At three o'clock that afternoon, Eleonora walked into the towering glass skyscraper of the Carlisle Group headquarters. She had swapped her glamorous gown for a low-profile khaki trench coat and a baseball cap pulled low over her eyes.

She swiped her security badge and stepped into the private elevator reserved exclusively for the CEO.

The elevator chimed softly as the doors opened on the top floor. She walked down the silent, heavily carpeted hallway and pushed open the massive mahogany double doors.

Behind a sprawling executive desk sat her older brother, Alphons Carlisle. He was reviewing a mountain of legal documents.

Hearing the doors open, Alphons looked up. The severe, ruthless expression he wore for business softened slightly when he saw his sister.

Eleonora didn't bother with pleasantries. She walked straight to the expensive leather sofa and collapsed onto it, her limbs going boneless.

She pulled off her baseball cap and immediately started venting loudly about the paparazzi, the scandal, and Carrie's blackmail.

Alphons set down his Montblanc pen. He stood up, his tall frame imposing, and walked over to the water dispenser.

He filled a glass with warm water and carried it over, handing it to his complaining sister.

His brow furrowed. "I heard about this reality show nonsense. You shouldn't be doing this."

Eleonora took a sip of the water. She shrugged, her shoulders slumping. "Carrie says it's the only PR strategy that will save my role in the movie."

Alphons let out a cold, dismissive snort. "The heir to the Carlisle family does not need to suffer this kind of humiliation. I will have the acquisitions department buy the production company tomorrow. We will fire the director and cancel the show."

Eleonora choked on her water. She waved her hands frantically. "No! Absolutely not. I spend my entire life trying to prove I'm a real actress. If you buy the studio, the media will just say I'm a spoiled rich girl throwing daddy's money around."

Alphons saw the genuine panic in her eyes and relented. He turned and walked back to his desk.

As he organized the papers, he spoke casually. "The legal department just brought on a new Chief Counsel. His name is Brennan Kane. His methods are incredibly ruthless and efficient. He's a rare talent."

Eleonora had zero interest in corporate personnel changes. She gave a vague, dismissive "Oh" and didn't process the name at all.

She lifted her wrist and glanced at her watch. It was nearing five o'clock.

Alphons noticed the movement. "Don't forget. We have the family dinner with the board of directors and the elders tonight."

The words "family dinner" hit Eleonora like a physical shock. Her spine went completely rigid.

Her mind was instantly flooded with terrifying images of her aunts and uncles relentlessly pressuring her to get married, trying to force her into a strategic business alliance with another wealthy family.

She shot up from the sofa as if the leather had caught fire. She grabbed her bag and her hat in one frantic motion.

She started backing toward the door, her words tumbling out in a rushed panic. "I can't! The production crew just texted. They need me for an emergency pre-interview tonight. I have to go!"

Alphons saw right through the lie. He opened his mouth to stop her.

But Eleonora had already yanked the heavy doors open. She sprinted out of the office like a fleeing criminal, shouting, "Apologize to the uncles for me!" over her shoulder.

The doors slammed shut. Alphons stared at the empty space, letting out a heavy sigh.

He knew she was running away from the pressure of marriage because of the deep emotional trauma she had suffered years ago. His eyes darkened with worry.

He picked up the internal phone on his desk. He ordered his assistant to secretly monitor the reality show's production to ensure her safety.

He hung up the phone. His gaze dropped to the legal document on his desk. In the bottom right corner was the bold, aggressive signature of Brennan Kane.

At eight o'clock that night, Eleonora walked into her Beverly Hills mansion and kicked off her heels.

In the center of her massive bedroom, two enormous Rimowa suitcases lay open on the Persian rug.

Maeve was kneeling on the floor, carefully folding and packing stacks of expensive silk pajamas.

Eleonora walked out of her closet carrying a massive pile of yoga pants and athletic gear. She dumped the entire pile onto the bed.

Carrie sat in a single armchair in the corner, her eyes locked on an iPad as she rapidly scrolled through tomorrow's itinerary.

Eleonora stared at the mess on the floor. "Why are we packing all this useless junk?" she complained, rubbing her temples.

Carrie didn't look up. "You are going to be locked inside a villa for an entire month. You need a wardrobe."

Eleonora rolled her eyes. She walked over to the corner of the room and bent down. She wrapped her hand around the thick handle of a massive, black cast-iron dumbbell.

She carried the heavy piece of gym equipment over to the half-full suitcase, intending to shove it inside.

Maeve gasped, her eyes going wide. "Eleonora, no! That dumbbell is way too heavy. The suitcase will be over the weight limit."

Eleonora ignored her. She flexed her arm, and with a casual, terrifying display of physical strength, she lifted the fifty-pound dumbbell with one hand. The sleek muscle definition in her arm popped briefly before she gently set the iron weight into the corner of the suitcase.

Maeve swallowed hard, staring at Eleonora's arm in shock.

Eleonora dusted off her hands. She turned to look directly at Carrie. "So, how exactly does this shoot work? Is it like the other shows? Do they hand us a script in the morning, and then we get to go sleep in a hotel at night?"

At that question, Carrie's finger froze on the iPad screen.

Carrie slowly lifted her head. She shot a rapid, incredibly guilty look at Maeve.

Carrie cleared her throat. She picked up her coffee cup and took a slow sip, using the physical action to hide her micro-expressions.

"This show focuses on 'authentic reality'," Carrie lied smoothly. "There is no script. You just act naturally."

Eleonora didn't catch the lie. She turned back to her suitcase and started throwing in bags of low-calorie snacks.

"Fine," Eleonora asked casually. "Are there blind spots where the cameras can't see us? Like the bathrooms or the closets?"

Carrie shifted her gaze, looking out the window instead of at Eleonora. "The bedrooms and private areas are generally camera-free."

Carrie deliberately omitted the massive, terrifying truth: the entire show was a 24/7, unedited live stream broadcast to the entire world.

Maeve's palms were sweating. She kept her head down, pretending to be intensely focused on folding a shirt so she wouldn't give the secret away.

Eleonora, satisfied with the "safe" answer, grabbed the zippers of the Rimowa suitcase and pulled them shut.

She stretched her arms over her head, letting out a relaxed sigh. "Whatever. I'll just treat it like a free, boring vacation."

Carrie stood up and tucked the iPad under her arm. Her face was deadly serious. "The car picks you up at seven a. m. sharp."

As Carrie reached the door, she turned back. "Control your temper, Eleonora. Do not create a PR disaster on camera."

Eleonora waved her hand dismissively, practically shoving Carrie and Maeve out into the hallway. She locked the door behind them.

She walked over to the window, looking out at the city lights. She felt a strange, lingering sense of unease about tomorrow's "vacation," completely unaware of the trap waiting for her.