His Dead Lover In A New Body

The Maybach glided smoothly up the private driveway of Beverly Hills. The massive wrought-iron gates of the Ellis Manor slowly parted in the darkness.

Briana stared out the window at the familiar marble fountain in the courtyard. Her chest tightened. She forced down the memories of attending summer parties here in her past life.

The car stopped under the grand portico. Jairo opened her door, his face a blank mask. He handed her a sleek black keycard.

Clark didn't move from the backseat. "Don't disappoint me," he said, the window rolling up before she could reply. The car pulled away toward the underground garage.

The head butler handed her off to a senior maid named Niamh. Niamh looked Briana up and down, her nose wrinkling at the cheap, blood-stained clothes.

Niamh led her up the sweeping Persian-carpeted staircase, rattling off a list of strict manor rules at lightning speed.

Briana widened her eyes, playing the clueless country bumpkin. She looked around with exaggerated awe. She reached out to touch a priceless Ming dynasty vase sitting on a pedestal.

"Don't touch that!" Niamh shrieked, slapping Briana's hand away. "You couldn't pay for that with your life!"

Briana snatched her hand back, hunching her shoulders and muttering pathetic apologies.

Niamh shoved her into a small guest room at the end of the hall. She threw a stack of ill-fitting maid uniforms onto the bed and walked out, slamming the door.

The second the latch clicked, Briana's pathetic posture vanished. She walked over to the full-length mirror and stared at her reflection. Her eyes were cold and dead.

She went into the bathroom and scrubbed the dirt and dried blood from her skin until it turned red. Her mind raced, scripting the "crazy woman" act she was about to perform.

She stepped out of the shower and ignored the maid uniforms. She opened the guest closet. It was stocked with emergency clothing for guests.

She bypassed the elegant gowns and pulled out the most atrocious dress she could find-a cheap-looking, neon-pink sequined mini dress with a plunging neckline. She put it on, intentionally pulling the fabric down to expose too much cleavage.

Sitting at the vanity, she applied a thick, heavy layer of black eyeliner, smudging it to look like a messy smokey eye. She smeared a garish, blood-red lipstick across her mouth.

She ran her fingers wildly through her damp hair, teasing it into a chaotic bird's nest.

She looked like a cheap, aggressive gold digger. Perfect.

She heard the sharp click of high heels echoing on the marble floor downstairs, followed by the butler's overly respectful greeting.

Briana cracked her door open, peering through the sliver of space like a spider waiting in the dark.

The heavy front doors opened. A woman walked in, surrounded by fawning staff. She wore a custom white silk gown, her posture radiating old-money elegance.

She took off her wide-brimmed hat.

Briana's breath stopped. Her pupils shrank to pinpricks.

It was Kathleen.

Briana's fingernails dug so hard into the wooden doorframe that splinters pierced her skin. Blood welled up under her nails.

A violent ringing started in her ears. The sensation of toxic waste filling her lungs returned, choking her. Her vision tinted red.

The woman Clark wanted her to get rid of tonight was Kathleen. The universe had handed her the perfect opportunity for revenge on a silver platter.

Downstairs, Kathleen smiled sweetly, gently scolding a maid for the placement of the lilies. The hypocrisy made Briana's stomach churn violently.

Briana let go of the doorframe. She took a deep breath, burying her murderous rage beneath the heavy makeup.

She picked up a cup of cold coffee from the nightstand and deliberately spilled half of it down the front of her sequined dress.

Downstairs, Kathleen sat gracefully on the velvet sofa, sipping Earl Grey tea. "When will Clark be joining me?" she asked the butler.

Briana kicked off her heels. Barefoot, she yanked the door open and ignored the sharp, radiating pain in her twisted ankle, stomping heavily onto the wooden landing. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Every head in the grand hall snapped up.

Kathleen's elegant brow furrowed. Disgust flashed in her eyes as she took in the sight of the messy, half-dressed woman.

Briana leaned over the mahogany banister, a crude, mocking smirk on her red lips. "Where the hell is Clark?" she yelled, her voice loud and grating.

The battle had begun. Briana marched down the stairs, bringing all her vulgarity and madness straight toward Kathleen.