pocket, right over his heart. He turned and walked casually toward the West Wing, leaving no trace that he had ever been there.

Meanwhile, Hester was running for her life.

She had kicked off her heels and was sprinting barefoot across the thick wool carpets of the interior hallways.

She needed her injuries to look worse.

As she rounded a corner, she intentionally threw her body weight to the side, dragging her bare shoulder hard against the rough edge of a marble Roman pillar.

The expensive silk of her blouse ripped completely. The skin on her shoulder tore, leaving a bright, angry red scrape that stung fiercely.

She rubbed her knuckles into her eyes until the blood vessels popped, making them look bloodshot and swollen. Tears streamed down her face, fueled by the physical pain of her scraped shoulder.

As she approached the security checkpoint outside the First Lady's Quarters, Hester deliberately broke her rhythm. She let her breathing become ragged, loud, and hyperventilating.

The two armed Secret Service agents stationed at the heavy oak doors saw the usually poised Stanton heiress stumbling toward them, barefoot, bleeding, and half-undressed.

Both agents instantly dropped their hands to their holstered weapons.

Hester threw herself at the nearest agent, grabbing his suit jacket with trembling, desperate hands.

"Help me!" she screamed, her voice cracking into a hysterical sob. "Take me to my aunt! He's crazy! He's going to kill me!"

The agent didn't hesitate. He tapped his radio, barking an emergency code directly to Alex Stone, the First Lady's Chief of Staff.

The heavy double doors burst open. Alex, a sharp-featured woman in a tailored suit, rushed out. The color drained from her face the second she saw Hester.

Alex immediately stripped off her own suit jacket and wrapped it tightly around Hester's shivering shoulders, shielding her from the agents' eyes.

Hester collapsed against Alex's chest. She gripped the woman's shirt, burying her face in her neck, playing the role of a completely shattered victim to absolute perfection.

"It's okay, you're safe," Alex whispered fiercely, half-carrying Hester through the doors. She shot a lethal glare at the agents. "Lock down this corridor. No one gets near these doors."

Inside the private quarters, First Lady Elba Stanton was sitting on a French sofa, reviewing a guest list. She frowned at the sudden commotion.

Elba looked up.

When she saw her beloved niece-the pride of the Stanton family-dragged into the room looking like a broken doll, the gold pen slipped from Elba's fingers.

It hit the floor. Elba stood up so fast her knee clipped the coffee table. The hot tea spilled across the Persian rug, but she didn't even blink.

She crossed the room in three massive strides. She grabbed Hester's face, her eyes locking onto the swollen, red eyes, the torn clothes, and the bleeding scrape on her shoulder.

The blood rushed to Elba's head.

"Hester," Elba said. Her voice was shaking, high-pitched with pure, unadulterated rage. "Who did this? Who dared to touch you in this house? !"

Hearing her aunt's fiercely protective voice triggered a real memory for Hester. She remembered how Elba had died trying to protect her in the past life. The tears that fell now were genuine.

Hester threw her arms around Elba's neck and broke down. The raw, gut-wrenching sound of her sobbing echoed in the quiet room, making Alex's stomach twist.

Elba held her niece tight. The First Lady's eyes hardened. The ruthless, military blood of the Stanton family flared in her pupils. She looked at Alex.

"Lock down the East Wing," Elba commanded.

Hester cried against Elba's shoulder for two full minutes, letting the tension build until it was unbearable. Then, she slowly pulled back. She looked at her aunt with wide, terrified eyes.

"It... it was Domenic," Hester choked out, her whole body violently flinching at the name. "He tried to kill me, Aunt Elba."

Elba's breath hitched. Her pupils contracted. She stared at Hester, her brain refusing to process the name of her own son.

Hester grabbed Elba's wrists. Her nails dug into her aunt's skin. She delivered the kill shot with absolute, desperate certainty.

"He wanted to drown me in the pool," Hester sobbed. "He said he was doing it for Tricia, that manipulative intern from his office."

Elba stumbled backward. Her heel caught on the edge of the thick rug. Alex lunged forward and caught the First Lady by the elbow before she could fall.

Elba took a deep, shuddering breath. She forced her spine straight, her face draining of all color.

"Hester," Elba said, her voice deadly serious. "Accusing the President's son of attempted murder is a catastrophic charge. You must tell me exactly what happened. Every word."

Hester's body began to shake violently. She wrapped her arms around her own torso, hugging herself tight, ensuring the bloody scrape on her shoulder was in full view.

She opened her mouth, letting her voice crack and break as she spun the web.

"He... he tricked me into going to the sitting room," Hester stammered, tears spilling over her cheeks. "Tricia was there. They had a thick manila folder. An annulment agreement. He had a gold fountain pen... he tried to force me to sign it."

Elba's eyes narrowed. The specific details—the folder, the pen—gave the story terrifying credibility.

"I refused," Hester cried, her chest heaving. "I told him I couldn't betray our family's alliance. He got so angry. He said I was ruining his life with Tricia. He chased me out to the South Lawn."

Hester stuck her leg out slightly, showing the angry red scrape on her ankle from where she had kicked Domenic. She turned her wrists over, exposing the brutal, red fingernail marks she had dug into her own skin.

"He grabbed me by the pool," she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest as if she couldn't breathe. "He said if I didn't break the engagement, he would drown me and make it look like an accident."

The word accident hit Elba like a physical strike. The political implications of a staged death made the First Lady's blood run cold.

"We struggled," Hester continued, her voice dropping to a terrified whisper. "He slipped on the ice. He fell in, but he grabbed my arm! He tried to drag me down with him! I had to fight him off. I lost my shoes..."

She buried her face in her hands. "Nora came running. I told her to help him, and I just ran. I was so scared..."

It was a flawless narrative. She was the perfect, loyal victim who had nearly died protecting the family's honor.

Elba's hands curled into tight fists. She slammed her palm down on the small side table. The delicate bone china teacup shattered into pieces.

"Alex," Elba snarled, her eyes burning with lethal fury. "Send the Secret Service to the South Pool. Drag that animal back here immediately."

Alex nodded sharply, speaking rapidly into her encrypted radio. "And I'm calling the White House physician. She needs to be examined."

While they waited, Elba went to the bathroom and brought back a warm, damp towel. Her hands, usually so steady, trembled as she gently wiped the dirt and tears from Hester's face.

Hester leaned into the touch, closing her eyes like a frightened child. But beneath her lowered lashes, her gaze darted toward the heavy oak doors, waiting for the trap to spring.

The private physician arrived minutes later. Under Elba's hawkish supervision, the doctor examined Hester's shoulder, wrists, and ankle, taking high-resolution photographs of every mark.

The doctor packed up his kit, his face grim. He looked directly at the First Lady.

"Ma'am, these contusions and abrasions are entirely consistent with a violent struggle and forceful grabbing," the doctor confirmed.

That medical validation shattered the last ounce of Elba's maternal denial. Her disappointment in her son instantly mutated into a raging inferno.

Suddenly, a loud, chaotic commotion erupted in the hallway outside. Men were shouting. Someone was cursing loudly.

The heavy doors were shoved open with brutal force.

Domenic was dragged into the room by two massive Secret Service agents, each gripping one of his arms in an iron lock. He was soaking wet, wrapped in a silver thermal blanket that had slipped down around his shoulders, shivering violently. He looked like a drowned rat.

His hair was plastered to his skull, dripping dirty pool water onto the pristine carpet. His lips were blue, but his eyes were bloodshot and completely deranged.

The agents halted three paces inside the door, holding Domenic firmly in place. The second Domenic saw Hester sitting on the sofa, he snapped.

"You!" he roared, his voice a hoarse, grating screech, straining uselessly against the agents' unyielding grips. "It was her! She kicked me into the water! She's a psycho!"

Hester let out a piercing shriek. She scrambled backward on the sofa, curling into a tight ball behind Elba's back, throwing her hands over her head as if expecting to be struck.

Elba watched her son. He showed zero remorse. He had been dragged into her private quarters, screaming like a lunatic, and tried to blame the bruised, bleeding girl cowering behind her.

Elba stood up. She stepped directly into Domenic's path, blocking his view of Hester. Her face was carved from stone.

Domenic was too consumed by rage to notice the lethal danger radiating from his mother. He thrashed against the agents, trying to lunge past her, his bound arms jerking uselessly toward Hester.

"I'm going to kill you, you lying bitch!" Domenic screamed.

The lead agent tightened his grip and forced Domenic's shoulders down, immobilizing him. He turned to Elba, his expression professionally blank. "Ma'am. The assistant Nora was also recovered from the pool. She was unresponsive at the scene. The medics have transported her to the hospital. Her status is critical."

Elba's jaw tightened. She gave a single, sharp nod. Then her gaze returned to her son, and her voice dropped to a tone of absolute, irreversible finality.

"Get him out of my sight."