"You lazy, ungrateful bitch!" Marge shrieked. Specks of spit flew from her red lips. "It is eight in the morning! Why isn't breakfast on the table?"

Cora wrinkled her nose in disgust. She tilted her head slightly to the left, letting the spit fly past her face. She looked at Marge like she was a rotting piece of meat.

Marge's face turned purple. She wasn't used to being ignored. She raised her hand high in the air, her heavy gold rings catching the light, and swung her palm toward Cora's face.

Cora's muscle memory took over.

Her left hand shot out like a viper. She clamped her fingers around Marge's wrist, stopping the slap inches from her cheek.

Marge gasped. She tried to yank her arm back, but Cora's grip was like a steel vice.

Cora didn't change her expression. She twisted her wrist sharply downward, putting intense, grinding pressure on the joint.

A sharp, sickening crackle of strained ligaments echoed in the room. Marge let out a blood-curdling scream. Her knees buckled instantly, and she crashed onto the Persian rug, cradling her injured wrist against her chest.

Cora looked down at the woman kneeling before her.

"Move again," Cora whispered, her voice dangerously soft, "and I will shatter it completely."

Heavy, frantic footsteps pounded down the hallway.

Leland rushed into the bedroom. He was only wearing his suit trousers and an undershirt. His face was puffy from sleep and alcohol.

He stopped dead when he saw his mother kneeling on the floor, screaming in pain, while his wife stood over her holding her wrist.

Leland's face turned a violent shade of red. The veins in his neck bulged.

"You crazy bitch!" Leland roared. He lunged forward, pulling his right arm back. He threw a heavy, uncoordinated punch straight at Cora's head.

Cora released Marge's wrist. She didn't step back. She stepped inside his guard.

She ducked smoothly under his swinging fist. As Leland's momentum carried him forward, Cora dropped her weight and swung her right leg out in a brutal sweep.

Her shin slammed into Leland's ankle.

Leland yelled as his feet were ripped out from under him. His massive body crashed onto the floor. The impact shook the furniture.

Before he could even process what happened, Cora stepped forward. She planted the heel of her bare foot directly onto the center of his chest. She pressed down hard, pinning him to the floor.

Marge scrambled backward, still clutching her wrist, until her back hit the wall. She pointed a trembling finger at Cora with her good hand.

"I'm calling the police!" Marge babbled, her chest heaving, tears of pain and fury streaming down her face. "You're going to jail!"

Cora let out a short, cold laugh. She shifted her weight, pressing her heel deeper into Leland's sternum.

Leland's eyes bulged. He choked, his hands clawing uselessly at Cora's ankle. He couldn't draw a breath.

Cora leaned down. She patted Leland's red, sweating cheek.

"Stay out of my way, Leland," Cora said. Her voice was calm, almost conversational. "Or next time, I'll break your neck."

She lifted her foot off his chest. She stepped back and wiped the bottom of her foot on the silk bedsheets, looking thoroughly disgusted.

Leland gasped for air, coughing violently. He scrambled backward across the floor, pressing himself against his mother. He looked at Cora with pure terror in his eyes.

But his fragile male ego couldn't handle the humiliation. He rubbed his chest and glared at her.

"You think you're tough?" Leland spat, his voice raspy. "I'll cut off the payments. Your brother's medical bills? Gone. Let the little freak die."

Cora felt absolutely nothing. Heloise's brother meant nothing to her. But her brain instantly calculated the situation. She needed them to think they still had leverage.

Cora narrowed her eyes, faking a flash of panic.

Leland saw it and smiled, a nasty, triumphant grin spreading across his face.

"That's right," Leland sneered, gaining his confidence back. "You're going to put on a dress, and you're going to come to Veronica's wedding tomorrow. You will smile, and you will play the perfect wife. Or your brother is dead."

Cora's mind raced. A high-society wedding. The entire Vance family would be there—though the press and social circles still insisted on using the matriarchal empire's name, Mercer. It was a relic of old money branding, but for Cora, it was the perfect place to gather intel and map out the power dynamics of her enemies.

"Fine," Cora said coldly.

She turned her back on them and walked straight into the master bathroom. She didn't look back.

She slammed the heavy bathroom door shut, cutting off Leland's voice.

Outside, she could hear Marge whining and demanding Leland call the family doctor.

Cora walked over to the marble sink. She turned the silver handles. Freezing cold water blasted out of the faucet. She cupped her hands and splashed the ice water onto her face.

She grabbed a thick towel and patted her skin dry. She looked at herself in the mirror. The terrified Heloise was gone. A predator looked back at her.

A sharp ping echoed in her mind.

Achievement unlocked: Physical Deterrence. Plot deviation increased by 10%.

Cora dropped the towel onto the marble counter. She stared at her reflection, a cruel smile touching the corners of her mouth.

Tomorrow, the Vance family was going to have a very memorable wedding.

The interior of the Maybach smelled like expensive leather and stale cologne.

Cora sat stiffly in the back seat. Leland had forced her into a heavy, violet gown. The fabric was thick and conservative. The neckline choked her collarbone, and the tight sleeves restricted her arms. It was designed to make her look invisible.

Leland sat next to her. He adjusted his silk tie and glared at her.

"You keep your mouth shut today," Leland warned, his voice a low growl. "You stand next to me, you smile, and you don't speak unless spoken to."

Cora closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window. She ignored him completely. The dress was annoying, but she could work with it.

The Maybach slowed down as it approached a massive wrought-iron gate. They were in the Hamptons. The sprawling estate was packed with luxury cars. Outside the velvet ropes, a swarm of paparazzi flashed their cameras, desperate for a shot of the famed but brittle Vance family.

The car stopped. The driver opened the door.

Leland plastered a fake, loving smile on his face. He stepped out and turned around, holding his hand out to help Cora.

Cora stepped out of the car. She completely ignored his outstretched hand and walked right past him.

Leland's hand hung in the empty air. His smile twitched. He cursed under his breath, quickly dropping his arm and rushing to catch up with her. He grabbed her elbow, his fingers digging painfully into her skin, and marched her toward the grand ballroom.

The ballroom was suffocatingly crowded. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the elite guests.

Cora stood near a pillar, her eyes scanning the room. She memorized faces, watching who talked to whom, mapping out the family hierarchy. Her gaze flicked briefly to Marge, who was working the room with her usual venom, her injured wrist now wrapped in a discreet, flesh-colored compression brace that she tried to hide with a heavy gold bracelet. The injury was clearly still a problem, but Marge was masking it for the public.

A young man with bleached blonde hair and a flushed face stumbled toward her. He was holding a glass of champagne. His eyes were glassy and predatory.

This was Jagger. Leland's nephew.

Jagger stopped right in front of her. He looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on her chest. He didn't bother hiding his disgust.

"Well, if it isn't the family charity case," Jagger slurred, leaning in close. His breath smelled like expensive vodka and vomit.

Cora's eyes darkened. She tightened her jaw but didn't move.

Jagger leaned in closer. "You know, Heloise, you're looking a little tense. Maybe you need a real man to loosen you up."

Cora felt a surge of pure disgust. She took a half-step back.

Jagger laughed, a nasty, wet sound. He stepped forward, closing the distance. He reached his hand out and grabbed her thigh, his fingers squeezing the thick fabric of her dress.

Cora's reflexes flared. She slapped his hand away instantly. Her eyes burned with lethal intent.

Jagger looked shocked for a second, then his face twisted into an ugly sneer. He thought she was just the weak aunt he could bully.

Cora's eyes darted to the side. Through the large glass doors, she saw a group of paparazzi pressing their lenses against the glass, trying to get shots of the interior.

A plan formed in her mind instantly.

She didn't punch him. Instead, she reached out and grabbed a full glass of red wine from a passing waiter's tray.

Without a second of hesitation, she threw the dark red liquid directly into Jagger's face.

The wine splashed across his eyes and soaked into his pristine white tuxedo shirt.

Jagger gasped in shock. He wiped the wine from his eyes, his face turning purple with rage. "You stupid bitch!" he roared.

He raised his hand, balling it into a fist, ready to strike her.

Several guests nearby gasped and turned to look.

Cora didn't flinch. Instead, she grabbed the thick fabric of her violet dress right at the thigh.

As Jagger's fist started to come down, Cora's fingers accurately found the top of the stitching on the dress's high side slit. She yanked upward with all her strength. Riiiiiip. The already fragile seam snapped under the sudden tension, and the tear split violently all the way up to her upper thigh, exposing her bare leg.

The moment the fabric tore, Cora threw her head back and let out a piercing, terrified scream.

The sound cut through the ballroom music like a siren.

Every single head in the room snapped toward them. The paparazzi outside went crazy, their camera flashes strobing like lightning through the glass doors.

Cora dropped to her knees. She clutched the torn fabric of her dress against her chest. She pointed a trembling finger at Jagger, who was still standing there with his fist raised and wine dripping from his face.

She looked at the crowd with wide, tear-filled eyes, playing the perfect victim of a violent sexual assault.

The ballroom erupted into chaos.

"Oh my god, he attacked her!" a woman screamed.

Leland shoved his way through the crowd. His face was pale with horror. He saw the cameras flashing and realized the magnitude of the disaster.

He ripped off his suit jacket and lunged forward to cover Cora.

Cora scrambled backward, dodging his jacket, making sure the cameras got a clear shot of her torn dress and Jagger's aggressive stance.

Clarence, the elderly patriarch of the family, slammed his cane against the floor. "Get the press out of here! Now!" he bellowed, his face red with fury.

Security guards rushed in. Two of them grabbed Jagger, wrestling him to the ground as he screamed that he didn't do it.

Amidst the screaming and the flashing lights, Cora kept her head down. She pressed her face into her hands, pretending to sob.

Behind her hands, a cold, satisfied smile spread across her lips. The Vance family's public image was bleeding out on the floor.

The security guards formed a wall, pushing the frantic guests back.

Cora used the chaos. She let out another fake sob, shoved Leland's hands away, and bolted toward the grand staircase.

She ran up the carpeted steps, leaving the screaming ballroom behind. The second-floor hallway was dead silent and empty.

Cora stopped running. Her panicked expression vanished instantly. Her face returned to a mask of cold calculation. She grabbed the torn edges of her dress and tied them into a tight knot at her hip, freeing her legs for movement.

Heavy, angry footsteps pounded up the stairs behind her.

Cora didn't turn around. She listened to the rhythm. It was Jagger. He had broken away from the guards.

Jagger rounded the corner. His white shirt was stained red. His face was contorted with pure hatred.

"You lying whore!" Jagger spat. He lunged at her, throwing his arms out to grab her throat.

Cora moved with terrifying speed. She kicked off her right Jimmy Choo stiletto and caught it in her hand.

She pivoted on her left foot, dodging his clumsy grab. As Jagger stumbled past her, Cora slammed her back against the wall and brought her right hand up.

She pressed the sharp, metal tip of the stiletto heel hard against the side of Jagger's neck, the cold point threatening to pierce his skin.

Jagger froze instantly. The cold metal dug into his skin. A drop of sweat rolled down his temple. He held his hands up in the air, his breathing ragged.

Cora leaned in close. She didn't yell. She spoke in a whisper that chilled the air.

"Three," Cora counted. "Two."

Jagger looked into her eyes. He saw no hesitation. He saw a killer.

"Okay! Okay!" Jagger whimpered. His knees shook.

Cora pulled the heel away. Jagger didn't look back. He scrambled down the hallway and practically fell down the back stairs to escape her.

Cora watched him go. She turned and walked barefoot down the hall. She saw a door with a gold plaque: VIP Dressing Room.

She pushed the door open and slipped inside. The room was dark, smelling of expensive perfume and hairspray. She sat on a velvet ottoman and reached down to put her shoe back on.

Suddenly, the handle of the adjoining door clicked.

Cora froze. The VIP rooms were connected by thin partition walls.

She heard the door open, followed by heavy, frantic breathing. The sound of fabric tearing and a woman's muffled moan filtered through the thin wall.

Cora rolled her eyes. She stood up, ready to leave quietly.

Then, she heard the woman speak.

"Julian, wait. My dress," the woman panted.

Cora stopped dead. Julian. The groom. The man who was supposed to be cutting his wedding cake downstairs.

"Forget the dress, Beatrice," Julian's voice replied, thick with lust.

Beatrice. Cora's mind raced. Beatrice was Preston's wife. Jagger's mother. The groom was sleeping with his new sister-in-law.

Cora pressed her back flat against the partition wall. She barely breathed.

The sounds of their affair ended quickly.

"We have to be quick," Julian muttered, his breathing still heavy. "With everyone's attention on Jagger and that stupid scene downstairs, this is the best time we have to talk."

"Clarence is getting suspicious," Beatrice whispered, her voice tight with anxiety. "He asked about the offshore accounts yesterday."

"Let the old man ask," Julian scoffed. "I've already paid off the CFO. The trust funds are being routed through the Caymans as we speak."

Cora's eyes widened. Trust funds.

She reached into her small clutch and pulled out her phone. She flipped the silent switch, opened the voice memo app, and hit record. She pressed the phone's microphone directly against the crack in the partition wall.

"Once the accounts are drained," Beatrice laughed softly, "Leland and the rest of those idiots won't have a dime. It will all belong to us."

"And Jagger," Julian added. His voice dropped lower. "Our son deserves the best."

Cora's heart hammered a steady, victorious beat. Jagger was Julian's bastard son. This wasn't just a scandal. This was a nuclear bomb.

She watched the red recording timer tick past four minutes. Every word of their financial treason and incestuous affair was captured in high-definition audio.

"We need to get back down there," Julian said. The sound of zippers and rustling fabric followed.

Cora waited until she heard the adjoining door open and close.

She pulled her phone away. She hit stop, saved the file, and immediately uploaded it to a secure, encrypted cloud server.

She slipped the phone back into her clutch. She looked at her reflection in the dark mirror. Her dress was ruined, but she had just acquired the weapon that would destroy the Vance family.

She opened the door and walked out into the hallway.

Leland was pacing near the top of the stairs, running his hands through his hair. When he saw her, he rushed forward and grabbed her wrist.

"Where the hell have you been?" Leland hissed. "The press is going crazy!"

Cora looked down at his hand on her wrist, then up at his panicked face.

"Fixing my dress," Cora said flatly.