The guest room was as far from the basement as one could get.
It was large, airy, with a four-poster bed, a balcony overlooking the manicured gardens, and an en-suite bathroom with a claw-foot tub.
It was a room fit for an honoured guest.
A guest they actually wanted to impress.
Or in this case, one they were desperate to sell.
Alodie stood in the center of the room, her gaze sweeping over the opulent surroundings.
This was supposed to be her life.
This was what she was owed.
She walked over to the balcony doors, pushed them open, and stepped out into the cool night air.
The garden below was a masterpiece of landscape design, the flowers and shrubs bathed in the soft glow of strategically placed lights.
It was all so perfect.
So fake.
Just like the Rhodes.
Alodie leaned against the railing, her fingers curling around the cold metal.
She had won the first battle.
But the war was far from over.
She had to be smart. She had to be patient and she had to get back everything they had taken from her.
The door opened and Alodie swung around, her brows furrowing at Sheila.
Just like before, Sheila had come to deceive her.
Unlike before, Sheila was no longer bristling in anger.
In its place was a sweet smile, one she had used often times to manipulate Alodie.
"I'm sorry about yelling at you earlier." She said in an appeasing tone. "I did not like to watch my two daughters fight."
Alodie almost laughed at the silliness Sheila was spewing.
Suddenly she was her daughter but she had treated her as an unwanted appendage all these years, they had not even made the adoption legal.
Sheila found herself feeling nervous under Alodie's blank look.
It was like Alodie knew something.
Sheila shook off such foolish thinking.
There is no way this girl knows anything, she is probably still upset at the yelling.
"Anyway." Sheila said, breaking the silence.
"I brought you this." She continued, placing a box on the bed.
"We will be attending the birthday party for lady Barese, this is what you will wear."
Alodie stared at the box in amusement.
It was exactly like the previous time.
She knew that if she opened the box, she would be confronted with the cheap polyester dress that she had been given before.
Sheila remained akwardly, waiting for Alodie's thanks but when none ws forthcoming, she frowned.
"It seems that going to the countryside has ruined your manners." Shelia complained.
"I was told I will no longer be attending anymore parties with you." Alodie replied, keeping her expression blank. "That was why you left me there for all those years."
Shelia flinched at that and irritation shot through her.
She hated that Alodie was audacious enough to question her.
"That was the past," Shelia said a little too quickly, waving a dismissive hand. "We're a family now. We put that behind us. You're one of us, and you should attend with us."
She had a mission to get Alodie to attend the party.
Alodie's presence was necessary, she would clear their debts with Mr Cullinham.
If not, she would not even bother with her.
She almost ran out of the room, trying to escape the unbearable tension she felt being so close to Alodie.
Alodie walked towards the box, her movements deliberate. She lifted the lid.
Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a dress.
It was pale yellow, a washed-out color that did nothing for her complexion. The fabric was cheap, a flimsy material that would wrinkle if you so much as looked at it.
Later that evening, Alodie watched as the Caddillac carrying the Rhodes left the premises.
She knew that the Rhodes would never take her along, they hated to be associated with her in public.
She was expected to arrive with the old station wagon.
She picked up her phone and dialed a number.
"Hello," a crisp, professional voice answered on the second ring.
"It's Alodie Sinclair," she said, her voice low and calm. "I need a dress. For tonight. The Barese birthday party."
There was a short pause.
"The crimson silk," Alodie continued, her gaze fixed on the ugly yellow dress in the box. "The one with the thigh-high slit. And the matching heels. Size 4. Have it delivered to me within the hour."
"Of course, Miss Sinclair. It will be done."
Alodie hung up the phone, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across her face.
What the Rhodes didn't know, what they could never imagine was that Alodie had accessed her father's offshore accounts months ago. The countryside had given her time. Time to learn. Time to plan. Time to become wealthy in ways they couldn't touch.
A few minutes after they had gone, a knock came at the door.
It wasn't a member of the staff, but a courier from a high-end boutique, holding a garment bag with quiet reverence.
Alodie signed for the package, her expression unreadable.
She closed the door, the lock clicking into place with a sound of finality.
She unzipped the bag.
The dress inside was a work of art.
The crimson silk flowed like liquid blood, shimmering under the soft light of the room. The cut was exquisite, designed to cling to every curve before flaring out just above the knee.
After some time in the bathroom, a fully dressed Alodie turned to the full-length mirror. The woman staring back was a stranger. No... not a stranger.
A picture of who she should have always been. The crimson silk hugged her curves like it had been painted on. The slit revealed a glimpse of toned smooth thigh. She looked... dangerous. She looked like someone who could walk into a room full of enemies and make them forget their own names.
She smiled. It was not a nice smile.
"Hello, Alodie," she whispered. "Welcome back."
When she stepped out of the house, the driver was waiting impatiently for her but when he caught sight of her going out of the house, he stared with unabashed amiration.
He could not believe that the classy lady walking towards him was the same country bumpkin he had picked up from the train station.
The two women were worlds apart.
As he rushed to open the door, Alodie stopped him by raising her hand.
"I have a different ride." She explained and as the words just came out of her mouth, a sleek black bently pulled up in the driveway then a uniformed chauffeur ran out and held the door open for Alodie.
****
"You mean you're going to stay in here while there's a party going on out there?" Jacob asked, pacing the length of the dimly lit study. "Come on, man. It's your grandmother's birthday."
"I already had breakfast with her," Romero pointed out, his voice smooth and empty of emotion. He sat in his customized wheelchair, his legs draped in a dark cashmere blanket.
"All the beauties from the city's top families are going to be there," Jacob added, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Maybe you'll finally meet a wife and get your mother off my back."
Romero stared at Jacob in a silence so heavy it felt like a physical weight. His dark, unamused eyes said exactly how idiotic he found Jacob's logic.
Jacob sighed, his shoulders dropping. Ever since "the accident," Romero had become a ghost. A recluse who refused to leave the North Wing. No matter how much Jacob begged, Romero wouldn't step foot out of his self appointed prison.
Jacob had known him since they were in diapers; they'd been attached at the hip through every scandal and success. It was gut-wrenching to see the man who used to rule the boardroom reduced to staring out a window at a garden he refused to visit.
"Fine," Jacob groaned, throwing his hands up. "What do I have to do? I'll do whatever you want if you just put on a suit and show your face for twenty minutes."
Romero looked at him then. The boredom in his eyes flickered, replaced by a spark that made the hair on Jacob's arms stand up.
"Anything?" Romero asked.
Jacob nodded, ignoring the warning sirens blaring in the back of his brain.
The corners of Romero's mouth tilted upward. It couldn't be called a smile, it was a predator's smirk, the kind that usually meant someone's life was about to be turned upside down.
"Fine." He said. "Bring me the head of the man who tampered with my car brakes two years ago. Not a name. Not a file. Bring me the man. I want him in this room, on his knees, before the cake is cut downstairs."
Jacob froze. The color drained from his face. "Romero... you know the police report said it was an accident. We've looked for years. If I could have found him, You know I would…"
"Then you can't give me what I want," Romero interrupted, his voice turning back to ice. He looked back down at his tablet, effectively dismissing Jacob from his existence.
"Romero, that's impossible. I'm just trying to help you live again—"
"You should stop trying," Romero snapped, the air in the room turning freezing. "If you can't deliver the one thing that matters, then your 'help' is nothing more than noise. Now, get out. You're late for the party."
Jacob opened his mouth to argue, but the look in Romero's eyes was so dark, so full of a terrifying, controlled violence, that he swallowed his words.
There was no point trying to argue, Romero's stubborness was legendary.
Jacob backed away, his heart thudding. "Fine. Have it your way."
He turned and left, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind him.
Once the room was silent, Romero put the tablet aside. He didn't need Jacob to find the man. He had already found him.