In the sterile, makeshift operating room, Arely was a different person. Dressed in surgical scrubs, a mask covering her face, only her eyes were visible. They were the eyes of a hawk-focused, calm, and utterly lethal.

Alfred had managed to procure a set of instruments that were a close approximation of what she'd asked for. She took them, her movements economical and precise, and located a point on the base of Eleanor's spine.

In the adjoining observation room, separated by a large pane of glass, Isadora stood with her arms crossed. "She's going to sever the spinal cord," she hissed to Elsworth. "Her entry point is completely wrong. It violates every principle of neurosurgery."

Elsworth didn't speak. His knuckles were white where he gripped the railing. He watched Arely's hands on the monitor. They were impossibly steady. The lingering warmth from his ring was a silent command: trust her.

Arely began to inject a pale blue liquid, a nerve-stabilizing agent she'd mentally reformulated from a compound used in her past life.

The moment the fluid entered Eleanor's system, the heart monitor shrieked.

A violent seizure wracked the old woman's body, her limbs convulsing against the restraints.

"That's it! She's killing her!" Isadora screamed, grabbing her phone. "Security! Get the head of estate security in here now! Stop her!"

Elsworth's face went pale. His breath caught in his chest.

Inside the operating room, a small frown line appeared between Arely's eyebrows, but her hands remained rock-steady. With a minuscule adjustment, she angled the needle, bypassing a micro-capillary that was about to rupture.

But it wasn't enough. Eleanor's blood pressure plummeted. The steady beep of the monitor faltered, turning into a long, continuous drone.

Flatline.

Isadora was already shouting into her phone about an intruder and an attempted murder. Two large security guards burst through the door, moving to grab Arely.

"Don't touch me if you want her to live!" Arely's voice was a low, sharp command that cut through the chaos. As the guards hesitated, her other hand moved like lightning, a thin silver needle-acupuncture-plunging into a pressure point at the crown of Eleanor's head.

The guards froze, stunned by her sheer authority.

In that one-second pause, a miracle happened. A single, weak blip appeared on the EKG. Then another. The flatline resolved back into a slow, steady rhythm.

Eleanor's convulsions ceased. Her breathing, ragged and shallow before, deepened.

Isadora, still on the phone, didn't see the recovery. She only saw the crisis. "She tried to kill her! I saw it! Get more men in here!"

Arely removed the needles, her movements unhurried. She finished the procedure, closing the tiny incision with sutures so fine they were nearly invisible.

The heavy footsteps of more security personnel echoed in the hall.

The two guards in the room, finally shaking off their stupor, surrounded Arely, their expressions grim. Isadora stormed into the room, her face contorted with fury.

"You're a murderer!" she shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at Arely.

Arely pulled off her surgical gloves and tossed them. They hit Isadora's chest with a soft slap. "The patient is stable. The crisis has passed."

Isadora pushed past her to check Eleanor's vitals. Her eyes widened in disbelief. The readings were stable, better than they had been in weeks. But she refused to accept it. "It's a coincidence! A fluke!"

The estate's head of security, escorted by Alfred, entered the room. Isadora immediately turned on Arely. "Arrest her! She's practicing medicine without a license! She almost killed my grandmother!"

Elsworth walked in from the observation room. He looked from the security team, to the stabilized Eleanor, to the calm, defiant woman surrounded by guards. His expression was a storm of conflict.

Arely met his gaze. "Our three-day agreement has just begun, Mr. Hall. Are you breaking our contract already?"

Elsworth was silent for a long moment, the entire room holding its breath.

Then he looked at the head of security.

"Let her go," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "She's with me."

The security team, though hesitant, couldn't argue with the master of the house. They retreated to their posts, leaving a thick cloud of tension behind. Isadora stood guard by the door to the sickroom, her arms crossed, her eyes shooting daggers at Arely.

Arely sat on a plush sofa, a world away from the chaos. Elsworth sat opposite her, the space between them charged with a silent, heavy energy.

"How did you know?" Elsworth finally asked, his voice low. "That seizure... the flatline. You weren't scared."

Arely picked up a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. She took a sip. "Do you believe in miracles, Mr. Hall?"

Before he could answer, a commotion came from upstairs. It was Alfred's voice, filled with a joy that cracked his usual composure.

"Sir! Her fingers! Mrs. Hall moved her fingers!"

Elsworth shot up from his chair and took the stairs two at a time. Arely remained seated, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips.

In the bedroom, Eleanor Hall's eyes were open. They were cloudy and weak, but they were open. She looked at her grandson, and her lips moved, forming his name. "Elsworth..."

Isadora stared, her jaw slack. She performed a quick neurological check, testing pupil response, reflex. The recovery was medically impossible.

Elsworth gripped his grandmother's hand, his own eyes misty. He turned and saw Arely leaning against the doorframe.

"Day one," she said quietly. "She's awake. But she's not cured."

"It's post-mortem reflex! A temporary surge!" Isadora insisted, her voice shrill with denial. "Your methods are barbaric!"

Arely walked to the bedside table and placed a handwritten sheet of paper on it. It was a detailed post-op care plan, including a list of oral medications.

She looked at Elsworth, her gaze hard. "If you want her to live, get this woman out of your medical team. Now."

Isadora lunged for the paper, but Arely's stare stopped her cold.

Elsworth looked from his recovering grandmother to his hysterical cousin. He made his choice. "Alfred, please escort Ms. Hall from the premises."

"Elsworth, you can't!" Isadora cried, tears of rage and humiliation streaming down her face. "I was only trying to protect her!"

He turned his back on her. Security guards gently but firmly took her by the arms and led her, sobbing and screaming, out of the room.

The room was finally quiet.

"What's your fee for the next stage of treatment?" Elsworth asked, his voice rough with emotion.

Arely held out her hand. "Fifteen million. Now. The rest when she's fully recovered."

He didn't even blink. He made a call, and minutes later, Alfred returned with a cashier's check from a Swiss bank.

Arely took it, glanced at the number of zeros, and folded it into the pocket of her trench coat as if it were a grocery receipt.

She turned to leave.

"Wait," Elsworth called out. "Your name. Not your call sign. Your real name."

She paused at the door and looked back over her shoulder, a flicker of amusement in her eyes.

"Arely Wallace," she said. "That actress from Hollywood. The one with the terrible reputation."

The color drained from Elsworth's face. He stared, utterly speechless. The legendary surgeon who had just performed a medical miracle... was the tabloid fodder he'd seen plastered all over the internet?

Arely didn't give him time to process. She walked out of the mansion, into the bright, unforgiving sunlight.

She took a deep breath. Money in hand. Now, the real work could begin.

As she reached the grand entrance, Alfred was waiting. "Mr. Hall has arranged a car for you, miss. It will take you wherever you need to go." She gave the driver a new address, one for a high-end real estate agency in Malibu.

On the ride, she took out a burner phone. She composed an anonymous email to a notorious gossip blogger. Attached was the first file. A small taste of Kole Bowman's dirty secrets.

She hit send.

Looking out the window at the passing scenery, she whispered to herself, "Kole. Brittny. Showtime."

Arely returned to the dingy apartment carrying shopping bags from brands Brittny only dreamed of wearing. The air of quiet luxury she now exuded was a stark contrast to the peeling paint and stained carpets of the hallway.

Brittny was on the sofa, picking at a container of takeout noodles. She looked up, ready with a sarcastic comment, but the words died when Arely dropped a thick document on the coffee table in front of her. It slapped against the wood.

It was a copy of the lease agreement and a formal eviction notice.

"What the hell is this?" Brittny snapped, her face flushing with anger.

"The lease is in my name. The security deposit was paid from my account," Arely said, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. "You are a guest. And your visit is over."

Brittny laughed, a high, ugly sound. "You're kicking me out? Don't be ridiculous. As soon as Kole's new movie is announced, he's buying me a condo in Beverly Hills. You'll be begging to be my roommate again."

Arely pulled out her phone and pressed play.

Brittny's own voice filled the small room, tinny and triumphant from the phone's speaker. "...gave Mickey the key card, just like you said, Kole. She didn't suspect a thing..."

The color drained from Brittny's face. She lunged for the phone, her nails like claws.

Arely sidestepped the clumsy attack, catching Brittny's wrist in a grip of steel. She applied a little pressure, and Brittny cried out, sinking to her knees.

"That recording, along with a sworn statement, would be very interesting to the LAPD. Conspiracy to commit assault is a serious charge," Arely said calmly. "Now, you can either pack your things and walk out that door, or I can call them."

Brittny's face crumpled. The anger was replaced by tears. "Arely, please... We've been friends for years. Best friends."

Arely let out a short, sharp laugh. It was a terrifying sound. She kicked an empty suitcase towards Brittny. "You were a parasite."

She walked into Brittny's room and began pulling clothes from the closet, tossing them onto the floor. Designer knock-offs, cheap fast fashion, all of it piling up in a messy heap.

Seeing her possessions being desecrated, Brittny's fear turned back to rage. She grabbed a table lamp and swung it at Arely's head.

Without even turning around, Arely's hand shot back, catching the lamp mid-air. With a flick of her wrist, she sent it flying out the open second-story window.

The sound of shattering glass from the street below finally broke Brittny's spirit. She stared at Arely, her body trembling. This wasn't the weak, pliable girl she had known. This was a monster.

Arely stepped over the pile of clothes and stood over her. "Don't bother calling Kole for help," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "He's a little... preoccupied."

"What did you do?" Brittny whimpered.

Arely glanced at the clock on the wall. "You should turn on TMZ." She gave Brittny's suitcase another kick. "You have five minutes. Then I start throwing things out the window again. Starting with you."

The raw menace in her eyes was no act. Brittny scrambled, stuffing her clothes haphazardly into the suitcase, tears and snot running down her face.

As she dragged her belongings to the door, a breaking news alert flashed across the TV screen.

The footage was grainy, shot on a cell phone at a loud industry party. It showed Mickey O'Malley, his face bruised and swollen, screaming in Kole Bowman's face.

"You're a worthless leech!" Mickey roared, his voice slurring. "You think you can use me? You and that little tramp!"

An image flashed on the screen-a crystal-clear screenshot of Mickey's gloating text to Kole: She's all mine. You'll get your part. It was the screenshot Arely had taken from Mickey's phone.

Brittny let out a strangled gasp.

Arely sat on the arm of the sofa, crossing her legs, and watched the beautiful, satisfying implosion of Brittny's life.

The realization dawned on Brittny's face. The quiet, pathetic Arely she had bullied and betrayed had done this. All of it.

She didn't say another word. She yanked the door open and fled, dragging her suitcase behind her like a ball and chain.

The apartment was silent.

Arely stood up, locked the door, and took a deep, cleansing breath. The stench of betrayal was finally gone.

She pulled out her phone and dialed the real estate agent.

"The beachfront property in Malibu," she said. "I'll take it. Cash offer. I want the keys tonight."