The fabric softener in the laundry room suddenly smelled nauseatingly sweet, like crushed petals over a freshly dug grave. Rosa held Lily so tightly her knuckles turned white, her mind racing through the terrifying architecture of the Whitmore estate.

The county holding facility was cold, sterile, and smelled of bleach and despair.

Vivien Cole sat in the holding cell, wearing a standard-issue orange jumpsuit instead of her custom Oscar de la Renta bridal gown. Her hair was messy, her makeup washed off, but the look in her eyes was more dangerous than ever.

The heavy iron door swung open, and Julian Whitmore was pushed into the cell beside her. He looked completely broken, his clothes rumpled, his face pale and hollowed out by panic.

“This is all your fault!” Julian screamed, lunging toward her with clawed hands. “Your greed! Your arrogance! If you hadn't pushed my mother, none of this would have happened!”

Vivien didn't flinch. She slowly raised her head, a cold, chilling smile spreading across her lips. Even behind bars, she radiated an eerie, untouchable aura.

“You wanted the money just as badly as I did, Julian,” Vivien hissed, her voice smooth as silk. “You just didn't have the stomach to finish the job. But don't worry... we’re not going down alone.”

Julian froze, staring at her in horror. “What are you talking about?”

Vivien stood up, walking slowly toward the steel bars, her eyes fixed on the security camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling.

“Did you really think I didn't have a contingency plan?” Vivien whispered, her laugh echoing hollowly down the concrete corridor. “The offshore accounts, the forged trust documents, the names of every politician and judge on the Whitmore payroll... they’re scheduled for public release if I’m not cleared by midnight.”