The threat from the Vance family hung heavy over the estate. For a month, nobody left the compound.

Clara had adapted to her new life. She wore tailored, deep emerald dresses that hugged her curves in ways she had never allowed herself to show. She felt powerful.

One afternoon, a new kitchen maid brought up a tray of afternoon tea and scones for Mia. Clara thanked her, but as the maid turned away, Clara noticed a heavy, tribal tattoo on the back of the woman's neck. A Colombian cartel mark.

Mia reached for a scone.

"Stop!" Clara shouted.

She slapped the tray out of the air. Hot tea and pastries scattered across the Persian rug. Mia shrieked in surprise.

The fake maid whirled around, a suppressed pistol slipping from her sleeve. She aimed straight at Mia.

Clara didn't think. She didn't freeze. She threw her entire weight forward, tackling the assassin to the floor just as the gun went off. The bullet tore through the air, burying itself in the ceiling.