The heavy tires of the Lincoln crunched to a halt on the gravel road outside the Long Island cemetery.

Justus didn't move to open his door. He stayed in the warmth of the car, gesturing for his two massive bodyguards to wait by the gates.

Corinne pushed the door open herself. She popped a large black umbrella, stepping out into the freezing, torrential rain. Her heels sank instantly into the thick, freezing mud.

She walked alone down the narrow, winding path. The rain battered against the nylon of her umbrella. The sound was deafening, like a million tiny, frantic whispers.

She stopped in front of a minimalist, slate-gray headstone nestled under a weeping willow. This was where Alex lay.

There was no photograph on the stone. No loving epitaph. Just his name and the dates. It was as cold and clinical as Corwin's heart.

Corinne slowly crouched down. The hem of her expensive dress dragged in the wet dirt. She reached out with a trembling hand. Her index finger traced the carved letters of his name, wiping away the splattered mud.

Her skin pressed against the freezing stone. She closed her eyes, desperately trying to feel a phantom warmth that wasn't there.

She didn't cry. Her tear ducts felt burned out. She just stared at the grave with hollow, dead eyes.

Her brain violently replayed that afternoon six years ago. The echo of Alex's giggles. Evelina's sudden, piercing scream. The back of the strange nanny rushing down the hallway with a bundle in her arms.

Corinne reached into the deep pocket of her coat. She pulled out a small, slightly worn plush rabbit. She set it gently on the base of the headstone.

It was the toy she had bought for him the day he died. It was six years late.

She opened her mouth. Her throat felt like it was lined with broken glass. Her voice came out as a harsh, guttural rasp.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to the empty air.

"I'm a bad mother. I didn't protect you. And I let them brand me as the monster who killed you."

The wind howled, violently shoving the umbrella backward. The rain lashed against her face and soaked through the right shoulder of her coat. The freezing water seeped into her skin, but she couldn't feel it.

She stared at the stone until her vision blurred.

"Evelina," Corinne breathed, the name tasting like poison on her tongue. "I will tear her life apart piece by piece. I will make her choke on her own blood."

She swallowed hard, her chest heaving. "And your father. He was so blind. He threw away the only person who loved him to protect the snakes in his house."

In the distance, one of the bodyguards took a step forward, holding up a spare umbrella. Corinne snapped her head around. She shot him a glare so lethal, so full of unhinged violence, that the trained professional immediately backed away.

Corinne stayed crouched by the grave. The hours bled away. She let the freezing rain soak her to the bone. It was a physical penance. A somatic punishment for surviving when her son hadn't.

When the sky finally began to turn a bruised purple with the dawn, the rain stopped. A single ray of pale sunlight hit the wet headstone.

Corinne stood up. Her joints popped and cracked in protest. Her muscles were locked with cold.

She looked down at the name one last time. The fragile, grieving mother was gone. The woman who turned away from the grave was a machine built for war.

"I won't rest until they are all buried," she swore to the stone.

She turned and walked back down the path. Her strides were long and rigid, her heels crushing the dead, wet leaves into the mud.

She pulled open the car door and slid into the leather seat. Justus looked at her dripping hair and blue lips. He picked up a dry towel and held it out to her. He didn't say a word.

Corinne ignored the towel. She stared straight ahead at the partition. "Back to Manhattan."

She pulled her phone from her wet pocket. She dialed a heavily encrypted number. It rang once.

"Initiate the protocol," Corinne commanded quietly.

A deep, synthesized male voice answered on the other end. "Understood. Asset One is prepared and standing by."

Justus's hand paused mid-air for a fraction of a second, noting the encrypted tone, but he didn't pry. He slowly lowered the towel, choosing to keep his mouth shut and respect the boundaries of their temporary alliance.

The Lincoln sped back toward the city skyline. The gears of absolute destruction had begun to turn. There was no stopping it now.

Corinne stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of Justus's temporary Manhattan apartment. She had just stepped out of the shower. She wore a thick white bathrobe, staring down at the sprawling green expanse of Central Park.

The doorbell chimed. A minute later, Justus's butler walked into the room carrying a silver tray. Resting on the velvet was a thick, black envelope sealed with dark red wax.

The wax bore the ornate crest of the Pierce family.

Corinne stared at the seal. A harsh, mocking laugh scraped its way out of her throat. It was the symbol she used to fear, the mark of Evelina's untouchable pedigree.

She picked up the envelope and cracked the wax. Inside was heavy cardstock-an invitation to a private yacht party on the Hudson. The calligraphy was elegant, but the wording was dripping with condescension.

Evelina was officially welcoming her "dear cousin" back to New York society. It was a blatant flex of her status as Corwin's future wife.

Corinne tossed the card onto the glass coffee table. She tapped her fingernails against the edge of the table, her mind dissecting the trap.

It was a slaughterhouse. Evelina wanted to drag her onto a boat, trap her on the water, and publicly execute her reputation in front of the city's elite.

But it was also a golden ticket. It was a closed environment. A chance to get dangerously close to Corwin and force his hand.

Justus strolled into the room, a coffee mug in hand. He glanced at the black card on the table.

"Throw it in the trash," Justus said flatly.

"Why?" Corinne asked, not looking away from the card.

"Because it's a suicide mission. Evelina controls that boat. You step on board, you're a rat in a cage. They will humiliate you until you break."

Corinne turned around. Her eyes were blazing with a terrifying, manic brightness. "You don't win a war by hiding in a bunker, Justus. You win by walking into the enemy's camp and setting it on fire."

Justus stared at her, shaking his head at her reckless arrogance. "You're insane."

Corinne picked up her phone. She opened her email, typed in the address for Evelina's social secretary, and sent a one-word reply: Accept.

She walked past Justus and headed straight for the massive walk-in closet. She didn't need pastel colors or modest cuts to play the victim today. She needed armor.

Her hands moved over the racks until she stopped at a specific garment. She pulled it out. It was a floor-length silk slip dress. The color of fresh arterial blood. The neckline plunged dangerously low.

Justus leaned against the doorframe, watching her hold the dress up. "Do you want my security team to escort you?"

"No," Corinne said, tossing the dress onto the bed. "This is family business. If you're there, Evelina will play nice. I need her to lose her mind."

"Corwin is going to be on that boat," Justus warned, his voice dropping an octave. "He is the law in that circle. If he decides to destroy you, no one will stop him."

Corinne let the bathrobe drop to the floor. She stepped into the crimson dress and pulled it up. The silk clung to every curve of her body like a second skin. She turned to the mirror. She looked lethal.

"I'm going there to break his laws," she whispered to her reflection.

While still inside the expansive walk-in closet, out of Justus's line of sight, she reached into her personal bag and picked up a tiny, flesh-colored earpiece. She slid it into her ear canal, tapping it twice to test the encrypted frequency connecting her to her own private security detail. By the time she stepped back out into the main room, her hair perfectly concealed the device.

Justus watched her emerge, noting the cold, militant precision in her posture. He realized he was looking at a predator, not a pawn.

He walked over to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a sleek, black canister of military-grade pepper spray. He tossed it to her. "Keep it in your purse. Just in case."

Corinne caught it effortlessly. She didn't think she'd need it, but she slipped it into her clutch anyway.

Her phone buzzed on the vanity. She glanced at the screen. A text message from an unsaved number, but she knew the digits by heart. Corwin.

Don't come embarrass yourself.

Corinne stared at the cold, demanding words. A vicious smile stretched across her face. She hit the contact info and pressed 'Block'.

She picked up her clutch and looked at Justus. "The game is on."

She walked out of the apartment. Her heels clicked rhythmically against the hardwood. She looked like a woman walking to her own execution, ready to take the executioner down with her.

Corinne stepped off the gangway and onto the polished teak deck of the massive luxury yacht.

The late afternoon sun hit the crimson silk of her dress. She looked like a walking inferno against the stark white backdrop of the boat. Every conversation on the deck instantly died.

Evelina was standing next to Corwin by the railing. The stem of her champagne glass let out a dangerous creak as her fingers tightened around it in pure rage. She hadn't expected Corinne to show up looking like a goddess of war.

Candi Hodges was sitting in a lounge chair nearby. Her right arm was wrapped in a thick white cast. The moment she saw the red dress, her face contorted with hatred. She shot up from her chair and stormed across the deck.

Candi planted herself directly in Corinne's path. She raised her uninjured left hand, pointing a shaking finger inches from Corinne's nose. "You have no shame! How dare you show up here after what you did to me?"

Corinne didn't flinch. She offered a slow, chilling smile. Her eyes flicked down to the plaster cast. "Does the wrist still ache, Candi?"

The casual cruelty of the question hit Candi like a physical blow. Her face turned purple. "I'm going to rip that dress off you and throw you overboard!"

"Shut up, Candi."

The voice was low, rough, and carried absolute authority. Corwin lowered his cigar from his lips. He pushed off the railing and walked slowly toward the center of the deck.

Candi whipped her head around, looking betrayed. "Corwin! She broke my arm!"

"You're screaming like a fishwife," Corwin said coldly, not even looking at Candi. "Go sit down."

He stopped two feet away from Corinne. His massive frame blocked out the sun, casting a dark shadow over her. Corwin's eyes swept over the plunging neckline of the red dress. For a fraction of a second, the grip on his cigar tightened, the knuckles turning stark white, before he forced his hand to relax.

"Did you think wearing that would make people forget what you are?" Corwin sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "No one wants you here."

Corinne tilted her head back to meet his gaze. She didn't shrink away. "Whether I'm wanted or not is irrelevant, Corwin. I was invited."

Corwin's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. The blatant defiance in her tone was a shock to his system. He raised his hand, snapping his fingers for a waiter.

Evelina saw the tension escalating. She practically sprinted over, wrapping both arms around Corwin's bicep and pressing her chest against him. "Darling, don't let her ruin our mood."

Evelina turned her head, flashing a toxic, triumphant smile at Corinne. "Cousin, now that you're here, we should celebrate your return to society.

Evelina gestured to a waiter holding a silver tray. Candi, eager for revenge, snatched a shot glass filled to the brim with clear liquid and shoved it toward Corinne.

Corinne looked down at the glass. The sharp, astringent smell hit her nose. It was pure, high-proof vodka. A trap.

"I'll stick to champagne," Evelina announced loudly, holding up her flute. "But you need something stronger to wash away the past. Let's see if you have the nerve to drink it."

The crowd of socialites began to murmur, forming a tight circle around them. They were waiting for the blood sport to begin.

Corinne took the shot glass. The thick glass was ice cold against her fingertips. Her stomach gave a preemptive, painful lurch.

She put on a flawless mask of hesitation. She shook her head slightly. "I... I can't handle hard liquor, Evelina. You know that."

"Oh, don't be a coward!" Candi jeered from the sidelines. "Drink it!"

Evelina stepped closer. "If you refuse this toast, you're disrespecting Corwin. You're disrespecting everyone on this boat. Drink it, or get off."

It was a social guillotine.

Corwin stood perfectly still. He watched Corinne's face. He didn't intervene. Deep down, a twisted, dark part of him wanted to see her submit. He wanted to see her break under his authority.

Corinne took a deep breath. She raised the shot glass to her lips. Then, she stopped.

She lowered the glass and looked straight past Evelina, locking eyes with Corwin.

"I'll drink it," Corinne said, her voice carrying over the wind. "But only if Corwin hands it to me himself."

The entire deck gasped. Evelina's face morphed into a mask of pure, unadulterated horror.

Corwin stared at the woman in the red dress. The sheer audacity of the demand hit him like a physical strike. Slowly, a dark, incredibly dangerous smile curved his lips.