Broken Doll's Revenge: The Heiress's Sting

"You're going to get killed," Sloane said.

She was standing in the dressing room of a high-end rental boutique in SoHo. Anna was standing on the pedestal, looking at herself in the mirror.

"I'm not going to get killed," Anna said. She turned, the black silk of the dress swishing around her legs. "I'm going to get data."

"Anna, look at this," Sloane held up Anna's phone (the new burner one). She pointed to the text message from the unknown number. I'm watching - F. "This is creepy. This is horror movie creepy."

"It's leverage," Anna said. "If it's a hacker, they want the same thing I do. If it's... someone else... then I need to know."

The dress was backless. It plunged deep in the front. It was severe, elegant, and dangerous. It looked like mourning clothes designed for a runway.

"Cover the scar," Anna said.

Sloane sighed, but she opened her makeup kit. She dabbed concealer over the healing cut on Anna's cheek. She blended it until the skin looked flawless.

"You look like a villain," Sloane said. "In a good way."

Anna looked at her reflection. The terrified girl from the club was gone. The broken doll from the penthouse was gone.

"Good," Anna said. "Villains win."

She sent a text to her FBI handler.

Anna: Going in tonight. Target: Estate Server Room.

The Warren Estate in Long Island was lit up like Versailles.

Cars lined the driveway-Bentleys, Rolls Royces, Ferraris. The air smelled of jasmine and money.

Grayson stood at the entrance of the ballroom. He was wearing a tuxedo. He looked handsome, but his eyes were darting around the room, anxious.

Jaylene stood next to him. She was wearing white. A flowing, Grecian gown that made her look like a virgin bride. She was smiling, shaking hands, playing the part of the perfect hostess.

"Everyone is talking about the bridge video," Jaylene whispered through her teeth, smiling at a senator.

"Ignore it," Grayson muttered. "She's just seeking attention."

"She's unstable," Jaylene said loudly enough for the senator to hear. "We're very worried about her mental health."

A hush fell over the entrance.

The security guards stepped aside.

Anna walked in.

She was alone. She wore no jewelry. Just the black dress that clung to her like a shadow. Her hair was slicked back. Her lips were painted a deep, blood red.

She didn't look at the guests. She walked with a stride that ate up the ground.

"Is that... Anna Roth?" someone whispered.

"I thought she was in rehab."

"Look at that dress."

Grayson froze. He stared at her. For a second, he felt a surge of possessive pride. She looked stunning.

Then he remembered the slap. He remembered the bridge.

He stepped forward, his face darkening.

Jaylene's smile faltered. She looked at Anna, then down at her own white dress. The contrast was stark. The Black Swan had arrived to crash the White Swan's party.

Anna didn't stop. She didn't look at Grayson. She walked right past him, her shoulder brushing his arm, leaving a trail of cold air in her wake.

She headed straight for the bar.

But her eyes were fixed on the staircase in the back. The staircase that led to the second-floor study. To the server.

She ordered a sparkling water. She turned to face the room.

She caught Grayson's eye. She raised her glass.

It was a challenge.

Come and get me.