The elevator ride up to the penthouse was silent. Tony stood in front of the doors, blocking the view, a wall of muscle and cheap suit.

Claire stared at the back of his neck. She imagined jamming a pen into his jugular. The thought was so vivid, so calm, it scared her.

Not yet, she told herself. Patience.

The doors slid open.

Derrick Osborn stood in the center of the living room. He was already dressed in his party suit-navy blue, tailored to perfection. He looked like a Kennedy. He looked like the American Dream.

"Sweetheart!"

He spread his arms and walked toward her. His smile was dazzling, practiced in front of a thousand mirrors.

Claire forced her feet to move. She walked into his embrace. His arms closed around her, and she felt her skin crawl. He smelled of sandalwood and deceit.

"You scared me," he murmured into her hair. His grip was tight. Too tight. "Running off like that."

Claire pulled back, feigning weakness. She let her shoulders slump. "I'm sorry. I just... I panicked. The party, the press... it's all so much."

Derrick's eyes softened, but there was a flicker of annoyance deep in his pupils. He hated weakness. He only tolerated it when he could exploit it.

"Shh," he soothed, guiding her toward the kitchen island. "It's just nerves. I have something that will help."

He walked to the counter. There was a glass of water waiting, and a small amber prescription bottle.

Claire watched him unscrew the cap. He shook out two small white pills.

She knew those pills.

He told her they were vitamins. High-end supplements to help her skin glow.

In reality, they were a cocktail of benzodiazepines and synthetic estrogen. They made her docile, foggy, and compliant. They were the reason she had spent the last timeline in a haze, signing whatever documents he put in front of her.

"Here," Derrick said, turning around with the pills in his palm. "Take these. You'll feel better in twenty minutes."

Claire took the pills. They felt chalky against her skin.

Derrick picked up the water glass and held it out. He watched her. His gaze was intense, focused on her mouth. He wouldn't look away until he saw her swallow.

"For us," he said softly. "For our future."

Claire raised her hand. She brought the pills to her lips. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. If she took them, her mind would dull. She would lose her edge. She would lose the game.

Bang!

The front door of the apartment slammed open against the wall.

"Derrick, you son of a bitch!"

Piper Stone stormed in. She was a whirlwind of red hair and fury, wearing ripped jeans and a leather jacket.

Derrick flinched, his head snapping toward the door. "Piper? What the hell-"

In that split second, Claire moved.

Her hand, cupped over her mouth, slid down. With a flick of her wrist, the pills dropped from her palm into the long, loose sleeve of her trench coat.

She grabbed the water glass and took a huge gulp, tilting her head back, mimicking the motion of swallowing.

Derrick turned back to her.

Claire lowered the glass. It was half empty. She wiped her mouth and gave a small, watery cough.

Derrick's shoulders relaxed. He smiled. He thought she was medicated. He thought she was safe.

"Piper," Derrick said, his voice regaining its composure. "We are having a private moment."

Piper marched up to him and poked him in the chest with a manicured nail. "You fired my stylist? Who does that? I had to drive all the way from SoHo to fix this mess."

She grabbed Claire's arm, pulling her away from Derrick. "Look at her! She looks like a ghost. You're stressing her out."

"I am taking care of her," Derrick said icily.

"Derrick," Claire said. Her voice was soft, but steady. "I want to go to the Manor."

Derrick froze. "What? No. We have the party at six."

"I want to see Mom and Dad," Claire said. She widened her eyes, channeling the 'needy fiancée' persona. "I need their blessing. I feel... unmoored. If I don't see them, I don't think I can walk down the aisle next year."

It was a threat wrapped in a whine.

Derrick hesitated. He needed the Avila family money. He couldn't risk her backing out now. And he believed the drugs were already dissolving in her stomach. She would be pliable soon.

"I'll drive you," Derrick offered.

"No!" Piper interjected. "No boys allowed. This is girl talk. I'll drive her. We'll be back by five. Promise."

Derrick looked at Claire, then at Piper. He calculated the risk.

"Fine," he said, checking his watch. He leaned in and kissed Claire on the forehead. His lips were cold. "Be back by five. Or I'm coming to get you."

"I promise," Claire whispered.

Derrick grabbed his briefcase and left, signaling Tony to follow him.

The moment the door clicked shut, Claire ran to the bathroom. She shook her sleeve over the toilet. The two white pills fell into the water. She flushed them, watching them swirl away.

She leaned against the sink, breathing hard.

Piper appeared in the doorway. She crossed her arms, her expression shifting from angry to concerned.

"You okay, C? You look like you're about to murder someone."

Claire looked up. She met her best friend's eyes in the mirror. For the first time since waking up, her smile reached her eyes.

"Not murder, Piper," Claire said. "Justice. Grab your keys. We're going to the Manor, and we're going to start a war."

The iron gates of the Avila Manor swung open. Piper's Porsche convertible crunched over the gravel driveway.

Claire stared at the sprawling stone estate. In her past life, this house had been sold to pay off Derrick's gambling debts. Her parents had died in a 'car accident' that she now knew was a brake line cut.

Tears pricked her eyes. Not this time.

They parked. The butler, old Mr. Henderson, opened the door, his eyebrows shooting up. "Miss Claire? We weren't expecting you."

"I know, Henderson. Are my parents in?"

"In the drawing room, Miss."

Claire marched inside, Piper trailing behind like a bodyguard.

Her mother, Katherine, was arranging white hydrangeas in a crystal vase. Her father, Robert, the CEO of Avila Corp, was reading the Wall Street Journal.

Katherine dropped the flower shears. They clattered on the hardwood floor.

"Claire?" Katherine rushed forward. "Oh my god, look at you. You're shaking."

Robert stood up, tossing the paper aside. His face, usually stern, filled with worry. "What happened? Did he hurt you?"

Claire took a breath. She needed to be precise. She couldn't sound crazy. She had to plant a seed of doubt, not declare war. Not yet.

"Piper, guard the door," Claire ordered.

Piper nodded and stood with her back to the heavy oak doors.

Claire walked to the coffee table. She sat down, twisting her hands in her lap, forcing the image of a distraught bride-to-be.

"We might have to postpone the wedding," Claire said, her voice trembling.

The room went silent. The ticking of the grandfather clock sounded like gunshots.

"Claire," Robert said slowly. "The invitations are out. The Governor is coming. This is a merger as much as a marriage."

"I had a nightmare," Claire said, looking at her father with wide, pleading eyes. "It felt so real. I dreamed Derrick was... changing things. In the company. He was signing papers, Dad. Papers with our name on them, but the money was going somewhere else."

Katherine gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

Robert's face went dark. "A nightmare?"

"He keeps giving me these 'vitamins'," Claire continued, her voice steady now, letting the truth hide behind the fiction of a dream. "He says they're to help me cope with the stress. But they make my head foggy. I can't think straight. What if I'm already signing things I don't understand?"

She didn't show him a phone. She didn't have proof. She only had her memory and the terror in her eyes. She was appealing to him as a father, not a CEO.

Robert Avila was a shark in business, but he was also a father who loved his daughter. He saw the genuine fear she was projecting. He didn't need a forensic accountant to see the red flags in her story. The controlling behavior, the strange pills, the mention of finances-it was a pattern.

"That son of a bitch," Robert whispered. He looked at his daughter, truly looked at her, and saw the shadows under her eyes he'd dismissed as wedding jitters.

Claire knelt in front of him. She grabbed his hands. They were warm. Alive.

"Please, Dad. Just look into it. Quietly. Don't let him know. If I'm wrong, I'm just a silly, nervous girl. But if I'm right... he could ruin us."

Katherine fell to her knees beside her daughter, sobbing. "Listen to her. Robert, please, just check."

Robert looked at his wife and daughter. The anger in his eyes was terrifying. "I'll have our internal auditors run a quiet check on the pre-merger accounts. He won't see it coming."

"Thank you," Claire breathed. The first step was taken. The doubt was planted.

Suddenly, the doors opened. Piper was shoved aside.

Heber Avila, Claire's uncle, strode in. He was a short, balding man with greedy eyes.

"I saw the car!" Heber boomed. "What is going on? Why is the bride here? The stock price is up three points in anticipation of the merger. Don't tell me you're getting cold feet."

Claire spun around. Her face transformed instantly. The steel vanished. She looked like a frightened deer.

"Uncle Heber," she said, her voice trembling. "I... I just wanted to see Mom."

Robert caught on immediately. He stepped in front of Claire. "She's just nervous, Heber. Wedding jitters. We were discussing the dowry."

Heber's eyes flicked between them, suspicious. "Dowry? We agreed on the stock transfer."

"Just finalizing details," Robert lied smoothly.

Heber huffed. "Well, make it quick. Derrick called me. He's worried. We can't have a runaway bride."

"Don't worry, Uncle," Claire said, lowering her eyes. "I'll be at the party tonight. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Heber nodded, satisfied. "Good. Remember, the family reputation is at stake."

He turned and left.

When the door closed, Claire looked at her parents.

"He's in on it," she said. "Heber is helping Derrick."

Robert clenched his jaw. "Then he goes down too."

Claire left the Manor an hour later. She didn't go back to the apartment. She directed Piper to a nondescript address in Midtown.

It was a steakhouse. The kind with no sign, just a heavy wooden door and a bouncer who knew everyone's net worth by their shoes.

"Wait here," Claire told Piper.

She walked inside. The air was thick with cigar smoke and the smell of aged beef. It was a boys' club.

She found him in the back booth.

Branch Brewer was nursing a tumbler of amber liquid. He had changed out of the tuxedo shirt into a dark grey cashmere sweater. The sleeves were pushed up, revealing forearms corded with muscle.

He was holding the receipt from Harry Winston.

He looked up as she approached. His eyes raked over her, lazy and dangerous.

"Thirty million dollars," Branch said. "You trying to buy a small country, Claire?"

Claire slid into the leather booth opposite him. She placed her hands on the table.

"That was a deposit," she said. "To show you I'm serious."

"Spending my money shows me you're expensive," Branch countered. "Not serious."

Claire reached into her bag. She pulled out a single, folded napkin. She slid it across the table.

"This is the return on investment."

Branch picked it up. He opened it. Inside were not photocopies, but a series of numbers and names, written in her elegant, frantic script. An offshore account number in the Caymans. A date. A transfer amount. The name of a shell corporation.

Branch scanned the napkin. His eyebrows drew together. He stopped drinking.

"Where did you get this?" he asked. His voice lost the slur. It was razor sharp.

"Derrick talks in his sleep," she lied, her voice flat. It was a plausible lie for a fiancée. "He mumbles about numbers. I started writing them down."

"These look like federal crimes. This is RICO act territory."

"I know."

Branch looked up at her. For the first time, there was no mockery in his gaze. Only respect. And caution.

"So," he said, leaning back. "What do you want? Besides my credit limit."

"I want you to crash the engagement party tonight."

Branch laughed. "Like in The Graduate? Screaming your name from the balcony?"

"No," Claire said. "I want you to stand up during Derrick's speech and announce that you have purchased the Osborn family debt."

Branch paused. He swirled his drink. "Go on."

"Derrick is leveraged to the hilt. His loans are toxic. You buy them for pennies on the dollar this afternoon. When the party starts, you own him. You own his house, his campaign bus, the suit on his back."

Branch smiled. It was a cruel, beautiful smile. "You want me to repossess the groom-to-be."

"Exactly."

"And in exchange?"

"You get 10% of Avila Corp when I take over as CEO. And you get the satisfaction of watching Derrick cry on live TV."

Branch stared at her. He drummed his fingers on the table.

"I don't want the shares," he said.

Claire blinked. "10% is worth four hundred million."

"I have money," Branch said dismissively. He leaned forward. His face was inches from hers. She could smell the peat of the scotch. "I want a favor."

"What kind of favor?"

"An open-ended one. A blank check. One day, I will come to you, and I will ask for something. And you will say yes. No questions asked."

A chill ran down Claire's spine. This was dangerous. Branch was a shadow broker. His 'favors' could be anything.

But she had no choice.

"Deal," she said.

She held out her hand.

Branch took it. His palm was rough, calloused. He didn't shake her hand. He held it, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.

"Deal."

His phone rang on the table. Derrick.

Branch smirked. He tapped the speaker button.

"Brewer," he answered.

"Stay away from her!" Derrick screamed through the phone. "I know she's with you. My driver tracked the car."

Branch looked at Claire. He winked.

"Relax, Osborn," Branch drawled. "We're just discussing... engagement gifts. I think you're going to love what I got you."