Chapter 6: The Glass Snake

My spine went rigid, but I didn’t turn around. I could feel Damien’s presence like a blade pressed between my shoulder blades—cold, precise, and waiting for the right moment to draw blood. Marcus’s smile widened, a predator savoring the scent of a wounded prey.

“Don’t look so alarmed, Miss Vivian,” Marcus purred. “I’m not here to expose you. I’m here to offer you a partnership.”

The words landed wrong. Like a snake offering a hug.

“I don’t partner with men who slap women,” I said flatly.

Marcus’s eyes flickered with something dark, but his smile never faltered. “That was business. This is pleasure. You cost me a fortune by tanking that deal, and I find myself… impressed. You’re ruthless. I like ruthless.”

Behind me, I heard Damien’s low laugh—a sound that made the hairs on my neck stand up. “She’s also my fiancée, Marcus. Careful where you point your compliments.”

“Fiancée,” Marcus repeated, tasting the word like spoiled wine. “For now.”

Before I could respond, the doors to the foyer burst open. A shrill, theatrical cry cut through the tension like a shattered glass.

“There she is! The thief!”

I turned. Amelia stood at the entrance, flanked by two uniformed security guards, her eyes glistening with manufactured tears. In her trembling hands, she clutched a velvet jewelry box—Mother’s sapphire pendant, the one that had been in the family for three generations.

“Vivian,” Amelia sobbed, pointing a quivering finger at me, “how could you? I found this in your room. You were going to sell it to pay off your gambling debts, weren’t you? I know about your secret accounts. I know everything.”

The foyer fell silent. Even Marcus’s smugness dimmed into fascination. Damien stepped closer to me, his expression unreadable.

“Amelia,” I said, injecting just the right amount of hurt into my voice, “I would never.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Her voice cracked perfectly. “Mother trusted you with the family vault key, and this is how you repay her? By stealing her most precious heirloom?”

The guards shifted, hands hovering near their belts. One of them—a heavyset man with a practiced frown—cleared his throat. “Miss Vivian, we’re going to need to search your room. Please cooperate.”

I let my shoulders droop, playing the part of the devastated sister. “Fine. If that’s what it takes to clear my name.”

As we marched upstairs, I caught Damien’s eye. He tilted his head, a silent question. I gave him the smallest, most subtle wink. His lips twitched, and for the first time since I’d been reborn, I saw something other than cold calculation in his gaze. Curiosity.

My room was pristine, as always. Amelia followed me in, her eyes darting to the vanity table, where the pendant supposedly “hidden” was now conspicuously absent. The guards began their search with professional efficiency, opening drawers, rifling through my wardrobe.

“It’s not here,” the heavyset guard reported after a moment.

Amelia’s face twitched. “Check the bookshelf! She hides things in hollowed books.”

I kept my expression serene as the guards pulled out my leather-bound journals, flipping through pages. Nothing. Amelia’s composure began to crack, tiny fissures of desperation showing through.

“The mattress,” she insisted, her voice higher now. “Check under the mattress.”

The guard lifted the mattress, revealing nothing but dust bunnies. Amelia’s face went pale.

“I—she must have moved it. She knew I was coming!”

I waited a beat, letting her squirm. Then I walked to my desk, picked up a small, innocuous-looking clock, and turned it toward the crowd.

“Before you accuse me further,” I said, pressing a button on its side, “let me show you all what actually happened last night.”

The clock’s face flickered, and a grainy but unmistakable video feed appeared on the small screen. There was my room, empty and quiet. The door opened. Amelia tiptoed in, her eyes scanning nervously. She pulled the sapphire pendant from her own pocket, pressed a kiss to it—mocking, cruel—and slid it between my mattress and box spring.

The video played in silence. When it ended, no one spoke.

Amelia’s face drained of all color. Her hands trembled, the velvet box slipping from her fingers and clattering to the floor.

“That’s—that’s fake,” she whispered. “She doctored it. She’s always been jealous of me.”

“The timestamp is stamped by the security server,” I said calmly. “Encrypted and cloud-backed. I can have the full chain of custody documents to Mother’s lawyer within the hour.”

The heavyset guard glanced at Amelia, then back at me. “Miss Amelia,” he said slowly, “I think we need to have a conversation with your mother.”

Amelia’s face crumpled. She looked at me—really looked at me—and saw, for the first time, the wolf beneath the lamb’s skin.

“You set me up,” she breathed.

I smiled, soft and sorrowful. “I installed a camera in my own room, Amelia. You set yourself up.”

The guards escorted her out, her protests dissolving into incoherent sobs. The door clicked shut behind them. Silence fell.

Marcus let out a low whistle. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

But I wasn’t looking at him. I was looking at Damien, who had watched the entire scene without moving a muscle. He stepped forward now, close enough that I could smell his cologne—something sharp and expensive.

“You planned this,” he murmured, voice low enough that only I could hear. “You knew she’d come for you tonight. You set the trap days ago.”

“I set the trap the day I walked back into this house,” I corrected him.

He studied me for a long moment, a dark smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “My fiancée,” he said, drawing out the words, “is a very dangerous woman.”

Before I could respond, my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen. A blocked number. The message was short, cryptic, and sent ice through my veins:

*“You think you’ve won, sister? Check Mother’s safe. The real heirloom was never the pendant.”*

I looked up. Marcus was gone. Damien was watching me with that unreadable gaze. And somewhere in the depths of the house, I heard a faint, rhythmic ticking.

Like a clock.

Or a bomb.