The edge of the cliff was cold, biting into my bare feet like the fangs of a winter wolf. Below me, the black ocean raged against the jagged rocks, the sound of the crashing waves momentarily drowning out the howling wind. The sky was a suffocating blanket of dark, stormy clouds, mirroring the absolute devastation tearing through my soul. I stood on the precipice of death, my white silk dress torn and fluttering violently in the gale. The freezing rain plastered my hair to my face, but I could barely feel the cold. My hands were trembling, not from the chill, but from the sheer, agonizing shock of what I was hearing. "I'm tired of pretending, Elena," Victor's voice cut through the wind, sharp as a dagger. He stood behind me, his handsome face twisted into a cruel sneer I had never seen before. The man I had loved, supported, and built an empire with for five years looked at me like I was a piece of trash stuck to his shoe. I turned my head slowly, my vision blurring with tears and rain. "Victor... we've been married for five years. I gave you everything. My family's money, my father's business, my entire life! How can you do this to me?" "You gave me a stepping stone," Victor scoffed, taking a step closer. The moonlight glinted off the black pistol in his hand, the barrel pointed directly at my chest. "You were just the naive, pathetic heiress. You gave me the capital, and I built the empire. But now? Now you are just a burden. A liability I no longer need." A sickening, familiar laugh echoed from the shadows. My heart plummeted into my stomach. My sister, Sophia, stepped out from behind a large rock. She was wearing a tight, blood-red dress that clung to her curves, a stark contrast to my ruined white gown. She wrapped her arm around Victor's waist, resting her chin on his shoulder, her eyes glittering with pure, unadulterated malice. "Oh, sister," Sophia purred, her voice dripping with fake pity. "You were always so blind. Did you really think all those 'late business trips' were just business? Victor and I have been together for four years. Right under your pathetic nose." The world tilted around me. Four years. They had been betraying me for almost my entire marriage. Every kiss Victor gave me, every whispered promise, every late night I spent waiting for him-it had all been a lie. I felt my heart shatter into a million pieces, the shards cutting deep into my lungs, making it impossible to breathe. "You... you are my sister," I choked out, the tears falling freely now, mixing with the rain. "I raised you after Mom died! I gave you everything! I paid for your education, I bought you your first car, I let you live in my home!" "And I took it," Sophia sneered, her pretty face twisting into a mask of pure hatred. "Because you didn't deserve it. You're weak, Elena. You're boring. You always played the perfect, saintly wife, and it made me sick. And now... you're going to give me one last gift. Your fortune." She nodded at Victor. Victor raised the gun. The black barrel was a void, swallowing the little light left in the world. "Goodbye, Elena," he whispered, a sickening smile playing on his lips. "Don't worry, I'll make sure the newspapers say it was a tragic accident. The grieving widower." Bang! The sound was deafening. A searing, white-hot pain exploded in my chest. The force of the bullet knocked me backward. I felt my feet leave the edge of the cliff. For a terrifying, suspended moment, I was floating in the air, falling through the cold night sky. The wind whipped past my ears, and I watched Victor and Sophia shrink into tiny figures at the top of the cliff. They weren't crying. They weren't reaching for me. They were smiling. They were embracing. They had won. As I fell toward the jagged rocks below, a single, burning thought consumed my mind. It was a thought so powerful, it ignited a fire in my soul that transcended the physical pain of death. If I could do it all again... I would burn them both to the ground. My body hit the icy water, and the darkness swallowed me whole. --- I woke up with a violent gasp, choking on a scream. My hands flew to my chest, expecting to feel the wet, sticky warmth of my own blood. My fingers clawed at my shirt, waiting for the gaping wound, for the pain. But there was nothing. Just the smooth, unbroken skin above my heart. My chest was heaving. My heart was beating a frantic, desperate rhythm against my ribs, pumping clean, oxygenated blood through my body. I was alive. I was sweating. The sheets beneath me were damp and tangled. I sat bolt upright, my eyes darting wildly in the semi-darkness. I wasn't at the bottom of the ocean. I wasn't in a morgue. I wasn't on the cold, hard rocks. I was in my bedroom. My master bedroom in the Montague Estate. The thick velvet curtains were drawn, blocking out the bright morning sun, but slivers of golden light pierced through the gaps. The familiar scent of lavender and vanilla-the expensive candles I used to buy-filled the air. "What... what is going on?" I whispered, my voice hoarse and raw, as if I hadn't used it in years. I threw the covers off and stumbled out of bed. My legs were weak, shaking so badly I had to grab the mahogany nightstand to keep from collapsing. I looked at my hands. They were soft. Unscarred. There were no calluses from working in the garden, no small cuts from the broken glass of the wine bottle Victor threw at me in our third year of marriage. They were the hands of a pampered, wealthy woman. I ran to the vanity mirror, my bare feet silent on the plush carpet. I gasped, my hands flying to my face. Staring back at me was a young woman. I was wearing a thin silk nightgown, my hair cascading down my shoulders in soft, golden waves. My skin was flawless, my eyes bright and unburdened by the dark circles that had haunted me for years. I looked... innocent. I looked exactly as I had five years ago. My eyes darted to the desk calendar. The date burned into my retinas. October 14th. Five years ago. "Impossible..." I breathed, touching the glass of the mirror, my fingers trembling against my reflection. "This can't be real. I... I'm dead. He shot me." The last thing I remembered was the cliff. The gunshot. The fall. I remembered the cold water filling my lungs. This wasn't a dream. I had died. And I had woken up. I was here. I was me, five years ago, on the morning of the day my life was supposed to end. A sudden, overwhelming wave of nausea hit me, and I gripped the edge of the vanity. It was a rebirth. A second chance. The universe, or some cruel god, had given me a reset button. The door to the bedroom suddenly clicked open. I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat. Victor walked in. He was wearing a crisp, tailored suit, his hair perfectly styled, looking incredibly handsome. He had a charming, easy smile on his face-the exact same smile that had tricked me into falling in love with him. The same smile he wore right before he pulled the trigger. "Good morning, my love," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "You look like you've seen a ghost." My breath caught in my throat. A wave of pure, unadulterated nausea washed over me. I could smell the phantom metallic scent of gunpowder, the ghost of the pain of the bullet tearing through my chest. The man who murdered me was standing five feet away, looking at me with fake adoration. "Elena?" He stepped closer, a look of fake concern crossing his handsome face. "Are you alright? You're trembling." He reached out to touch my shoulder. Panic, rage, and the desperate will to survive slammed into me all at once. I wanted to punch him. I wanted to grab the letter opener from the vanity and drive it straight into his heart. I wanted to watch the life drain from his eyes the way he had watched mine. But a cold, calculating voice in the back of my mind stopped me. He has the power, Elena. If you act crazy now, he will lock you in an asylum. You have no proof of his crimes yet. You need to play the game. I forced myself to take a deep, shuddering breath. I pushed the bile down, swallowed the scream, and forced a smile onto my face. It felt like stretching a mask over a skull. "I... I just had a terrible nightmare," I said, my voice shaking. I let out a nervous giggle, playing the role of the fragile, stupid girl he thought I was. "I dreamt that you didn't love me anymore. That you left me." Victor's eyes crinkled with what he thought was affection. He pulled me into his arms, and I had to physically stop myself from recoiling at his touch. His hands felt like snakes around my waist. "Don't be silly, my darling," he murmured into my hair. "I will always love you. Today is a very special day, remember?" A special day. Yes, I remembered. Today was our five-year anniversary. And tonight, he was hosting a massive banquet at our estate to celebrate. It was the exact same banquet where he had introduced his new business partner, Damien. And it was the exact same night Sophia had worn that red dress for the first time, practically throwing herself at Victor in front of me. "Yes," I whispered, looking past his shoulder at the mirror. My reflection looked back at me, a dark, terrifying determination settling into my eyes. "I remember. It's going to be a night to remember." Victor pulled back, a wide, triumphant smile on his face. "I have a surprise for you tonight. Something that will change our lives forever." I smiled back, a perfect, innocent mask covering the monster I was about to become. "I can't wait," I said. But in my mind, I was already planning the funeral. I gave you my heart, Victor. You put a bullet in it. Now, I'm going to take everything you love, everything you own, and everything you are... until there is nothing left of you but ashes.

The grand ballroom of the Montague Estate was a masterpiece of wealth and excess. It was a room designed to make people feel small, to remind them of the sheer, crushing power of money. Crystal chandeliers, the size of small cars, dripped from the vaulted ceilings, casting a warm, golden glow over the three hundred guests. Waiters in pristine white gloves glided through the crowd like ghosts, carrying silver trays laden with expensive French champagne and delicate, bite-sized hors d'oeuvres. A string quartet played a soft, sophisticated melody near the grand staircase. It was a room full of wolves. Old money, new money, politicians, and ruthless businessmen, all hiding their greed behind polite smiles and tailored suits. In my past life, I had stood on this exact staircase, wearing a modest, pale pink gown, feeling utterly overwhelmed and naive. I had gripped Victor's arm, terrified of saying the wrong thing, smiling until my cheeks ached, while he soaked up the attention and used my family's name to climb the social ladder. I had been the perfect, quiet little wife. A decoration. Tonight, I was not that girl anymore. I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my dressing room, a room I was supposed to share with Victor, though he rarely slept there. I ran my hands down the smooth, cold fabric of my dress. It was a deep, blood-red silk gown-a stark contrast to the soft pastels I usually wore. It was a dress that demanded attention. It had a plunging neckline that left little to the imagination and a thigh-high slit that revealed my long legs. My hair was styled in sleek, dark waves, cascading down my back. My makeup was sharp: bold crimson lips and eyes lined with dark kohl. I looked dangerous. I looked like a woman ready for war. "Wow," a voice drawled from the doorway. I turned. Victor stood there, already dressed in his black tuxedo, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His eyes raked over my body with a mixture of surprise and raw, predatory desire. "I didn't know you even owned a dress like that, Elena," he said, stepping into the room. He closed the door behind him. "Trying to impress me?" I forced a sweet, shy smile, playing the role of the adoring, clueless wife. "I just wanted to look special for you tonight, darling. Five years is a long time. I want to make sure you only have eyes for me." He walked over, his hand snaking around my waist, pulling me flush against him. The scent of his cologne-a scent I had once found so comforting-made my stomach churn with disgust. I could feel the heat of his body, and all I could think about was the cold steel of the gun he had pressed against my chest. "You look perfect," he murmured, his eyes darkening. His hand slid down to my hip, squeezing roughly. "But remember, tonight is about business. I have some very important investors coming. Damien Vance is going to be here." Damien Vance. The name sent a jolt of electricity down my spine. "Just smile, look pretty, and let the men talk," Victor continued, his tone shifting from seductive to commanding. "Don't embarrass me." Let the men talk. In my past life, that phrase had made me shrink. I had spent the whole night in the corner, sipping water, watching Victor charm the room. Tonight, it made the fire of revenge in my chest burn hotter. "Of course," I whispered, tilting my head up to look at him, my eyes wide and innocent. "I wouldn't dream of getting in the way of your business, Victor. I know how hard you work for us." He kissed my cheek, his lips cold and dry, before pulling away. "Good. Now, let's go. Sophia is already down there, making sure everything is perfect." Of course she was. The diligent, loving sister. The snake in the grass. We descended the grand staircase together. The moment we appeared, a hush fell over the crowd. All eyes turned to us. To Victor, the self-made billionaire, and his quiet, wealthy wife. But their eyes didn't linger on Victor for long. They were drawn to me. I could feel the weight of their stares-the men looking at me with lust, the women looking at me with envy and curiosity. I held my head high, a small, enigmatic smile playing on my lips. I was no longer hiding in the shadows. We reached the bottom of the stairs, and the crowd immediately swarmed us. "Victor! Elena! Happy anniversary!" a fat, sweaty investor named Mr. Sterling boomed, shaking Victor's hand. His eyes darted to me, lingering on my neckline. "Thank you, Arthur," Victor said smoothly, his professional mask firmly in place. "I'm glad you could make it. I have some very exciting news for the company tonight." As Victor launched into his usual spiel about profits and market shares, I felt a light tap on my shoulder. I turned. Sophia stood there, looking breathtakingly beautiful in a tight, emerald-green dress. It complemented her pale skin and dark hair perfectly. She flashed me a warm, sisterly smile, but her eyes were sharp and calculating, scanning me from head to toe. "Elena! You look... different," she said, her voice sweet as honey. "Red is a very bold choice. Trying to cover up the fact that you and Victor haven't been on a proper date in months?" In my past life, I would have blushed, stuttered, and made an excuse. I would have felt insecure. I smiled back, a perfect, plastic expression. "Oh, Sophia. If Victor and I were any happier, we'd be glowing. But thank you for worrying about my marriage. It's so sweet of you to care, especially since you don't have a husband of your own to worry about." Sophia's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, a flash of pure venom in her eyes. I had never talked back to her before. I had always taken her snide comments with a bowed head and an apology. Before she could retort, Victor turned back to us, wrapping an arm around Sophia's waist in what looked like a friendly, brotherly gesture. But I saw the way his thumb brushed against her hip. A gesture of lovers. A gesture of ownership. "Sophia, darling, could you make sure the auction items are ready in the west wing?" Victor asked smoothly, completely oblivious to the tension between us. "Of course, Victor," she purred, her eyes locking onto his for a second too long. "I'll handle it. I know how much this auction means to you." She walked away, her hips swaying seductively. I watched her go, the pieces of the chessboard moving in my mind. In my past life, during the auction, Sophia had accidentally-or purposefully-knocked a priceless Ming vase onto the floor, shattering it. Victor had blamed me for it in front of everyone, embarrassing me and making me look like a clumsy, incompetent fool. It had been the start of my social downfall. Tonight, that vase would be safely locked in the vault. Because last night, while everyone slept, I had replaced it with a cheap, painted replica. I had also secretly placed a diamond necklace-a necklace that was supposed to be in the estate's vault-into the pocket of Sophia's coat. A few moments later, Victor's voice boomed over the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention please!" The crowd quieted down. Victor stood on the raised platform, holding a champagne flute. "Thank you all for coming tonight. As you know, this anniversary isn't just about my beautiful wife, Elena." He paused, giving me a charming smile that made my skin crawl. "It's about the future. The Montague Group is about to embark on a massive new venture. And I have found the perfect partner to help us dominate the market." He gestured to the back of the room. The massive oak doors opened. A man stepped out of the shadows. The air in the room seemed to freeze. Whispered gasps rippled through the crowd. The sheer presence of the man commanded immediate, absolute attention. Damien Vance. He was taller than everyone else, with broad, imposing shoulders and a face carved from marble. His eyes were a startling, piercing shade of dark blue, and they swept across the room with a cold, predatory intelligence. He wore a simple black suit, but the custom tailoring made it look more expensive than the entire estate. He was the most powerful man in the city. A rival billionaire. A man the tabloids called the "Ice King." He had a reputation for destroying companies without a second thought, for being ruthless, calculating, and entirely devoid of emotion. In my past life, I had been terrified of him. I had avoided him. But later, after my death, a whisper of memory told me that Damien Vance had actually tried to warn my father about Victor years ago. But my father, blinded by Victor's charm, hadn't listened. Damien stepped onto the platform, not bothering to smile. He didn't need to. His presence commanded the room. Victor looked small next to him. A pretender standing beside a king. "Mr. Vance," Victor said, his voice slightly strained. "We are honored." Damien didn't look at Victor. Instead, his cold, piercing gaze swept over the crowd, until it landed directly on me. For a long, suspended moment, our eyes locked. A strange, electric current passed between us. It wasn't love at first sight. It was recognition. He looked at me, standing in my red dress beside my doomed husband, and his eyes narrowed slightly. I didn't look away. I held his gaze, raising my chin a fraction of an inch, a silent challenge in my eyes. I saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes, a hint of intrigue. The corner of his mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly. "Thank you, Victor," Damien finally said, his voice a deep, resonant baritone that sent shivers down my spine. He turned to the crowd. "The Vance Corporation is pleased to partner with the Montague Group. We expect great things." The crowd erupted into applause. Victor beamed, soaking up the attention. He had no idea that in exactly three hours, he was going to be accused of fraud. And Sophia was going to be caught with stolen property. I took a small sip of my champagne, the bubbles bursting on my tongue. Let the games begin.

The applause for Damien Vance slowly died down, replaced by the soft hum of the string quartet and the clinking of champagne glasses. Victor stepped away from the microphone, his chest puffed out with pride. He looked like a peacock strutting in front of a lion. He truly believed that partnering with Damien was his greatest achievement. He had no idea that in my past life, Damien had been the one to quietly gut Victor's company from the inside out the moment he realized Victor was a fraud. But tonight, I wasn't going to wait for Damien to do it. Tonight, I was going to light the match myself. I took a slow sip of my champagne, the cold liquid doing nothing to cool the blazing fire in my veins. My eyes found Sophia across the room. She was fluttering around the auction display table in the west wing, laughing brightly with the guests, playing the perfect, charming hostess. Enjoy it while it lasts, sister, I thought, a cold smile touching my lips. In exactly ten minutes, that smile is going to be wiped off your face. I subtly glanced at my diamond-encrusted watch. It was almost time for the main event: the silent auction. "Elena, darling!" I turned. Mrs. Sterling, the wife of the sweaty investor, was approaching me. She was a woman who thrived on gossip, her eyes constantly darting around the room looking for a scandal. "You look absolutely stunning tonight," Mrs. Sterling said, though her eyes were filled with envy. "That dress is... very bold. Victor must be thrilled." "Victor loves a spectacle," I replied smoothly, my voice sweet and perfectly pitched. "And tonight is all about making a lasting impression." Before she could fish for more information, a loud chime echoed through the ballroom. "Ladies and gentlemen," Victor's voice boomed over the speakers. "The silent auction will now commence! Please make your way to the west wing. We have some truly magnificent pieces tonight, including a rare Ming Dynasty vase, generously donated by my beautiful wife, Elena." The crowd began to shuffle toward the west wing, a sea of silk and diamonds. I followed at a leisurely pace, blending into the background, watching the scene unfold like a director watching a play. As we entered the west wing, I saw Sophia standing proudly next to the display table. Right in the center, illuminated by a spotlight, sat the Ming vase. Or at least, the replica of it. I had carefully swapped it out last night, hiding the real one in a secure vault Victor didn't even know existed. "Elena, there you are," Sophia said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness as I approached. "I was just admiring your vase. It's so brave of you to donate a family heirloom. Victor was just telling me how much he loves it." Victor probably told her to convince me to donate it so they could pocket the auction money, I thought bitterly. In my past life, the auction had been a fake-Victor had arranged for one of his shell companies to "buy" the vase, moving the money right back into his own pocket. "Of course," I said, smiling warmly. "Anything for Victor." I turned my head, catching the eye of the head of security, a burly man named Marcus. I gave him an almost imperceptible nod. Marcus nodded back. He was one of the few people in this house who had been loyal to my father, and I had quietly offered him a massive bonus last week to help me with a "small security matter." Suddenly, the lights in the west wing flickered and dimmed. A sharp, panicked voice cut through the polite chatter. "Stop! Thief!" The crowd gasped, turning toward the main entrance of the west wing. Marcus was standing there, holding a terrified-looking waiter by the collar. "What is the meaning of this?" Victor demanded, his face flushing red with anger as he pushed through the crowd. "Marcus, let him go! You're ruining the evening!" "I'm sorry, Mr. Montague," Marcus said, his voice loud enough to carry across the room. "But I just caught this man trying to slip out the back door. The vault has been tampered with. The diamond necklace-the 'Heart of the Ocean'-is missing." A collective gasp swept through the guests. The Heart of the Ocean was a legendary diamond, worth millions, supposedly kept in the estate's vault for safekeeping. Victor's face went pale. "Missing? That's impossible! No one has been near the vault except-" He stopped himself, his eyes darting nervously. "Except who, Victor?" I asked, stepping forward, my voice trembling with perfectly faked innocence. "Who else has access to the vault?" Victor swallowed hard. "Only myself, the head of security... and Sophia." All eyes turned to Sophia. She was standing by the display table, her face suddenly drained of color. "What?" Sophia stammered, her eyes wide. "Victor, you know I would never-" "I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding," I interrupted, my voice dripping with false sympathy. "Perhaps the waiter took it. Marcus, search him." Marcus nodded and roughly patted down the waiter, who was shaking like a leaf. He pulled out a set of keys from the waiter's pocket. "These are the backup vault keys," Marcus announced. "They were reported missing from the security office this morning." The waiter burst into tears. "I swear I didn't take them! Someone paid me to leave the back door open! I don't know anything about a necklace!" "Who paid you?" Victor demanded, stepping forward menacingly. "I don't know his name! He just gave me the keys and told me to leave the door unlocked at nine o'clock!" Victor ran a hand through his hair, panicking. "Search everyone! Search the entire house! No one leaves until that necklace is found!" "Victor, that's absurd," I said, my voice loud enough for the guests to hear. "You can't search our guests. They are people of high society. It would be an insult." Victor looked trapped. He knew I was right. If he insulted his wealthy investors, he would lose their money. "Then we search the staff," Victor snapped. "And anyone else who has been near that vault." "Perhaps we should start with the people who have direct access," I suggested sweetly. "Just to clear their names, of course. I'm sure Sophia wouldn't mind." Sophia's eyes widened in pure terror. "Elena, what are you doing?" "Just clearing your name, sister," I said, my smile never wavering. "Marcus, please check the coats in the cloakroom. Just to be thorough." Marcus nodded and disappeared into the hallway. The room was dead silent, three hundred people holding their breath, watching the drama unfold. A minute later, Marcus returned. In his hands, he held a velvet pouch. He walked over to Victor and emptied the contents onto the display table. A massive, glittering diamond necklace fell onto the black cloth. The Heart of the Ocean. The crowd gasped. "It was in the pocket of Miss Sophia's coat, Mr. Montague," Marcus said, his voice flat and professional. Sophia let out a strangled scream. "That's a lie! I didn't put it there! Someone planted it!" Victor stared at Sophia, his face a mask of shock and horror. "Sophia... how could you?" "I didn't do it!" Sophia shrieked, tears streaming down her face. She looked around the room at the judging faces of the elite. "Elena! Elena, tell them! You know I wouldn't do this!" I looked at her, my eyes wide and filled with fake tears. "Oh, Sophia. I... I don't know what to say. If you needed money, you could have just asked me. You didn't have to steal from the family." The whispers started. Mrs. Sterling was already pulling out her phone, ready to spread the gossip. "I always knew that girl was trouble," someone muttered. "A gold digger, just like her mother." "Get her out of here," Victor growled, his voice shaking with barely suppressed rage. He was humiliated. His perfect anniversary party was ruined, and his mistress had just been caught red-handed. Two security guards grabbed Sophia by the arms. She fought against them, kicking and screaming. "Victor, please! It was a setup! She set me up!" But Victor wasn't listening. He was staring at the shattered remains of his reputation. As the guards dragged Sophia toward the door, she passed by the display table. In her frantic struggle, she kicked the leg of the table. The table wobbled, and the "priceless" Ming vase tipped over, crashing onto the marble floor and shattering into a hundred pieces. The sound of breaking porcelain echoed through the room like a gunshot. Victor let out a cry of despair. "No! My vase!" I let out a well-timed gasp, covering my mouth with my hands. "Oh, Victor. That vase was an heirloom from my great-grandmother. It was worth millions." Victor fell to his knees next to the shattered pieces, his hands trembling. He looked up at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and confusion. He had lost the diamond necklace (which was fake, though he didn't know it yet), his mistress had been publicly humiliated, and now a priceless heirloom was destroyed. His perfect night was a disaster. I stood above him, looking down at the man who had murdered me. A cold, satisfying wave of revenge washed over me. "Don't worry, darling," I said, my voice soft and soothing, loud enough for the nearby guests to hear. "We can always buy another vase. But we can't buy back our reputation. It's so sad that Sophia turned out to be so... troubled." Victor looked up at me, a strange, uneasy look crossing his face. For a brief, flickering second, I saw a hint of suspicion in his eyes. But then he dismissed it, too caught up in his own despair to see the snake he had married. "You're right," he muttered, his voice hollow. "She's always been trouble." I turned away, hiding my smile behind a sip of champagne. As the crowd dispersed, murmuring about the scandal, I felt a heavy, piercing gaze on the back of my neck. I turned my head. Damien Vance was standing by the grand window, a glass of dark whiskey in his hand, watching me. He hadn't moved a single muscle during the chaos. He hadn't rushed to Victor's side, nor had he looked at Sophia. His eyes were fixed solely on me. He didn't look away. Instead, he raised his glass an inch, a slow, calculating smile playing on his lips. It wasn't a friendly smile. It was a smile of recognition. He knows, a voice whispered in my head. He knows I did it. I held his gaze for a long, heartbeat-pounding moment, my chin raised in silent defiance. Then, I turned my back on him and walked away. Let him know. Let him watch. I was done hiding. The game had just begun.