Chapter 2 The Devil in a Red Dress

The grand ballroom of the Montague Estate was a masterpiece of wealth and excess.

It was a room designed to make people feel small, to remind them of the sheer, crushing power of money. Crystal chandeliers, the size of small cars, dripped from the vaulted ceilings, casting a warm, golden glow over the three hundred guests. Waiters in pristine white gloves glided through the crowd like ghosts, carrying silver trays laden with expensive French champagne and delicate, bite-sized hors d'oeuvres. A string quartet played a soft, sophisticated melody near the grand staircase.

It was a room full of wolves. Old money, new money, politicians, and ruthless businessmen, all hiding their greed behind polite smiles and tailored suits.

In my past life, I had stood on this exact staircase, wearing a modest, pale pink gown, feeling utterly overwhelmed and naive. I had gripped Victor's arm, terrified of saying the wrong thing, smiling until my cheeks ached, while he soaked up the attention and used my family's name to climb the social ladder. I had been the perfect, quiet little wife. A decoration.

Tonight, I was not that girl anymore.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my dressing room, a room I was supposed to share with Victor, though he rarely slept there. I ran my hands down the smooth, cold fabric of my dress.

It was a deep, blood-red silk gown-a stark contrast to the soft pastels I usually wore. It was a dress that demanded attention. It had a plunging neckline that left little to the imagination and a thigh-high slit that revealed my long legs. My hair was styled in sleek, dark waves, cascading down my back. My makeup was sharp: bold crimson lips and eyes lined with dark kohl.

I looked dangerous. I looked like a woman ready for war.

"Wow," a voice drawled from the doorway.

I turned. Victor stood there, already dressed in his black tuxedo, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His eyes raked over my body with a mixture of surprise and raw, predatory desire.

"I didn't know you even owned a dress like that, Elena," he said, stepping into the room. He closed the door behind him. "Trying to impress me?"

I forced a sweet, shy smile, playing the role of the adoring, clueless wife. "I just wanted to look special for you tonight, darling. Five years is a long time. I want to make sure you only have eyes for me."

He walked over, his hand snaking around my waist, pulling me flush against him. The scent of his cologne-a scent I had once found so comforting-made my stomach churn with disgust. I could feel the heat of his body, and all I could think about was the cold steel of the gun he had pressed against my chest.

"You look perfect," he murmured, his eyes darkening. His hand slid down to my hip, squeezing roughly. "But remember, tonight is about business. I have some very important investors coming. Damien Vance is going to be here."

Damien Vance. The name sent a jolt of electricity down my spine.

"Just smile, look pretty, and let the men talk," Victor continued, his tone shifting from seductive to commanding. "Don't embarrass me."

Let the men talk. In my past life, that phrase had made me shrink. I had spent the whole night in the corner, sipping water, watching Victor charm the room. Tonight, it made the fire of revenge in my chest burn hotter.

"Of course," I whispered, tilting my head up to look at him, my eyes wide and innocent. "I wouldn't dream of getting in the way of your business, Victor. I know how hard you work for us."

He kissed my cheek, his lips cold and dry, before pulling away. "Good. Now, let's go. Sophia is already down there, making sure everything is perfect."

Of course she was. The diligent, loving sister. The snake in the grass.

We descended the grand staircase together. The moment we appeared, a hush fell over the crowd. All eyes turned to us. To Victor, the self-made billionaire, and his quiet, wealthy wife.

But their eyes didn't linger on Victor for long. They were drawn to me.

I could feel the weight of their stares-the men looking at me with lust, the women looking at me with envy and curiosity. I held my head high, a small, enigmatic smile playing on my lips. I was no longer hiding in the shadows.

We reached the bottom of the stairs, and the crowd immediately swarmed us.

"Victor! Elena! Happy anniversary!" a fat, sweaty investor named Mr. Sterling boomed, shaking Victor's hand. His eyes darted to me, lingering on my neckline.

"Thank you, Arthur," Victor said smoothly, his professional mask firmly in place. "I'm glad you could make it. I have some very exciting news for the company tonight."

As Victor launched into his usual spiel about profits and market shares, I felt a light tap on my shoulder.

I turned.

Sophia stood there, looking breathtakingly beautiful in a tight, emerald-green dress. It complemented her pale skin and dark hair perfectly. She flashed me a warm, sisterly smile, but her eyes were sharp and calculating, scanning me from head to toe.

"Elena! You look... different," she said, her voice sweet as honey. "Red is a very bold choice. Trying to cover up the fact that you and Victor haven't been on a proper date in months?"

In my past life, I would have blushed, stuttered, and made an excuse. I would have felt insecure.

I smiled back, a perfect, plastic expression. "Oh, Sophia. If Victor and I were any happier, we'd be glowing. But thank you for worrying about my marriage. It's so sweet of you to care, especially since you don't have a husband of your own to worry about."

Sophia's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, a flash of pure venom in her eyes. I had never talked back to her before. I had always taken her snide comments with a bowed head and an apology.

Before she could retort, Victor turned back to us, wrapping an arm around Sophia's waist in what looked like a friendly, brotherly gesture. But I saw the way his thumb brushed against her hip. A gesture of lovers. A gesture of ownership.

"Sophia, darling, could you make sure the auction items are ready in the west wing?" Victor asked smoothly, completely oblivious to the tension between us.

"Of course, Victor," she purred, her eyes locking onto his for a second too long. "I'll handle it. I know how much this auction means to you."

She walked away, her hips swaying seductively.

I watched her go, the pieces of the chessboard moving in my mind. In my past life, during the auction, Sophia had accidentally-or purposefully-knocked a priceless Ming vase onto the floor, shattering it. Victor had blamed me for it in front of everyone, embarrassing me and making me look like a clumsy, incompetent fool. It had been the start of my social downfall.

Tonight, that vase would be safely locked in the vault. Because last night, while everyone slept, I had replaced it with a cheap, painted replica. I had also secretly placed a diamond necklace-a necklace that was supposed to be in the estate's vault-into the pocket of Sophia's coat.

A few moments later, Victor's voice boomed over the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention please!"

The crowd quieted down. Victor stood on the raised platform, holding a champagne flute.

"Thank you all for coming tonight. As you know, this anniversary isn't just about my beautiful wife, Elena." He paused, giving me a charming smile that made my skin crawl. "It's about the future. The Montague Group is about to embark on a massive new venture. And I have found the perfect partner to help us dominate the market."

He gestured to the back of the room.

The massive oak doors opened.

A man stepped out of the shadows.

The air in the room seemed to freeze. Whispered gasps rippled through the crowd. The sheer presence of the man commanded immediate, absolute attention.

Damien Vance.

He was taller than everyone else, with broad, imposing shoulders and a face carved from marble. His eyes were a startling, piercing shade of dark blue, and they swept across the room with a cold, predatory intelligence. He wore a simple black suit, but the custom tailoring made it look more expensive than the entire estate.

He was the most powerful man in the city. A rival billionaire. A man the tabloids called the "Ice King." He had a reputation for destroying companies without a second thought, for being ruthless, calculating, and entirely devoid of emotion.

In my past life, I had been terrified of him. I had avoided him. But later, after my death, a whisper of memory told me that Damien Vance had actually tried to warn my father about Victor years ago. But my father, blinded by Victor's charm, hadn't listened.

Damien stepped onto the platform, not bothering to smile. He didn't need to. His presence commanded the room.

Victor looked small next to him. A pretender standing beside a king.

"Mr. Vance," Victor said, his voice slightly strained. "We are honored."

Damien didn't look at Victor. Instead, his cold, piercing gaze swept over the crowd, until it landed directly on me.

For a long, suspended moment, our eyes locked.

A strange, electric current passed between us. It wasn't love at first sight. It was recognition. He looked at me, standing in my red dress beside my doomed husband, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

I didn't look away. I held his gaze, raising my chin a fraction of an inch, a silent challenge in my eyes.

I saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes, a hint of intrigue. The corner of his mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly.

"Thank you, Victor," Damien finally said, his voice a deep, resonant baritone that sent shivers down my spine. He turned to the crowd. "The Vance Corporation is pleased to partner with the Montague Group. We expect great things."

The crowd erupted into applause. Victor beamed, soaking up the attention. He had no idea that in exactly three hours, he was going to be accused of fraud. And Sophia was going to be caught with stolen property.

I took a small sip of my champagne, the bubbles bursting on my tongue.

Let the games begin.