CHAPTER 2: THE SHEEP'S CLOTHING

​The heat outside my penthouse windows was suffocating, but inside my chest, the cold phantom memory of dying at minus sixty degrees kept my mind dangerously sharp.

​Julian thought he was the master puppeteer, pulling my strings while Clara and Beatrice enjoyed the luxury of my family’s wealth. To keep them completely confident in their control, I needed to play the devoted, brainless heiress to perfection.

​At 10:00 AM, my penthouse doorbell rang.

​I took a deep breath, forcing my tense shoulders to drop, and deliberately loosened a few strands of hair around my face to look slightly flustered and unwell. When I opened the door, Clara stood on the threshold, dressed in a pastel designer suit, holding two iced lattes.

​"Evie!" Clara squealed, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation and tossing her luxury handbag onto my leather sofa. "Julian told us you had a little dizzy spell this morning. Are you okay, sweetie? You look so pale!"

​Sweetie.

​Hearing that voice—the same voice that had casually swallowed my last tin of beef while watching my frostbitten skin turn black—made my stomach churn. A sharp, phantom chill stabbed through my knees. My fingers twitched, threatening to clench into a fist, but I caught myself instantly. I forced a weak, self-deprecating smile onto my face and rubbed my temple.

​"I'm fine, Clara... just a bad headache," I murmured, lowering my eyes timidly. "The heatwave is just unbearable. I'm so sorry about the bank transfer delay. Is Julian still upset with me?"

​Clara took a sip of her latte, her eyes flashing with a mix of hidden contempt and triumphant smugness. She walked over, patting my shoulder with a hand adorned with a diamond ring I had purchased for her last birthday.

​"Oh, you know how Julian is when business gets delayed," Clara cooed, her tone dripping with patronizing sympathy. "He was furious, of course. He works so hard for our family's future, Evie. You really need to be more reliable. But don't worry, I smoothed things over for you. I told him you're just fragile and didn't mean to mess up his deal."

​"Thank you, Clara," I whispered, keeping my tone full of naive gratitude. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

​"That's what sisters are for!" Clara smiled brightly, sitting down on my couch and pulling out her phone. "Anyway, since the seventy million transfer is delayed until tomorrow morning, Mom and I need you to give us your black corporate card. We're fitting dresses for the Summer Gala tonight, and Julian said you'd take care of the bill."

​In my past life, I would have handed over the card with an eager smile, desperate to buy their affection.

​I walked over to my desk, picked up my black credit card, and handed it to her. Clara snatched it out of my hand so fast her manicured nails almost scratched my palm.

​"You're a lifesaver, Evie!" Clara beamed, tucking the card into her bag. "Oh, by the way, Mom wants you to come to the family manor for dinner tomorrow evening after you finish at the bank. Julian will be there too. We need to go over the final papers for the trust property transfers."

​The trust property transfers.

​That was their next trap. In my past life, tomorrow night was when Beatrice and Julian convinced me to sign over the deed of my late father's northern mountain land—the very land where Mount Sentinel sat—claiming it was for a "tax shelter." They had stolen my land, used my money, and left me with nothing.

​"I'll be there," I said, making my voice sound eager and submissive. "I'll make sure the bank transfer goes through first thing in the morning, and then I'll come straight to the manor."

​"Good girl," Clara said condescendingly, blowing me a fake kiss as she gathered her things. "Get some rest, okay? You look terrible."

​The moment the door clicked shut behind her, the timid, weak expression melted off my face.

​I walked straight to the bathroom sink, turned on the cold water, and scrubbed my shoulder where Clara had touched me until the skin turned red.

​Let them enjoy my credit card today, I thought, looking up at my reflection in the mirror. Let them buy their thousand-dollar dresses and celebrate their victory. Every cent they spend today is just another nail in their coffin.

​I pulled out a secondary, untraceable phone I had bought weeks ago and dialed my private real estate attorney, Arthur Pendelton.

​"Arthur," I said, my voice cold, clipped, and completely devoid of the weak tone I had used with Clara.

​"Evelyn?" Arthur answered, sounding surprised. "I thought you were at the developer's office with Julian today."

​"Cancel the trust transfer documents for tomorrow," I commanded smoothly. "And listen to me carefully: I need you to initiate a quiet, discreet liquidation of my secondary stock portfolios and personal offshore holdings. Transfer the liquid cash into an unlisted corporate account under the name 'Vanguard Zenith.'"

​Arthur gasped on the other end of the line. "Evelyn! Liquidation? That's over eighty million dollars in equity! If your stepmother or Julian finds out—"

​"They won't find out because you aren't going to tell them," I interrupted quietly, carrying an authority that made Arthur go dead silent. "My stepmother does not have legal oversight of my father's primary inheritance, regardless of what she claims. Prepare the cash transfers by 5:00 PM today."

​"I... understood, Evelyn," Arthur stammered, completely taken aback by my sudden shift in posture. "I will have the documents ready for your private digital signature within the hour."

​I hung up and checked the time. 11:30 AM.

​While Clara and Beatrice were busy using my black card at luxury boutiques downtown, and Julian was boasting to his board members that his obedient heiress would hand over seventy million tomorrow morning, I grabbed my dark sunglasses, threw on a simple hoodie, and headed down to the subterranean garage.

​My matte-black SUV roared to life as I pulled out into the blistering city heat.

​My destination was the northern industrial district—to the hidden headquarters of Vanguard Tactical Construction.

​As I drove, the news on the radio continued its ominous hum:

​"...unprecedented thermal spikes recorded in the Northern Granite Ridge, where ground temperatures have risen by fifteen degrees in forty-eight hours. Geologists are calling it a statistical anomaly, while power companies report rolling blackouts across three eastern states..."

​I gripped the steering wheel tight, my left inner wrist pulsing with a faint, silver warmth.

​The earth was already screaming its warnings. The heatwave was just the calm before the atmospheric storm. While Julian and my family danced in the sun, oblivious to the coming ice, I was about to lay the foundation of my fortress.