It was early afternoon. The living room of the cramped apartment was quiet. Emmett reached inside the lining of his gray jacket. He pulled out a thick, yellow envelope.

He placed the envelope on the scratched coffee table. He pushed it toward his mother. It contained every dollar of his miserable monthly salary from the manor.

His mother stared at the cash inside. Her eyes widened in shock. She shook her head and pushed it back.

"No, Emmett," she said weakly. "You need this. You need to buy things for yourself. You need to fit in with the other staff."

Emmett picked up the envelope. He gently forced it into her cold hands. He folded her fingers over the paper.

"The manor pays for everything," Emmett lied smoothly. His voice was calm and reassuring. "I get free food. Free uniforms. I don't spend a dime. Keep it. Buy medicine."

Elspeth stood by the kitchen counter. She stared at the stack of bills. She bit her bottom lip. She looked at Emmett and whispered, "Thank you."

Emmett stood up. He walked to the kitchen sink. He picked up a wrench from the counter. He tightened the leaking pipe under the faucet with three sharp, efficient twists. The dripping stopped instantly.

He wiped the grease off his hands with a paper towel. He looked at the broken clock on the wall.

"I have to go back," Emmett said. "Curfew."

He walked to the front door. He stopped and crouched down in front of Elspeth. He looked directly into her eyes. His expression turned deadly serious.

"Listen to me," Emmett said. His voice was low. "No matter what happens, never trust people who drive expensive cars. Never trust the rich. Do you understand?"

Elspeth frowned. She looked confused by the sudden warning. But she saw the intense, dark look in his eyes. She nodded slowly.

Emmett stood up. He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. As he walked down the stairs, he heard Maeve and Tobin cheering as they opened the chocolate. A small, genuine smile touched his lips.

When he stepped outside, the sky had turned dark gray. The wind whipped his thin jacket around his waist.

He walked fast toward the tram stop.

A sleek, black motorcar sped down the street. Its tires hit a deep pothole filled with dirty water. A massive wave of muddy water splashed toward the sidewalk.

Emmett reacted instantly. He jumped backward, his boots hitting the brick wall. The water missed his legs by an inch.

He stood still. He stared at the glowing red taillights of the motorcar as it disappeared down the street. His eyes were cold.

The tram arrived. It rattled and shook. Emmett climbed aboard. He sat in the back, surrounded by the smell of bleach and despair.

The tram drove back toward the wealthy suburbs. The sky turned completely black. In the distance, the lights of Patterson Manor glowed like a massive fortress on the hill.

Emmett got off at the back service entrance. He walked to the security checkpoint.

A large security guard patted him down roughly. The guard's hands checked his pockets and his waist. It was a humiliating process.

"Didn't even go get a drink on your day off?" the guard mocked. "Boring."

Emmett gave him a blank, stupid smile. He didn't say a word. The guard waved him through.

Emmett walked into the servant corridors. The air felt thick and heavy. A group of maids stood in the corner, whispering frantically.

Emmett's ears picked up the words "Master Alistair" and "screaming." His heart rate picked up, beating in a steady, controlled rhythm.

He walked into the men's locker room. He pulled off his jacket.

Rory leaned against the next locker. He looked around nervously.

"Master Alistair is playing in a massive polo match tomorrow," Rory whispered. "He's betting a fortune."

Emmett's hand froze on the metal door of his locker. The metal clinked softly.

Tomorrow. The polo match. The memory rushed into his brain. The horse getting spooked. Alistair flying through the air. The sickening crunch of his neck breaking on the grass.

"I hope he wins," Rory babbled. "If he wins, he usually throws a hundred-dollar bill at whoever brings him his boots."

Emmett turned his head. He looked at Rory's hopeful, greedy face.

"Don't get your hopes up," Emmett said. His voice was flat and hollow. "Accidents happen very fast."

Rory frowned. "You're always ruining the mood." Rory turned and walked away.

Emmett stood alone in the locker room. He looked at his reflection in the small mirror taped to the door. There was no pity in his eyes. Only cold, calculating anticipation.

He closed the locker. He walked down the hall to the head butler's office. He looked at the corkboard on the wall. He scanned the duty roster for tomorrow.

His finger traced the lines. There it was. Tomorrow afternoon. Emmett: Stables cleanup duty.

It was the perfect position. The stables were the communication hub when the accident happened. He would be right in the middle of the chaos.

Emmett smoothed the curled edge of the paper with his thumb. He turned and walked into the dark corridor.

Outside, a loud crack of thunder shook the manor. The storm was coming. And the clock was ticking down to zero.

It was two o'clock in the afternoon. The sky was a bruised, ugly purple. The air was thick with humidity.

Emmett wore heavy rubber boots. He stood inside the wooden stalls of the Patterson stables. He held a metal pitchfork. He pushed the dirty hay and horse manure into a wheelbarrow. His movements were slow and steady.

Suddenly, the loud, violent screech of rubber tires tore through the quiet afternoon.

Emmett stopped. He leaned on the pitchfork. He looked through the wooden slats of the stall.

An estate's heavy transport carriage slammed on its brakes in the gravel driveway. The doors flew open.

Angus, the old stable master, ran out of the break room. The brass whistle around his neck was swinging wildly.

"Clear the south lawn!" the security captain shrieked from the courtyard. "Clear the landing pad! We need the fastest physician's carriage now!"

Emmett didn't move. He stood perfectly still in the shadows. He watched the panic erupt outside. His eyes were cold and unblinking.

Two white medical wagons flew through the main gates, their sirens wailing. The estate's emergency alarm system activated. Red strobe lights flashed against the dark sky.

Rory sprinted around the corner of the main house. He ran toward the stables. His face was chalk-white. He grabbed the wooden fence, gasping for air.

"He's dead!" Rory screamed. His voice cracked. "Master Alistair! He fell off his horse! The horse stepped on his neck! He's not breathing!"

Old Angus dropped to his knees in the dirt. He grabbed his gray hair. "The family is ruined," Angus moaned. "We're all ruined."

Emmett dropped his pitchfork. The metal clattered loudly against the stone floor. He forced his eyes wide open. He dropped his jaw, creating a perfect mask of shock and terror.

He ran out of the stall and grabbed Angus by the shoulders, pretending to support the old man.

Half an hour later, the swift medical transport clattered down the road. It took Alistair's broken body away. The manor fell into a dead, heavy silence.

By evening, Elias ordered all lower-tier servants to stay in the underground break room. The room was packed. The air was hot and smelled like nervous sweat.

Moira sat in the corner, violently biting her fingernails. "Without an heir, the Wall Street trust will liquidate everything," she said, her voice shaking. "They'll sell the house. We're all fired."

Rory sat on the floor, holding his head. "My etiquette book is useless! We're going to be homeless!"

Emmett sat in the darkest corner of the room. He held a plastic cup of lukewarm water. He watched them panic like trapped rats.

He took a slow breath. He let his shoulders slump. He made his voice sound hesitant and confused.

"I remember..." Emmett started softly. He paused, acting like he was trying to recall a distant memory. "I think... the Viscount isn't the only bloodline."

The entire room went dead silent. Forty heads snapped toward him.

Rory scrambled off the floor. He grabbed Emmett's arm. His fingers dug into Emmett's sleeve. "What do you know? Tell us!"

Emmett jerked backward. He pulled his arm away, acting terrified of the sudden attention.

"I-I don't know," Emmett stuttered. He looked down at his shoes. "I was delivering files to the main house once. I heard the lawyers talking."

Emmett let the silence stretch for two seconds. Then he dropped the bait.

"The Viscount has a brother," Emmett whispered. "And that brother has a legal son. I think his name is... Kearney Bernard."

Moira stood up. She crossed her arms and glared at him. "You're a footman. You don't know anything about trust inheritance laws. You probably misheard them."

Emmett immediately shrank back. He hunched his shoulders. He looked up at Moira with wide, submissive eyes.

"You're right," Emmett said quickly. "I don't have much formal schooling. I don't understand half those complicated legal words."

He played the stupid, uneducated servant perfectly. Moira rolled her eyes and sat back down, satisfied that she was smarter than him.

But the seed was planted. The name "Kearney" echoed in the quiet room.

The heavy metal doors slammed open. Elias, the head butler, marched in. His face was pale and furious.

"All leave is canceled," Elias barked. "The estate is in a period of mourning. If any of you speak to the press, you will be sued for millions under your NDAs. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," the servants mumbled in unison. They all stared at the floor.

Elias turned and marched out.

Emmett kept his head down. But beneath his dark hair, his eyes gleamed with sharp satisfaction. His first pawn was on the board.

He knew how fast rumors spread in the servant quarters. When Kearney finally arrived, the servants would already be expecting a new master. And Emmett would be the one pulling their strings.

It was past midnight. The second floor of the main house was brightly lit. Emmett walked down the hallway. His feet sank into the thick, expensive Persian carpet.

He carried a massive silver tea tray in his hands. It was incredibly heavy, but his arms didn't shake.

At the end of the hall, the heavy oak doors to Viscount Corbin's study were shut closed. From inside, the violent sound of glass shattering echoed through the wood.

Two senior footmen stood outside the door. They looked terrified. When they saw Emmett walking toward them with the tray, their shoulders dropped in relief. They didn't want to go inside. They pointed at the door, silently telling Emmett to take the hit.

Emmett lowered his eyes. He nodded obediently. He balanced the heavy tray on his left hand. He raised his right hand and knocked softly on the wood.

"Get out!" Viscount Corbin roared from inside. He sounded like a wild animal.

Emmett didn't flinch. He kept his voice perfectly smooth and flat.

"Sir, your sedatives and hot tea," Emmett said.

There was a two-second pause. Then, Lady Leonora's exhausted, raspy voice called out. "Let him in."

Emmett pushed the heavy door open. He stepped inside.

The study was destroyed. Pieces of a shattered antique vase covered the floor. White papers were scattered everywhere like snow.

Viscount Corbin sat slumped in his leather chair. His tie was ripped open. His eyes were bloodshot. He gripped a telegraphed document from a city law firm so hard the paper was tearing.

Emmett kept his eyes straight ahead. He walked carefully, stepping over the broken glass. He set the heavy silver tray on the edge of the mahogany desk.

Lady Leonora sat on the velvet sofa. Her expensive makeup was smeared down her cheeks. She was nervously tearing a silk handkerchief to shreds with her manicured nails.

Emmett picked up the silver teapot. He poured the hot liquid slowly. He made no sound. He became invisible.

"Alistair was a fool!" the Viscount screamed, slamming his fist on the desk. "With him dead, the trust inheritance chain is broken! The city vultures will liquidate the estate by tomorrow morning!"

"That was your son!" Lady Leonora shrieked. "And all you care about is your money!"

"Without money, we can't even pay the maintenance on the yacht!" the Viscount snapped back. "How will you survive the social season without my unlimited line of credit?"

Emmett pushed the teacup toward the Viscount. He dropped a white sedative pill next to the saucer. He bowed slightly and took a step back. But he moved his feet very slowly.

The Viscount grabbed the cup and drank. His eyes darkened. A crazy, desperate look crossed his face.

"There is one way to keep the money," the Viscount whispered.

Emmett stopped near the door. He turned his back to them. He pretended to fold the white linen napkins on his cart. He focused all his attention on their voices.

"Kearney Bernard," the Viscount spat the name out like poison. "That bastard is the only male heir left in this generation."

Lady Leonora gasped. She looked disgusted. "That gloomy freak? He doesn't know our rules! He's a savage!"

The Viscount smiled coldly. "Exactly. He's stupid. He'll be easy to control. We just need Philippa or Beatrice to marry him..."

"Are you insane?" Lady Leonora stood up. "Philippa is already married! Beatrice will never marry a country bumpkin!"

"Then Clara will do it!" the Viscount slammed his hand on the desk again. "As long as the money stays in this family, I don't care who spreads their legs for him!"

Emmett froze. His hands stopped moving on the napkin. His lungs stopped taking in air.

Clara.

A slow, freezing smile stretched across Emmett's face. The corners of his mouth pulled up so hard it hurt.

The Viscount looked up. He noticed Emmett standing by the door.

"What are you still doing here?!" the Viscount roared.

Emmett instantly dropped his smile. He spun around. He widened his eyes in pure panic. He bowed so low his back was parallel to the floor.

"I'm sorry, sir! I'm leaving right now!" Emmett stuttered. His voice shook with fake terror.

He practically ran out of the room. He grabbed the heavy brass handles and pulled the oak doors shut.

The heavy click of the lock sealed the screaming inside.

Emmett stood in the quiet hallway. The fake terror vanished from his face instantly. His heart pounded with a dark, twisted excitement.

In his past life, Clara had sent him to the gallows to protect her family's wealth. In this life, she was going to be sold like a cheap prostitute to Kearney Bernard.

Emmett grabbed the handle of his cart. He pushed it down the hallway. He couldn't wait to watch them tear each other apart.