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."

Claire walked into the lobby of Avila Corp at two o'clock sharp, looking pale and contrite. The power suit was gone, replaced by a soft cashmere dress in a demure cream color. She looked exactly like a woman who had just had a minor breakdown and was now ready to be compliant.

The receptionist gasped. Claire Avila never came to the office.

"I need to see my cousin, Kaia," Claire said softly, her voice just loud enough for the nearby security guard to hear. "I said some things this morning... I need to apologize."

She didn't take the executive elevator. She walked to the main bank and rode up with a crowd of junior analysts, keeping her eyes downcast.

She found Kaia in the 14th floor intern pit, ostentatiously sorting mail.

Kaia spotted Claire. She put down a stack of envelopes and rushed over, her eyes wide and feigning innocence.

"Claire! Oh my gosh, what are you doing here?" Kaia chirped. "Are you okay?"

Claire looked at her. She remembered how Kaia had smiled at her funeral in the last life. She remembered Kaia sleeping with Derrick in her bed.

"Can we talk?" Claire asked, gesturing to a small, empty conference room. "In private?"

Kaia's eyes flickered with suspicion, but she couldn't refuse without making a scene. "Of course."

Once the glass door was closed, Claire's entire demeanor shifted. The fragile penitent vanished. Her spine straightened, and her eyes turned to ice.

"Sit down, Kaia."

Kaia hesitated, then sat. The smile on her face wavered.

Claire didn't say a word. She pulled out her burner phone and placed it on the table between them. She hit play on an audio file.

It was grainy, but the voices were clear. It was Kaia and Heber talking in a car.

Voice of Kaia: "She's so stupid, Dad. She doesn't even read the financial reports. Once she marries Derrick, we can push her out in six months."

Voice of Heber: "Just keep playing the victim, sweetie. She buys it every time."

Claire stopped the recording.

The conference room was dead silent.

Kaia's face went white. Her eyes turned venomous.

"What do you want?" Kaia hissed, her sweet-girl act disintegrating.

"You're not fired," Claire said calmly. "You're promoted. You are now my personal informant. You will tell me everything Heber and Derrick are planning. Every meeting, every phone call. You will forward me every email."

"And why would I do that?" Kaia sneered. "You'll expose me anyway!"

"Because if you don't," Claire said, leaning forward, "I won't just send this recording to the board of directors. I'll send it to the SEC, along with a detailed tip about your father's insider trading. You'll still be disowned, but you'll have to visit him in federal prison."

Kaia stared at her, shaking with rage. She was trapped.

"You're a bitch," Kaia spat.

Claire smiled, a thin, cold curve of her lips. "I'm learning from the best. My first instruction: go back to your desk and tell everyone I came here to apologize for my pre-wedding jitters and that we're closer than ever. I expect your first report by midnight."

Claire stood up and walked to the door. She paused with her hand on the handle, turning back to look at her cousin.

"And Kaia? Cry a little when you tell them. Make it believable."

She walked out of the conference room, leaving Kaia stewing in a prison of her own making.