Save That Evil Billionaire And Her Stepson

Aileen woke with a start. The room was still dark, the morning light barely creeping through the gaps in the curtains. She had only slept for an hour—maybe two—but her mind was already racing.

Oracle, she thought, her internal voice cold and steady. "Show me the exact mission metrics."

A row of data popped up on the blue screen. Two progress bars appeared. One for Archer, one for Jadyn. Both were glowing a toxic, bright red. The hatred meters were at one hundred percent. The goal was zero.

Aileen let out a harsh breath. She cursed under her breath. It was an impossible task.

Before she could form another thought, Oracle initiated the memory transfer sequence without warning.

It felt like someone had shoved a handful of shattered glass directly into her brain.

Aileen screamed. The sound tore through her bruised throat. She curled into a tight ball on the velvet mattress, thrashing against the sheets as the pain ripped through her skull.

Images flashed behind her eyelids.

She was in a dark room. A dirty blindfold was tied tight over her eyes. She could smell damp concrete and stale sweat. She was heavily pregnant, her hands bound behind her back. The sheer, suffocating terror of the kidnapping flooded her veins, making her heart race so fast she thought it would explode.

The scene violently shifted.

She was standing in a brightly lit nursery. A baby was screaming in a crib. She was holding a heavy wooden toy. She smashed it against the wall. She smashed it against the changing table. The uncontrollable rage, the deep, agonizing despair, the feeling of her mind literally splitting into two separate pieces—it all crashed into Aileen's consciousness.

The transfer abruptly stopped.

Aileen lay on her stomach, her face pressed into the mattress. She gasped for air, her lungs burning. Her silk pajamas were completely soaked in cold sweat, clinging to her skin.

She pushed herself up on trembling arms. Her modern medical knowledge tried to piece the chaotic fragments together. The original owner wasn't just born evil. She was suffering from some form of severe, untreated trauma, a deep psychological fracturing that was tearing her mind apart.

Oracle, Aileen demanded, her mental voice shaking with anger. "Confirm her medical history. She was sick."

"Affirmative," the robotic voice replied. "The host body's mental state is highly unstable and severely fractured. The system only monitors mission progress. Medical treatment is not provided."

Aileen dragged herself up and leaned back against the tufted headboard. Her brain was working overtime.

If she woke up tomorrow and suddenly started acting like a loving mother, Archer wouldn't buy it. He would think it was a trap. He would probably lock her up faster.

She had to play the long game. She had to keep wearing the mask of the villain.

She threw the heavy duvet off her legs and stepped onto the floor. Her bare feet padded silently across the carpet toward the walnut liquor cabinet in the corner of the room.

She grabbed a heavy crystal glass and a bottle of expensive Bourbon. She poured a generous amount of the amber liquid.

Aileen tipped her head back and downed the liquor in one swallow.

The alcohol burned a fiery trail down her throat and hit her stomach, chasing away the lingering nausea from the memory transfer.

She gripped the empty glass, her knuckles turning white. She started running through scenarios in her head, practicing the exact facial expressions and tone of voice she would need to use tomorrow.

A faint sound interrupted her thoughts.

It was the soft friction of leather shoes against the hallway carpet, right outside her door.

Aileen set the glass down on the cabinet without making a sound. She moved toward the door with light, careful steps.

She pressed her ear flat against the cold wood of the door panel. She held her breath.

"Mr. Riggs has cleared his morning schedule," the butler's low, hushed voice filtered through the wood. "He will be working from home."

Aileen's stomach tightened. Archer was going to be here today. The first real battle was starting in a few hours.

She stood up straight. The fear in her eyes was gone, replaced by the hardened resolve of an actress preparing for the role of a lifetime.

She walked quietly back to the bed and climbed under the covers.

Aileen pulled the heavy down comforter all the way up, covering her head completely.

She lay in the dark, stuffy cocoon, forcing her muscles to relax. She needed sleep. She needed energy for the war today.

The heavy dose of Bourbon finally kicked in, dragging her down into a restless, uneasy sleep.