Chapter 1 1

The sharp, suffocating scent of Tom Ford cologne pierced through the heavy fog in Alanis's brain.

Her eyes snapped open.

She was lying fully dressed atop a massive king-sized bed in a suite at The Plaza. The silk sheets felt cold and foreign against the delicate fabric of her haute couture evening gown.

Before her vision even fully cleared, the deep-rooted defense mechanisms of a top-tier operative flared to life. Her heart rate steadied instantly. Her muscles coiled tight, ready to snap.

"You disgust me."

The harsh voice came from above her.

Ashley Mathis stood beside the bed, glaring down at her. His face was twisted in a sneer of pure contempt. He aggressively adjusted the cuffs of his tailored suit, a nervous habit that screamed of his Wall Street arrogance.

"Did you really think spreading your legs would make me forget where you came from?" Ashley spat, his voice echoing in the luxurious room. "You're just a trashy hillbilly from Appalachia. You have no shame."

Alanis didn't blink. She just stared at his moving mouth, calculating the distance between his throat and her right hand.

Ashley mistook her silence for fear. He reached out roughly, his fingers digging into the delicate fabric of her haute couture evening gown.

He yanked hard.

The sickening sound of tearing silk ripped through the quiet suite. The strap of her dress gave way, exposing her collarbone to the cold air.

That sound was the trigger.

Alanis's body moved before her conscious thought even registered the command.

Her left hand shot up like a striking viper. She grabbed Ashley's wrist, her thumb pressing violently into the radial nerve pulse point.

"Ah!" Ashley let out a sharp cry of pain. He tried to jerk his arm back, his eyes widening in sudden shock.

He couldn't move an inch. Her grip was like a steel vise.

Using his own momentum against him, Alanis twisted her body and rolled off the mattress. She landed on the thick carpet with the silent grace of a predator.

She kept her grip on his wrist, twisting his arm backward until the shoulder joint locked with a sickening pop.

Ashley gasped for air, his face turning pale.

Without a second of hesitation, Alanis drove her knee upward in a brutal, precise strike. The bone connected directly with his solar plexus.

All the air left Ashley's lungs in a violent rush.

He lost the ability to breathe. His legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees on the floor, clutching his stomach. He choked, his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish.

Alanis stood over him. She looked down at the elite Wall Street golden boy, her eyes completely devoid of human warmth.

Ashley stared up at her. The arrogance in his eyes had been entirely replaced by raw, unadulterated terror. He couldn't understand how this fragile girl had just dismantled him in three seconds.

As she looked at him, a flood of memories crashed into her brain. The despair of the original owner of this body. The bullying. The setup. She instantly mapped out the entire trap her sister and this pathetic man had laid for her tonight.

Alanis released his wrist, flicking her hand in disgust as if she had just touched rotting garbage.

Her sharp eyes scanned the room and locked onto a cheap, unfamiliar smartphone resting on the mahogany nightstand. She picked it up. The screen was cracked, but it was unlocked. She quickly opened the messaging app. A single sent text glared back at her: sent at exactly 8:14 PM to Ashley's number, luring him here. She memorized the burner number ending in 7492 and the timestamp. Then, her fingers flew across the shattered screen, rapidly coding a dormant backdoor script into the hotel's localized network. She set a remote trigger, pocketed the device, and turned her back on him.

Her bare feet made no sound on the carpet as she walked toward the floor-to-ceiling mirror across the room.

She stopped and stared at the reflection.

It was a pale face, striking in its bone structure, but completely unfamiliar.

She ran her hands over her ribs and limbs, confirming there were no fatal injuries or broken bones. Satisfied, she grabbed the torn edges of the silk gown and tied a tight, practical knot over her shoulder to secure it.

She didn't spare a single glance at Ashley, who was still groaning and dry-heaving on the floor.

Alanis walked straight to the heavy mahogany door.

She gripped the brass handle and pulled it open. The thick door swung wide with a muffled thud.

She stepped out into the hallway. The thick wool carpet swallowed the sound of her footsteps.

The dim, warm light from the wall sconces made her narrow her eyes as they adjusted to the new environment.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a Renaissance-era oil painting hanging on the wall.

She stopped. Her sharp gaze locked onto the canvas. It was The Fortune Teller.

The calculating, dead-eyed stare of the woman in the painting perfectly overlapped with her own memories of her past life. The life where she was known in the dark web as Glacier.

Suddenly, the heavy silence of the hallway was broken.

The chaotic, aggressive sound of leather boots stomping against the carpet echoed from the far end of the corridor.

Alanis slowly turned her head. Her fingers twitched, ready for the next kill.