The heavy oak door of the guest room clicked shut.

Georgiann stood perfectly still in the center of the plush carpet. The slack‑jawed, terrified expression melted off her face. Her spine snapped straight.

She walked to the ornate vanity mirror. Her chest heaved. She gripped the edge of the cold marble counter until her knuckles turned white.

I'm back.

The memory slammed into her—the blinding heat of the yacht explosion, the deafening roar, Charlton's large body throwing itself over hers, his blood soaking into her clothes as the blast tore them apart.

A violent shudder ripped through her shoulders. She closed her eyes and forced air into her burning lungs.

The faint, mechanical hum of a wheelchair motor sounded in the hallway.

Georgiann's eyes snapped open. She scrambled backward, throwing herself onto the edge of the massive bed. She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her head just as the door handle turned.

Charlton pushed himself into the room. His dark eyes swept the space, searching for any crack in her mask.

He rolled his chair to the edge of the mattress. He towered over her seated form. "Don't think you're safe just because you're in this house," he said, his voice a low, freezing rasp. "If you try anything—"

Georgiann tilted her head. She dropped her arms and crawled across the mattress toward him. Before he could react, she reached out and placed both of her small hands directly onto his paralyzed thighs.

Charlton's eyes widened. His upper body jerked backward, but his dead legs remained trapped beneath her warm palms.

Georgiann looked up at him. Her eyes were wide and shining. "Legs broken," she said, her voice high and childish. "Georgiann fix."

Charlton froze. The air left his lungs. No one ever touched his legs. No one ever spoke about them with such blunt, stupid confidence.

A harsh, bitter laugh tore from his throat. His eyes burned with sudden rage. "Fix? You?"

Georgiann didn't flinch. She patted his knee, a solid, rhythmic smack. "Georgiann smart. Can fix."

Charlton stared into her clear, unblinking eyes. The violent rage in his chest suddenly fractured. A strange, twisted curiosity seeped through the cracks.

He reached out. His large hand clamped around her jaw, his thumb pressing hard into her cheek. He forced her face up. "If you can't fix them," he whispered, his breath hot against her skin, "I will throw you to the dogs."

Georgiann didn't pull away. The corners of her mouth stretched into a wide, flawless, idiotic smile. "Okay."

Charlton's fingers burned where they touched her skin. He released her jaw as if he had been burned. He grabbed the wheels of his chair, spun around, and rolled out of the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

The smile vanished from Georgiann's face. Her jaw ached from his grip, but her eyes were hard as steel.

She walked to the window and stared out at the pitch‑black grounds of the estate. This time, I won't let anyone hurt you.

She walked to her cheap duffel bag on the floor. Frank had considered her so worthless that no one bothered to check its contents. She ripped open a hidden seam in the lining. Inside lay a small leather roll. She unrolled it on the bed. A row of specialized, silver acupuncture needles gleamed under the lamplight.

She slid the leather roll under her pillow.

She walked to the heavy connecting door that led to Charlton's master bathroom. She pressed her ear against the wood.

A low, muffled groan vibrated through the door. Charlton. A physical therapist was in there, manipulating his dead limbs with brutal force.

Georgiann's fingernails dug into the wood of the door frame. Her stomach twisted into a tight knot. She wanted to kick the door open and stop them. But she couldn't. Not yet.

She took a deep breath and walked back to the bed. She lay down on top of the covers. She stared at the ceiling and began to mentally map out the neurotoxin in his system. She had exactly one week to start the purge, or the nerve damage would become permanent. This knowledge—the type of toxin, the progression timeline, the eventual fatality—she had carried from her past life, carved into her very bones. She had been reborn to cleanse it from him.

She pulled a burner phone from her pocket and wiped the browser history clean.

The groans from the next room finally stopped. Silence fell over the estate.

Georgiann closed her eyes. A cold, bloodthirsty smile touched her lips. The Poole family. The Moreno traitors. Your nightmares start tomorrow.

The morning sun beat down on the back of Georgiann's neck. She crouched in the dirt of the Moreno gardens, wearing a silk nightgown two sizes too big. She poked a dry twig at a line of black ants.

Tires screeched. A bright red Porsche slammed to a halt in the circular driveway, kicking up gravel.

Gillian Moreno marched across the manicured lawn. She was thin and angular, with bleached blonde hair pulled into a severe ponytail. Her sharp stiletto heels sank deep into the soil. Hailie Donaldson trailed right behind her, phone already out and recording.

Gillian stopped in front of Georgiann. She kicked a heavy clod of wet dirt. It splattered across the white silk of Georgiann's nightgown. "Look at it, practically drooling. Did they pull her out of an asylum?" Gillian sneered.

Georgiann slowly lifted her head. A smudge of mud streaked across her cheek. She let her jaw hang slack, her eyes completely empty.

Hailie laughed, the sound high and grating. She snapped a photo. "The group chat is going to love this."

Gillian stepped closer. Her hand shot out. Her manicured fingers twisted violently into Georgiann's hair. She yanked upward with brutal force. "Don't play dead with me! Say hello when you see me!"

A sharp, tearing pain exploded across Georgiann's scalp. Her eyes watered. The muscles in her legs coiled tight.

Then, she heard it. The faint, low whir of an electric wheelchair motor approaching from the stone pathway. Charlton.

Georgiann's teeth clamped together. She let out a terrified squeal, lunged forward, and sank her teeth directly into the fleshy part of Gillian's wrist.

"Ahhh!" Gillian shrieked. The pain shocked her. Her fingers released Georgiann's hair. She violently shook her arm.

Georgiann let herself be thrown backward. She stumbled, her shoulder slamming hard into a thick marble pillar.

Using the bounce, she spun around. Her right arm swung in a wide arc. Her open palm cracked against the left side of Gillian's face.

The slap echoed across the garden. Gillian's head snapped to the side. A bright red handprint bloomed on her cheek.

Gillian clutched her face. Her eyes bulged. "You crazy bitch! You hit me?"

Before Gillian could take a breath, Georgiann's arm swung back the other way. The back of her hand smashed into Gillian's right cheek.

Gillian's knees buckled. She collapsed into the dirt, stunned.

Hailie dropped her phone. It hit the grass with a dull thud. She pointed a trembling finger at Georgiann, her mouth opening and closing with no sound.

The wheelchair rounded the corner. Charlton stopped on the path. Alistair stood silently behind him.

Charlton's dark eyes swept the scene. Gillian sitting in the mud, clutching her face. Hailie trembling. Then his gaze snapped to Georgiann.

Georgiann instantly shrank back. She pressed her body against the marble pillar, making herself as small as possible. She peeked out from behind the stone. She blew on her red, stinging palms and whimpered, "Bad people... hurts."

Charlton's eyes locked onto the deep bite marks on Gillian's wrist, then moved to the angry red welts on Georgiann's palms. The corner of his mouth twitched upward.

He pushed the joystick forward. The wheelchair glided smoothly until he loomed over Gillian.

Gillian saw him and burst into loud, ugly sobs. She crawled toward his wheels. "Charlton! Did you see that? This psycho attacked me!"

Charlton looked down at her. His face was carved ice. "Who gave you the nerve to touch my wife?"

Gillian's sobs choked in her throat. She stared up at him, unable to process the words. "Your... wife?"

Charlton didn't look at her again. He turned his head slightly toward Alistair. "Throw these two pieces of trash out. If they step foot on this property again, break their legs."

Alistair stepped forward. He grabbed Gillian by the back of her designer jacket and hauled her to her feet. Hailie scrambled backward and ran for the Porsche.

Charlton turned his wheelchair. He stared at Georgiann, still hiding behind the pillar. His eyes were dark, heavy. The timing of those slaps. The perfect use of momentum. It was too clean.

You're hiding something, he thought, his pulse picking up a strange, heavy rhythm.