Chapter 2

Sunlight hit Clora square in the face, pulling her out of a restless doze. She sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbing the grit from her eyes. She hadn't slept, but her mind felt sharper than it had in years. The fog of the past life was gone, burned away by the cold reality of survival.

A sharp knock came at the door before it cracked open. One of the maids stepped in, carrying a silver tray. The woman kept her eyes down, her face a mask of professional distance. She set the tray on the small table by the window and left without a word.

Essex's eyes and ears. Of course.

Clora walked over to the tray. Fresh fruit, toast, black coffee. She sat down and took a slow bite of the toast, chewing mechanically while her brain ran through the upcoming scenario.

Seven years ago-no, in this timeline, just days ago-Mila Thorne had walked through that door with red-rimmed eyes and a trembling voice. She had held Clora's hand and told her how awful Essex was, how she needed to get out. And like an idiot, Clora had eaten it up. She had let Mila fuel her anger, let her arrange that disastrous meeting with Preston.

Not this time.

The doorbell chimed downstairs. Faint, but audible.

A minute later, the maid returned. "Miss Parrish? A Miss Thorne is here to see you."

Clora's hand paused halfway to her coffee cup. Right on schedule.

"Send her in," Clora said, her voice flat.

She quickly rearranged her face. She dropped her shoulders, letting them hunch inward. She widened her eyes, making them look wet and haunted, and wrapped her arms around her stomach as if she was trying to hold herself together.

The door opened.

Mila Thorne swept in, wearing a pale pink sundress that probably cost more than a month's rent. Her blonde hair was perfectly curled, and her face was painted with a look of absolute devastation.

"Oh, Clora!" Mila rushed across the room, her arms outstretched. She pulled Clora into a tight hug, burying her face in Clora's shoulder. "I was so worried! When I heard what happened... are you okay? Did that monster hurt you?"

Clora stood stiffly in the embrace. As Mila leaned in, a scent hit her nose. Sandalwood and dark musk. Essex's cologne.

Bile rose in Clora's throat. She hadn't noticed it before. She had been too blind, too desperate for affection to realize that her best friend smelled like her captor. Mila had been wearing it like a badge of honor, a sign of how close she wanted to get to the king.

Clora pulled back, breaking the hug. She lowered her head, letting her messy hair fall forward to hide her expression. "I'm fine, Mila."

Mila guided her over to the small sofa, sitting down close enough that their knees touched. "Look at you, you're shaking," Mila cooed, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "It's okay, I'm here now. He can't touch you while I'm here."

Clora nodded along, letting out a small sniffle. She watched Mila from under her lashes. The woman was practically vibrating with excitement, barely able to contain her glee under the mask of concern.

Mila patted Clora's hand, her expression hardening into something serious. "Clora, you can't just give up. You can't let him break you. Preston... Preston has been out of his mind. He's been calling me every night."

Here it comes.

Clora looked up, making sure her eyes looked lost and desperate. "Preston? But... what can he do?"

A malicious glint flashed in Mila's eyes, so quick Clora would have missed it if she hadn't been looking for it. Mila leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"I have a way to get him in to see you. Tonight."

Clora felt a chill run down her spine. It was exactly the same. Mila had bribed one of the gardeners, a guy who worked the night shift on the east wall. She was going to sneak Preston onto the grounds.

And at the exact same time, Mila would "accidentally" let it slip to one of Essex's guards that she was worried about Clora's mental state. She would paint a picture of a suicidal runaway, guaranteeing that Essex would come looking for her the second Preston stepped foot in the garden.

It was a perfect setup for a tragedy.

Clora twisted her fingers in the hem of her shirt, making her hands look nervous. "But... if Essex finds out..."

Mila squeezed her hand hard, cutting her off. "I'll handle everything. I promise, it will be completely secret. No one will know. You just have to trust me."

Clora stared into Mila's bright, eager eyes. She wanted to laugh. Trust her? The woman who had orchestrated her downfall.

She forced her lips into a wobbly, grateful smile. "Mila... thank you. You're the best friend I've ever had."

Mila beamed, the picture of a supportive companion. In her mind, the trap was set. The stupid little rebel was going to walk right into the fire, and Mila would be there to fan the flames.

They talked for a few more minutes, Mila offering more empty platitudes before standing up to leave. "Get some rest. Tonight will be your chance."

Clora watched the door close behind her. The second the latch clicked, the fragile, scared expression melted off her face like ice under a blowtorch.

She stood up and walked over to the window. Down in the circular driveway, Mila was getting into her red convertible. She was probably already texting Preston, telling him the plan was a go.

Clora turned away from the window. She walked over to the breakfast tray and picked up the small silver fruit knife. She picked up an apple from the bowl and started peeling it, her movements slow and deliberate. The ribbon of red skin fell onto the white plate in one unbroken spiral.

In her last life, she had been the apple, carved up and thrown away. In this life, she was going to hold the knife.

She looked at her reflection in the polished silver blade. Her eyes were cold, calculating.

Tonight's show was going to be spectacular. But first, she needed to make sure the star of the show-Essex Langley-was watching.