Chapter 3

Irena walked quickly down the long hallway. She reached her room and stepped inside. She pushed the door shut and turned the lock until it clicked.

The moment the lock engaged, she let out a long breath. Her shoulders dropped. The rigid posture she had held in the study finally relaxed. She walked over to the velvet sofa near the window and sat down heavily. She pressed the heels of her hands against her temples. Her head was throbbing.

She needed to sort through the chaotic fragments of memory in her brain. She closed her eyes. The images played like a movie projected on the inside of her eyelids.

She saw the Hendricks family. It was the original owner's family. They lived in a massive stone house in the capital, but the inside was cold and rotting. She saw Eliot Hendricks, the father. He always had a glass of liquor in his hand. His eyes were always red and unfocused. He never looked at his daughter with love.

Then she saw her maternal uncle. Axel Love. He was the one who controlled the family money. The memories showed a dark, wood-paneled room. Axel was shouting about debts and empty bank accounts. He pointed a thick finger at the original Irena. He told her she was going to marry a man named Arthur Vance.

The memory shifted. Irena saw Arthur Vance. He was an old, fat merchant. His skin was sweaty. His eyes moved over the original Irena's body like she was a piece of meat. The memory brought a physical wave of nausea to Irena's stomach. She remembered the rumors. Arthur Vance had beaten his first two wives to death.

She saw the original Irena falling to her knees in front of her father. She felt the cold marble floor against her skin. She heard her own voice begging for help. Eliot Hendricks just took another drink and turned his back.

Despair filled the memory. Total, suffocating despair. The original Irena knew she would die if she married Vance. She needed a shield. She needed someone powerful enough to make the Hendricks family back off.

She chose Evertt Barton.

Irena opened her eyes. She dropped her hands to her lap. The lingering guilt she felt about taking over this body vanished. The original Irena was not a greedy woman trying to steal money. She was a terrified girl trying to survive.

Irena looked out the window at the elaborate water fountain in the courtyard. She felt a deep respect for the girl who used to own this body. "I will live a good life for both of us," she whispered to the empty room.

She stood up and walked over to the small writing desk. She opened the top drawer and pulled out a notebook with gold edges. She picked up a pencil. She needed a plan.

She pressed the pencil to the paper. First, she needed to take the massive divorce settlement and invest it. She needed to build her own businesses. Second, she had to cut all ties with the Hendricks family. They would not get a single penny from her. Third, she needed to stay quiet and invisible in the Barton estate until the two years were over.

She finished writing the last sentence. Suddenly, a loud, frantic knocking hit her bedroom door.

Irena stopped. She put the pencil down. She closed the notebook and shoved it back into the drawer. She took a deep breath, smoothing her facial expression into a blank mask.

She walked to the door and unlocked it. She pulled it open. A young maid in a black and white uniform stood there. The girl was breathing fast. Her eyes were wide with panic.

"Madam," the maid stuttered. "Miss Jada is downstairs in the main hall. She brought her daughter, Peggy. She is making a terrible scene."

Irena searched the memories in her head. Jada Wray. Evertt's cousin. A woman who loved drama and hated Irena.

"What is she doing?" Irena asked. Her voice was calm.

"She is crying to the head butler," the maid said, wringing her hands together. "She is saying that you bullied little Peggy yesterday."

Irena let out a short, cold laugh. Jada was trying to kick her while she was down. Jada thought Irena was still the weak, hated wife who would just take the abuse.

"Show me the way," Irena said. She did not hesitate. Hiding in her room would only make the servants lose respect for her.

Irena stepped out of the room. She walked down the hallway. Her low heels clicked steadily against the polished wood floor. She followed the maid to the top of the grand, sweeping staircase.

She stopped at the landing. She looked down into the massive entrance hall. The sound of a woman crying echoed off the high ceiling.

Irena stood perfectly still. She looked down at Jada Wray, who was putting on a terrible performance. Irena crossed her arms over her chest. She was ready for the fight.