The sun had barely crested over the hills of Westbridge when Clara Lancaster stepped into the morning light with a smile carved in porcelain. She was no longer Clara Walker—the woman who used to hide behind silence and sacrifice. That woman had been buried beneath betrayal, deceit, and the ashes of a broken marriage. This version of her was a phoenix, resurrected and refined, clothed in purpose and revenge.
Clara's heels clicked along the marble floor of the Lancaster estate as she made her way down to breakfast. Her grandfather had already left for an early board meeting, and the house was unusually quiet. But today wasn't about family or legacy. Today was about snakes.
One in particular—Rhea Monroe.
Clara's old "best friend."
The same woman she had caught in her bed with Damien.
The woman who once wept fake tears and told Clara, "I would never betray you."
Clara's hands clenched the hem of her silk blouse. She'd played nice for the past week, letting Rhea draw closer again—letting her believe Clara was the same clueless, pliable girl she'd once been.
But Rhea was about to learn that this time, the mouse knew exactly what kind of venom the snake carried.
That afternoon, Clara made her way to Monroe PR—the agency Rhea had been trying to rebuild after a major scandal that hadn't gone public… yet.
Rhea greeted her at the glass doors with exaggerated excitement, her glossy lips curving like a crescent moon. "Clara! You're early."
Clara returned the smile, but hers didn't reach her eyes. "I had a few things to go over with you before the launch meeting."
Rhea led her into the office, humming a tune that Clara recognized from their university days. Something about the familiarity made Clara's stomach churn. They used to laugh in dorm rooms, share secrets, and plan futures. Now Clara was planning something else entirely.
Inside the office, Rhea poured them both a glass of lemon water and gestured for Clara to sit.
"I've missed this," Rhea said, brushing a strand of honey-brown hair behind her ear. "Us. Like old times."
Clara tilted her head. "Yes. Except this time, I'm not as easy to fool."
Rhea blinked. "What?"
Clara smiled, sipping her water without breaking eye contact. "You know, I used to admire how you always managed to get what you wanted. Even if it meant stepping over people. You never cared who got hurt."
Rhea laughed nervously. "Clara, what are you—"
Clara leaned forward. "You know what's funny? You played me for a fool once. But now… you have no idea what game I'm playing."
Rhea's face froze for a millisecond. Then her lips curved again. "Oh come on, Clara. That's not fair."
"Neither is betrayal."
Rhea's jaw twitched.
Clara leaned back, her tone lighter. "Relax. I'm not here to fight. In fact, I came to offer you a deal."
That piqued Rhea's interest. Her expression sharpened. "I'm listening."
"I'll help you secure the Lancaster Cosmetics PR contract," Clara said smoothly. "It's worth over $10 million. It would save your crumbling agency."
Rhea's brows shot up. "You would… do that?"
"I could," Clara said. "If I believed I could trust you."
Rhea stood, pacing behind her desk. "Clara, whatever happened in the past—"
"You slept with my husband," Clara cut in.
Silence.
"I didn't know you two were still together," Rhea said, voice low. "He said you were drifting apart."
Clara raised an eyebrow. "So that made it okay?"
"I—"
"You know what," Clara interrupted, rising to her feet. "I'll think about it. Consider this a test, Rhea. You pass, you get the contract. You fail…" Her voice dropped like ice. "I'll make sure the truth about what happened in Marbella gets out."
Rhea paled. "You wouldn't dare."
Clara stepped forward, her face inches from Rhea's. "Try me."
Then she turned and walked out of the office, leaving the scent of her vanilla perfume and the weight of unspoken war behind.
That night, Clara sat in her penthouse suite overlooking the city, scrolling through encrypted files on her laptop.
She had dug into Rhea's past, her finances, her scandals, her lovers. Every secret was a chess piece. Every lie a card in Clara's hand.
The Marbella incident was her ace.
Clara had learned that three years ago, Rhea had botched a major client's campaign and bribed the media to keep it quiet. Clara had found the original emails, and with the help of her cousin in cyber forensics, she had the receipts.
She wouldn't release them yet.
She needed to keep Rhea close—desperate, fearful, obedient.
The real war was with Damien. But Rhea was the gatekeeper to some of his darkest secrets.
Clara's phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number:
Unknown:You're playing with fire, Clara. Be careful who you trust.
Clara stared at the message.
She didn't flinch.
She only smiled.
Let it burn.
The next morning, Rhea appeared at Clara's office uninvited, holding a coffee tray and a bouquet of peonies—Clara's favorite flowers from years ago.
"Peace offering?" Rhea said.
Clara accepted the coffee but eyed the flowers. "I don't like peonies anymore."
Rhea's smile tightened. "Right."
They sat in awkward silence until Clara broke it. "Tell me, Rhea. What exactly were you hoping to gain by getting close to Damien?"
Rhea blinked. "It wasn't like that."
"You wanted status. Money. Maybe even the Lancaster name."
"I made a mistake, Clara. But I wasn't trying to steal your life."
"You did steal it."
Rhea's eyes shimmered. "I'm sorry."
"No, you're not. You're afraid."
Another beat of silence.
Then Rhea stood. "You don't trust me. Fine. But I meant what I said. I want to fix things."
Clara gave a slow nod. "Then prove it."
"How?"
"I'll send you a file later. Handle it discreetly. If I hear a single leak or misstep—just one—and your agency's reputation will be gone."
Rhea swallowed. "You've changed, Clara."
Clara met her gaze. "So have you. You're better at faking tears now."
Rhea turned on her heel and left.
Later that evening, Clara received a call from her cousin Noah—the cyber expert who'd been helping her quietly investigate everyone from Damien to Rhea.
"She accessed the file," Noah said. "And guess what?"
"What?"
"She forwarded it. To someone tagged as D.K."
Clara's blood ran cold.
Damien Kane.
He still had his claws in Rhea.
"She's playing both sides," Clara murmured.
"Do we pull the plug?"
Clara's eyes burned with fury.
"No," she whispered. "Let her dig deeper. I want her to think she's winning."
Clara hung up and stared at the city lights outside her window. In this game of betrayal, she was no longer the victim.
She was the storm.
And snakes didn't survive in the cold.