The dreams came in flashes—burned images across the backs of Olivia's eyelids.
A marble bathtub filled too high. Crystal bottles scattered across the floor. A girl—no, a woman—sinking beneath the surface, arms trembling, pupils dilated. The taste of pills. The silence of surrender.
Rose Laurier's voice wasn't loud. It whispered. A choked sob. A name breathed like a curse.
"I won't be like my mother."
Olivia jolted awake with a gasp.
Her temples throbbed. The sheets were tangled around her legs, her silk nightgown damp with sweat. Sunlight streamed in, oblivious to the storm tearing through her mind. She pressed her hands to her forehead and let the dream—no, the memory—settle like ash.
It wasn't just a vision. It was truth. Rose's truth.
She hadn't simply vanished from society. She had broken.
The engagement to Whitmore Jr. hadn't just been arranged. It had been forced. He wasn't just a spoiled heir—he was dangerous. Manipulative. Rose had known. And he had threatened her with the worst kind of fate:
"You'll become just like your mother. Empty. Owned."
Her parents hadn't seen it. They had assumed she was being dramatic, selfish, or defiant.
They hadn't seen the fear.
So Rose had found no escape. No voice. No one to believe her.
The sleeping pills hadn't been an accident.
And when her body gave up, Olivia's soul had stepped in. Somehow, impossibly, she had been placed here. And she owed Rose more than survival. She owed her justice.
=========================
She stepped into the Laurier family breakfast room with a poise she didn't feel.
Her head was pounding, but she smiled through it. The usual orchids. The same polished table. Harold and Elizabeth seated like judges at a boardroom.
Elizabeth glanced at her phone. "You're late."
"Had a headache," Olivia replied.
"You always do," Harold muttered.
Olivia stirred her coffee slowly. "I've been thinking."
Elizabeth paused, brows rising slightly. "That sounds dangerous."
"I want access to my trust. Full access."
Harold lowered his paper. "Absolutely not. You'll burn through it in six months."
"I won't," Olivia said. "And I want my own investment advisor. Someone I pick."
They exchanged glances.
"This sudden sense of responsibility is cute," Elizabeth said. "But you don't get to make financial decisions on whims."
"It's not a whim."
"I'm not debating this," Harold cut in. "You've made a mess of everything we've given you. Until the Whitmore deal is done, you stay where you are. And that means supervised accounts."
Olivia's fingers tightened around her mug.
Supervised. Controlled. Just like Rose was.
She exhaled. "Of course, Daddy."
Elizabeth gave a satisfied nod.
But inside, Olivia was already planning.
=========================
Later that afternoon, Olivia returned to Rose's penthouse apartment—a marble and glass sanctuary high above the city. She locked the door behind her and pulled the blinds, creating the perfect cocoon.
She retrieved her laptop from the hidden drawer beneath the armoire and powered it up. The familiar hum of boot-up comforted her more than any designer scent or overpriced candle.
She wasn't just Olivia Carter, reluctant socialite.
She was Cipher_Heart, a known but untraceable presence in the encrypted alleys of the cyber world.
Her burner phone buzzed.
A new assignment.
[Client Request: Ghost Wipe. Location: Los Angeles. Payment: 0.8 BTC. Task: Erase all traces of subject's arrest record and scrub search engine metadata.]
She opened a secure channel, accepted the job, and got to work.
Fingers flying across the keys, she dove into VPN tunnels and black-market archives, bypassing firewalls like stepping stones. Within the hour, the target's digital fingerprints were reduced to shadows. Arrest reports altered. Traffic logs rerouted. Metadata corrupted.
She sent confirmation.
Transfer received.
She leaned back in her chair, exhaling.
Step one—financial independence—complete.
It wasn't much, but it was hers. Money, she had earned with her skills, away from her family's grip.
She opened her personal tracker. Within two weeks, she'd double it. Within two months? Enough to disappear if she needed.
Her fingers hovered over a new folder. Labeled simply: Rose's Truth.
She began uploading everything she remembered. The threat. The pills. The fear.
Because someday, someone would listen.
And when they did, she'd be ready.