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.

The morning sun streamed through the massive windows of the Vance estate living room.

Cora sat on the white leather sofa, her legs crossed. She held a porcelain cup of black coffee in one hand and a financial magazine in the other. She looked completely relaxed.

The heavy front doors swung open.

Leland walked in. He reeked of cheap cologne and stale alcohol. Clinging to his arm was a young woman in a skin-tight pink dress. Her blonde hair was teased high, and her makeup was heavy.

This was Brandi. Leland's mistress.

Leland had brought her to the main house to reassert his dominance after the humiliation at the wedding. He wanted to see Cora break.

Several maids were dusting the room. They froze, lowering their heads, pretending not to see the scandalous scene.

Brandi swayed her hips as she walked over to the sofa. She sat down right on the armrest next to Leland, crossing her legs to show off her thighs. She looked at Cora with a smug, challenging smirk.

Cora didn't look up. She slowly turned a page of her magazine.

Brandi's smile faltered. She hated being ignored. She dramatically raised her right hand and fluttered her fingers near her face.

"Oh, Leland, honey," Brandi cooed in a high-pitched, grating voice. "This bracelet is just so heavy. It's exhausting wearing it."

She thrust her wrist forward, right into Cora's line of sight. A thick, gold bracelet covered in diamonds glittered in the sunlight. It was shaped like a panther.

"Cartier," Brandi announced loudly, making sure the maids heard. "Limited edition. One hundred and eighty thousand dollars. Leland says I'm the only woman who deserves it." She looked at Cora's bare wrists and laughed. "I guess some wives just aren't worth the investment."

Leland puffed his chest out. He pulled a cigar from his pocket and bit the end off, waiting for Cora to burst into tears.

Cora finally lowered her magazine.

She looked at the bracelet. Her eyes locked onto the stones for exactly two seconds. With her advanced degree in gemology, it took her less than a heartbeat to spot the flaws.

Cora let out a soft, breathy laugh. She set her coffee cup down on the glass table.

She stood up and walked over to Brandi. She looked down at the mistress.

Suddenly, Cora's hand shot out. She grabbed Brandi's wrist in an iron grip.

Brandi yelped in pain. "Hey! Let go of me!"

Leland frowned and took a step forward. "Heloise, back off-"

Cora ignored him. She used her free hand to tap a manicured fingernail against the largest "diamond" on the panther's head.

"Notice the fire," Cora said. Her voice was loud and clear, carrying across the entire living room. "See how the light refracts blue and yellow? A natural South African diamond reflects white and gray. This is Moissanite. Cheap, synthetic Moissanite."

Brandi's face paled. She tried to yank her arm away, but Cora held it tight.

"It's the lighting in here!" Brandi stammered.

Cora twisted Brandi's wrist over, exposing the inside of the band. She pointed her finger at the engraved logo.

"Look closely," Cora commanded. "An authentic Cartier piece has a hidden security mark inside the 'C'. This one is blank." Cora traced the letters. "And the engraving of the logo is wrong. The tail of the letter 'r' should have a nearly imperceptible, elegant curve. This one is completely straight. It's a detail only the highest-end forgeries miss."

A maid standing near the fireplace let out a loud snort, quickly covering her mouth to stifle her laughter.

Cora delivered the final blow. She hefted the bracelet slightly. "And the weight is completely wrong. This isn't eighteen-karat gold. It's gold-plated brass. The plating is already rubbing off on the clasp."

She let go of Brandi's arm and took a step back. Reaching over to the glass coffee table, she pulled a tissue from a dispenser and meticulously wiped every single finger, looking at Brandi like she was carrying a disease.

Brandi clutched her wrist against her chest. Her face was stark white. She looked up at Leland, her eyes wide with panic. "Leland? You said..."

Leland's face went from pale to a deep, ugly crimson. The cigar fell from his lips and bounced on the rug.

He had bought the fake on the black market for five hundred dollars. He thought his stupid, uneducated wife would never know the difference. Now, he was exposed as a cheap fraud in front of his staff.

His fragile ego shattered.

"Shut up!" Leland roared at Brandi.

He lunged forward and slapped Brandi hard across the face. The sound cracked through the room.

Brandi screamed and fell onto the floor.

"Get out of my house, you stupid cow!" Leland screamed, his veins popping.

Brandi scrambled to her feet, sobbing hysterically. She ran for the front door, her heels clicking wildly. She tripped, losing one shoe, but didn't stop. The heavy door slammed shut behind her.

Leland stood in the middle of the room, breathing heavily. His fists were clenched.

Cora picked up her coffee cup. She took a slow sip.

"Your taste in women," Cora said softly, "is exactly like your bank account. Cheap and fake."

She turned and walked up the grand staircase, leaving Leland standing in the ruins of his pride.

The kitchen of the Vance estate was massive, outfitted with industrial stainless-steel appliances.

Marge stood by the marble island, one hand planted firmly on her hip, the other—her right—still visibly stiff from the encounter days earlier. A faint, yellowing bruise was just visible beneath the cuff of her silk sleeve, and she kept the wrist held at an awkward, protective angle. She glared at Cora.

"The head chef is off today," Marge announced, her voice dripping with malice. "Since you have so much free time to insult your husband, you will cook dinner. A full French service for ten people. On the table by seven sharp."

Cora looked at the mountain of raw vegetables and cheap cuts of meat Marge had piled on the counter.

Cora didn't argue. She gave a slow, obedient nod.

Marge smirked, satisfied that she had put her daughter-in-law back in her place. She turned and strode out of the kitchen, though her injured arm hung a little too carefully at her side instead of swinging naturally.

The moment Marge's footsteps faded, Cora walked to the heavy wooden kitchen doors. She slid the thick metal deadbolt into place with a loud clack.

She turned around and ignored the pile of cheap food. She walked over to the massive, walk-in commercial refrigerator.

Cora bypassed the standard shelves and opened the locked reserve drawer. Inside sat the Vance family's most prized ingredients.

She pulled out a massive slab of A5 Wagyu beef, a tin of Beluga caviar, and a jar of fresh black truffles.

Cora tied a white apron around her waist. She fired up the professional gas range. Her hands moved with the precision of a surgeon. She utilized her knowledge of molecular gastronomy, perfectly searing the Wagyu to a flawless medium-rare.

The rich, intoxicating smell of roasting meat and truffles filled the kitchen. It seeped under the door and drifted through the hallways.

At six-thirty, someone pounded on the kitchen door.

"Mrs. Vance? Dinner status?" a maid called out.

Cora ignored it. She sat down at the small prep table and ate every single bite of the Wagyu, topping it with generous spoonfuls of caviar. It was the best meal she had eaten since waking up in this nightmare.

At exactly seven o'clock, the Vance family was seated around the long mahogany dining table. Their stomachs growled. The smell had driven them crazy.

Marge sat at the head of the table, a smug smile on her face, waiting to criticize whatever slop Cora brought out.

The dining room doors swung open.

Cora walked in slowly, pushing a silver serving cart. She stopped at the head of the table.

Every eye locked onto the cart.

There was only one plate on it. It was completely empty, save for a few smears of brown truffle sauce.

Cora pulled the linen napkin from her collar. She wiped her mouth and let out a soft, elegant burp.

"Delicious," Cora said.

Marge stared at the empty plate. Her jaw dropped. She slammed her good hand on the table. "Where is our food?" she shrieked.

Cora gave a helpless shrug. "I was starving. I accidentally ate all the Wagyu and the caviar. There's some raw celery in the fridge if you're hungry."

Leland slammed both hands onto the table and shot up from his chair. His face was purple.

"You selfish, crazy bitch!" Leland roared. He marched toward her, raising his arm to flip the silver cart over.

Cora gripped the handle of the cart. Her eyes snapped away from Leland and locked directly onto Beatrice, who was sitting halfway down the table.

Before Leland could reach her, Cora spoke. Her voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the room like a gunshot.

"You know, I noticed the strangest thing today," Cora said casually. "Jagger's jawline. It looks exactly like Julian's."

The dining room instantly went dead silent.

Crash.

Beatrice dropped her crystal wine glass. It shattered against the hardwood floor, splashing red wine all over her expensive silk dress.

Julian, sitting across from her, froze completely. His fork stopped halfway to his mouth. His eyes widened in sheer panic.

Preston, Beatrice's husband, frowned. He looked at his wife's pale, terrified face, and then slowly turned his head to look at his brother-in-law, Julian.

Marge and Leland stopped in their tracks, completely derailed by the sudden tension.

"What... what are you talking about?" Beatrice stammered, her voice shrill and trembling. "You're insane!"

Cora let go of the cart. She offered a sweet, innocent smile.

"Just an observation," Cora said lightly. "Probably just a coincidence."

She turned around and walked out of the dining room.

Behind her, the silence stretched for another agonizing second before the room exploded into chaotic shouting. Preston demanded to know why Beatrice dropped her glass. Julian tried to laugh it off, his voice cracking.

Cora walked up the stairs, a cold smile on her lips. She had just dropped a grenade into their laps. They would tear each other apart before they ever came after her again.

Leland's humiliated voice echoed from the dining room, screaming at the butler to order takeout.