The Blackley Foundation Gala was exactly as I remembered it—a dazzling display of wealth and power masquerading as charity. Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic light over an ocean of designer gowns and tailored tuxedos. The air hung thick with the scent of expensive perfume, champagne, and ambition.

In my previous life, I had been overwhelmed by it all. I had hugged the edges of the room, a fish out of water despite my family name. Tonight, I moved through the crowd with clear purpose, accepting offered champagne with courtesy but never drinking it, exchanging perfunctory air kisses with those who would later attend my funeral with crocodile tears.


"Ella! Darling!" My stepmother Victoria's voice cut through the ambient noise. "I've been looking all over for you."

I turned to face the woman who had systematically destroyed my family. Victoria Haston, my father’s second wife, stood resplendent in deep red silk that matched her perfectly painted lips. At 45, she was still strikingly beautiful, possessing the kind of agelessness that only the best plastic surgeons and a complete lack of conscience could maintain.

"Victoria," I said coolly, using her name rather than the "Mom" she had insisted I call her in my previous life. "Surprised to see you here. I didn't think charity was your style."


A flicker of confusion crossed her face, quickly replaced by her well-practiced smile. "Don't be silly. Your father and I support many worthwhile causes."

"Yes, I’m sure you do." I sipped my champagne, watching her over the rim of my glass. "Speaking of Father, where is he?"


"Socializing as usual. You know how he is at these events." She waved her well-manicured hand dismissively. "But look who's here—Sophia! Come say hello to your sister."

And there she was—my stepsister, the daughter Victoria had brought into our family. Sophia was the same age as me, 20, with Victoria's blonde hair and calculating eyes. In my past life, I had believed her friendship was genuine, never suspecting she was just another weapon in Victoria's arsenal.

"Ella!" Sophia embraced me with fake enthusiasm. "I didn't expect to see you at tonight's event. Art galleries are more your scene than charity galas, aren't they?"

"I'm broadening my horizons," I replied, extracting myself from her embrace. "Besides, I heard the Blackley Foundation is doing excellent work in mental health research. A cause close to my heart, as you know."

Victoria's smile tightened. Mental health was not a topic she liked to discuss in public—especially when she had spent years convincing everyone, including my father, that my mother's "condition" was hereditary and dangerous.

"Speaking of broadening horizons," Victoria changed the subject, "there's someone I'd like you to meet. Charles Williams has expressed interest in your work."

Charles Williams. That 60-year-old real estate tycoon who, in my previous life, was waiting in a hotel room upstairs, expecting me to be drugged and compliant when delivered by Victoria and Sophia. This was the first step in their plan to remove me from my father's life and thereby gain exclusive access to his wealth.

"How interesting," I said, my voice remaining steady despite the anger rising within me. "Where is Mr. Williams now?"

"He mentioned he would be appreciating the artwork in the Titian Room." Victoria's eyes sparkled with malicious intent. "Why don't you go up and introduce yourself? Sophia and I will join you later."

I knew what would happen if I followed her suggestion. I would be offered a drink laced with something to make me compliant and confused. I would wake up in Charles Williams' bed, my reputation in tatters, and they would use the 'scandal' to convince my father I was mentally unstable, just as they had done with my mother.

Not this time.

"Actually," I said, reaching for Sophia's champagne glass, "I'm feeling a bit light-headed. Victoria, would you mind fetching me some water? I'll wait here with Sophia."

Victoria hesitated, her plan requiring her to accompany me upstairs. "I'm sure Sophia could—"

"Please," I insisted, swaying slightly for effect. "I would really appreciate it."

Victoria walked reluctantly toward the bar. Once she was out of earshot, I turned to Sophia.

"I need to touch up my makeup," I said, grabbing her arm. "Come with me?"

Sophia, never one to miss an opportunity to primp, willingly followed me toward the ladies' room. But I guided us past it, toward the elevator bay.

"Where are we going?" she asked, finally growing suspicious.

"To meet a friend," I answered, pressing the button for the floor where I knew Charles Williams was waiting. "Someone who's very eager to meet you."

As the elevator doors closed, I swapped our champagne glasses, giving her the one Victoria had prepared for me. "Drink up, dear sister. After all, you're about to meet someone important."

Sophia, still oblivious, took a deep sip. By the time we reached the Titian Room, her eyes were already beginning to glaze over.

"I don't feel well," she murmured, leaning against me.

"Don't worry," I said, guiding her toward Room A0135. "Mr. Williams will take good care of you."

I knocked on the door, then quickly moved to the side, pressing myself against the wall next to the door. When Charles Williams opened the door and saw Sophia swaying in the hallway, his predatory smile faltered.

This isn’t—" he began to say, but Sophia stumbled forward, falling into his arms.

"She's very excited to meet you," I called out, already starting to back away. "She's a big fan of your... work."

Before either could react, I had already turned the corner, my heart racing but my mind clear. In my past life, after escaping from Williams' room, I had stumbled into Alexander Blake's suite, triggering the series of events that led to our disastrous marriage.

This time, I took the service elevator down, avoiding Victoria's gaze and my fated encounter with Alexander. As I slipped out the side entrance into the cool night air, I allowed myself a small smile.

The first trap had been avoided. But I knew there would be more waiting for me.

My phone vibrated with a text message. Victoria: "Where are you? Charles is waiting."

I turned off my phone and hailed a taxi. I had somewhere more important to be tonight.

"Bellevue Psychiatric Hospital, please," I told the driver.

It was time to save my mother.