Reborn Heiress: The Predator In Silk

Jane sat up on the silk sheets, her lungs seizing as if the air in the room had turned to concrete. Her hands flew to her throat. She clawed at skin that should have been bruised, expecting the rough burn of a rope, but her fingers met only smooth, sweat-slicked flesh. The phantom pain of strangulation pulsed in her neck, a rhythmic throb that matched the frantic hammering of her heart against her ribs.

She scrambled backward, her spine hitting the headboard with a hollow thud. Her hand knocked over a lamp on the nightstand. It was an antique Tiffany lamp, heavy and expensive, the kind that cost more than her entire tuition. It didn't belong in her life, not the one she'd just been ripped from. But she recognized it. She was in a guest room at Blackwood Manor. Nothing here belonged to her.

The bass of electronic dance music vibrated through the floorboards, a relentless thumping that clashed with the silence of the death she remembered. Jane grabbed the phone lying on the pillow. The screen lit up, blinding her in the semi-darkness.

October 14, 2014. 11:15 PM.

The numbers stared back at her, mocking and absolute. Her pupils contracted. The bile rose in her throat, acidic and sharp. This was the night of The Initiation. The night her life had turned from a struggle into a tragedy.

She threw the covers off and sprinted barefoot into the bathroom. Her hands gripped the cold porcelain of the sink so hard her knuckles turned white. She stared into the mirror.

The face looking back was twenty years old. The skin was tight and unblemished. There were no bags under the eyes from years of cheap whiskey and sleepless nights. There was no scar on her left cheekbone where a debt collector had struck her with a ring-clad fist.

A heavy fist pounded on the bedroom door outside.

Come out, Cinderella! The game is starting!

The voice was slurred, entitled. It belonged to one of Kolby Norman's friends. Jane's shoulders hunched instinctively, a muscle memory of fear that had been beaten into her for a decade. She trembled.

Then, the trembling stopped.

Her eyes in the mirror changed. The panic receded, replaced by a flat, dead calm. It was the look of someone who had already died and found the afterlife wanting.

She turned on the faucet. The water was freezing. She splashed it onto her face, scrubbing away the last remnants of the victim she used to be. The cold stung, grounding her.

Images flashed behind her eyelids. Alejandra Norman laughing as she poured wine over Jane's only good dress. Kolby Norman forcing a funnel into her mouth. The trust fund documents she had signed without reading because she was desperate for approval. The memory of her mother, Susan, wasting away in a charity hospital while the Normans vacationed in Monaco.

Jane reached for the small grooming kit on the marble counter. She took out a pair of tweezers, her fingers steady. The original plan had been so small, so pathetic-to look presentable, to try and win a crumb of their approval.

A bead of bright red blood welled up from where she'd dug a nail into her palm. The sting was sharp, immediate, and real.

Since I am back, she whispered to the empty room, looking at the blood. The audit begins tonight.

She walked out of the bathroom. The pounding on the door had ceased. The drunk outside had likely wandered off to find easier prey. Jane went to the closet. A conservative, pastel dress hung there, the one she had bought at a thrift store to try and blend in. She ripped it off the hanger and shoved it into the trash can.

She dug to the bottom of her suitcase. She pulled out a black tracksuit she used for jogging. It was cheap synthetic material, but it was silent. She dressed quickly. She checked the pockets, empty now. The desperate, foolish plans of a twenty-year-old girl were gone, replaced by the cold calculus of a woman who had lived and died with regret.

She turned off the lights. The room plunged into darkness. She moved to the window and looked out.

Blackwood Manor was lit up like a Christmas tree. The bass from the party by the pool thumped against the glass. Beyond the manicured gardens, the woods were a wall of black. In the distance, the hunting Lodge glowed-Kolby's sanctuary.

Jane unlatched the window. She didn't look at the door. She climbed onto the sill and swung her legs out. She dropped into the flowerbed below.

Her sneakers hit the mulch with a soft crunch. The scent of damp earth and expensive fertilizer filled her nose. She crouched low, moving behind the hedges. She knew where the security cameras were. She had reviewed the security footage of this night a thousand times in her past life, looking for evidence that didn't exist.

Two floors above, on the expansive stone balcony, a man stood alone.

Hudson Ellison leaned against the railing, a cigarette burning between his fingers. The smoke curled up into the night air. He was bored. The Norman family disgusted him, but business required his presence. He looked down at the garden, his eyes scanning the shadows out of habit.

He saw movement.

A figure in black darted from the guest wing, moving with a fluidity that didn't match the stumbling drunks by the pool. Hudson paused, the cigarette halfway to his mouth. He narrowed his eyes. He recognized the silhouette. It was the charity case. The girl they called the illegitimate daughter as a joke, the one they kept around for tax breaks.

But she wasn't moving like a charity case. She was moving like a predator.

Jane didn't look up. She crept along the perimeter of the house, her eyes locked on the pool area. Alejandra was there, holding court in a shimmering silver gown. She was pointing toward Jane's window, laughing, explaining the prank she had set up.

Jane watched her. She felt nothing. No anger. No shame. Just the cold calculation of a butcher eyeing a side of beef.

She checked her cheap digital watch. She knew Alejandra's schedule better than Alejandra did. The heiress would want to check her trap soon.

Jane turned away from the light of the party and melted into the darkness of the path leading to the woods. The wind rustled the leaves, masking the sound of her footsteps. The hunt was on.

The gardener's shed smelled of gasoline and old grass. Jane didn't fumble with the padlock. She jammed a hairpin into the mechanism and twisted with a precise, practiced jerk. It was a skill learned the hard way in another life, after a landlord in Cleveland changed the locks on her with everything she owned still inside. The lock clicked open.

She slipped inside. The moonlight filtered through the dirty window, illuminating rows of sharp implements. She ignored the axes and the shears. She reached for a spool of high-test fishing line on the workbench. Next to it, she grabbed a small wrench from a toolkit.

Her hand tightened around the cold steel. A memory assaulted her. The boardroom, ten years from now. Alejandra throwing a file at her face, the paper slicing her cheek. You're a parasite, Jane. We're just cutting you out.

Jane shoved the items into her pockets. She wasn't just going to cut them out. She was going to erase them.

She exited the shed and took the long way around to the edge of the party. She stopped behind a large oak tree and messed up her hair. She rubbed her eyes until they were red. She hunched her shoulders, shrinking her posture.

She stepped into the light of the patio bar.

Heads turned. The whispers started immediately. Look, the stray is awake.

Alejandra spotted her instantly. She handed her champagne glass to a sycophant and glided over. Her smile was sharp enough to cut glass.

"Jane," Alejandra cooed. "You missed the opening toast. What a shame."

Jane looked at her shoes. She let her hands tremble visibly. "I'm sorry, Alejandra. I... I don't feel well."

Alejandra's eyes glittered with malice. This was exactly what she wanted. Weakness. Submission. She leaned in close, her expensive perfume cloying and sweet.

"I have something that will make you feel better," Alejandra whispered. "Meet me at the old overlook in the ravine. Fifteen minutes. Don't be late, or I'll tell Daddy you were stealing silverware again."

Jane's heart rate didn't spike. She kept her breathing shallow, mimicking panic. "Okay. I'll be there."

Alejandra patted Jane's cheek, a gesture that was more of a slap than a caress. She turned back to her friends, flashing a thumbs-up.

Jane watched her walk away. The moment Alejandra's back was turned, Jane's posture straightened. The fear evaporated from her face, leaving only a blank slate.

She slipped away from the bar and headed for the main house. She entered through the side door near the kitchen and made a beeline for the guest powder room on the first floor. It was a small, opulent room with gold fixtures.

Jane locked the door. She knelt under the sink. She felt around the back of the P-trap until her fingers brushed against a loose tile. She pried it open.

A plastic bag fell out. Inside were several pills and small packets of white powder. Kolby's emergency stash. Jane knew about it because in her previous life, she was the one who had to flush it down the toilet when the police came for a raid that never happened.

She took a bottle of muscle relaxants. She dumped three pills onto a paper towel and used the bottom of a heavy glass soap dispenser to crush them into a fine dust. She folded the paper carefully and tucked it into the cuff of her sleeve.

She unlocked the door and stepped out.

A body slammed into her.

"Watch it, bitch."

Kolby Norman swayed in the hallway. His eyes were glassy, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. He grabbed Jane's arm, his fingers digging into her bicep. He smelled of sweat and stale vodka.

"Where you going, little bastard?" he sneered.

Jane looked at his neck. It would be so easy. A quick twist. A crushed windpipe. She forced herself to shrink back, to whimper.

"Please, Kolby. I'm sick."

Kolby shoved her away. She hit the wall hard. "Get out of my face. You ruin the vibe."

He stumbled into the bathroom she had just vacated.

Jane hurried down the hall. As soon as she turned the corner, she stopped. She brushed the spot on her arm where he had touched her, as if wiping away filth.

She checked her watch. 11:45 PM.

Alejandra would be heading to the ravine in ten minutes to set up her prank. Jane had to get there first. She slipped out the back door and broke into a run, heading toward the tree line.

From the balcony above, Hudson Ellison swirled the scotch in his glass. He watched the girl in the black tracksuit vanish into the woods. He took a sip of his drink. The ice clinked against the crystal. He didn't know what game she was playing, but for the first time all night, he was interested.

The ravine was a jagged scar in the earth behind the estate. The overlook was a wooden platform that jutted out over the drop, neglected and rotting.

Jane arrived breathless but focused. She scanned the ground. The wood of the railing was gray and splintered. She took out the wrench and knelt by the main crossbeam. With quick, silent turns, she loosened the rusted bolts holding it to the support posts, leaving them clinging by only a few threads. The metal groaned softly. It wouldn't fail on its own, but it wouldn't withstand any real pressure.

She knelt on the path leading to the platform. She tied the fishing line between two saplings, low to the ground, hidden by the overgrown ferns. It was invisible in the moonlight.

She heard the crunch of gravel. High heels.

Jane stood up. She walked to the edge of the platform and stood with her back to the path. She waited.

"You actually came."

Alejandra's voice was mocking. A beam of light from a flashlight cut through the darkness, blinding Jane.

Jane turned slowly, shielding her eyes. "Alejandra? You said you had something to show me?"

Alejandra clicked the flashlight off. The moonlight was enough. She walked closer, her silver dress shimmering like fish scales.

"I do," Alejandra said. "I want to show you your place."

She stepped onto the platform. The wood groaned under her heels. She stalked toward Jane, her face twisted in a cruel smile. "You think because Daddy pays your tuition, you're one of us? You're nothing. You're a stain on this family."

Jane took a step back, feigning terror. "Please, Alejandra. It's dangerous here."

"Only for you," Alejandra spat.

She lunged. It was clumsy, fueled by champagne and entitlement. She reached out to shove Jane toward the railing, intending to scare her, to make her scream.

Jane didn't scream.

At the last possible second, Jane pivoted on her heel. It was a move from a self-defense class she had been forced to take in her past life after a mugging. She stepped aside with the grace of a matador.

Alejandra pushed empty air. Her momentum carried her forward. Her foot caught the fishing line Jane had strung across the entrance.

Alejandra gasped. She pitched forward, arms flailing. She slammed into the railing with her full weight.

The wood cracked. The loosened bolts groaned and sheared off.

There was a sharp snap, like a gunshot. The railing gave way.

Alejandra clawed at the air. Her fingers brushed the hem of Jane's jacket. Jane took a calm half-step back, out of reach.

Alejandra screamed. It was a long, thin sound that was swallowed by the darkness.

She fell.

Jane stood at the edge. She heard the body hit the slope below, the sound of tearing fabric, and then a sickening crunch as Alejandra landed in the rocky creek bed.

Silence.

Then, a moan. "My leg... oh god... my leg!"

Jane looked down. She picked up the flashlight Alejandra had dropped. She clicked it on and aimed it into the abyss.

Thirty feet down, Alejandra lay twisted among the rocks. Her leg was bent at an unnatural angle. Bone protruded through the skin, white against the red blood.

Alejandra looked up, her face a mask of agony and shock. She saw the light.

"Jane!" she shrieked. "Jane, help me! Call an ambulance! I'll give you anything!"

Jane stared down at her. The light didn't waver.

"Jane!" Alejandra sobbed. "Why aren't you moving?"

Jane clicked the flashlight off. The ravine plunged back into darkness.

"Calling for help," Jane whispered to the night air, "is an extra charge."

She knelt and untied the fishing line, winding it back onto the spool. Down below, Alejandra continued to scream, but to Jane, it sounded like the opening notes of a symphony she had waited ten years to conduct.