Chapter 7:Maribel's First Move

The knock came at exactly eight-thirty in the morning.

I knew it would. I'd been sitting on the couch for the past twenty minutes, coffee growing cold in my hands, waiting for it. Because this was how it had gone the first time. Adrian storming out after our fight, me spending the night alone, and then Maribel showing up the next morning with coffee and concern and poison disguised as friendship.

Right on schedule.

"Sera? It's me!" Her voice sang through the door, bright and cheerful. "I brought breakfast!"

I closed my eyes, took a breath, and reminded myself: I couldn't kill her. Not yet. Not without a plan. Not without making sure she suffered the way she'd made me suffer.

I opened the door.

Maribel stood there looking flawless, as always. Her blonde hair fell in perfect waves over a cream-colored cashmere sweater that probably cost more than my monthly rent. Designer jeans that hugged her curves. That signature red lipstick painted on with precision. In her hands, she carried a tray with two coffee cups from the expensive café downtown and a white paper bag that smelled like fresh croissants.

"Surprise!" She beamed at me, her blue eyes sparkling with what looked like genuine affection. "Adrian called me last night. Said you two had a fight and you seemed upset, so I thought I'd check on my best friend."

Adrian called her. Of course he did.

My hands curled into fists at my sides, but I forced a smile. "That's so sweet of you."

"That's what best friends are for." She swept past me into the apartment, already making herself at home. "Come on, sit. Tell me everything."

I followed her to the couch, watching as she set out the coffee and croissants on my coffee table like she was arranging a photo shoot. Everything Maribel did was performed. Every gesture calculated for maximum effect.

She handed me one of the coffees—a vanilla latte, my usual order. How thoughtful. How caring. How perfectly manipulative.

"So," she said, settling beside me and tucking her legs under her. "Adrian said you've been acting strange. The panic attack yesterday, and then last night you two fought?" Her hand reached out to touch my knee, a gesture of comfort that made my skin crawl. "Sweetie, what's going on? You're worrying me."

I took a sip of the latte, buying myself time. It was exactly how I liked it: extra foam, light on the vanilla. Maribel always remembered these details. Always paid attention to the little things that made her seem like the perfect friend.

"I'm fine," I said carefully. "Just stressed with work."

"Work?" She frowned, her perfectly shaped eyebrows drawing together. "Sera, you've been working yourself to the bone for years. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe you need to slow down, take better care of yourself."

There it was. The first subtle dig, wrapped in concern.

"I mean, look at you," she continued, gesturing at me with her coffee cup. "You look exhausted. Those dark circles under your eyes? When's the last time you got a full night's sleep?"

I didn't have dark circles. I checked in the mirror this morning. But that didn't matter. Maribel was planting seeds, making me doubt myself, making me feel inadequate.

"And this new look," she said, her eyes scanning my outfit, a short satin slip nightgown in champagne that ended mid-thigh, with thin straps that showed off my collarbones. It was subtle but undeniably sensual, the kind of thing the old Seraphine would have hidden under a robe. "It's so... different from your usual style. Don't get me wrong, you look great! But it's very bold. Very attention-seeking." She laughed lightly. "Adrian mentioned you dressed differently for work yesterday and had every person in the office staring. And now this? I hope you're being careful. You know how men can misinterpret things."

Attention-seeking. Men misinterpreting. She was painting me as desperate, unstable, asking for the wrong kind of attention.

In my first life, I would have shrunk at these words. Would have changed back into my baggy clothes and apologized for making Adrian uncomfortable. I would have believed that I was the problem.

Now, I just smiled and took another sip of coffee.

"I like this style," I said evenly. "I think I'll keep it."

Maribel's smile flickered, just for a moment. So brief I would have missed it if I wasn't watching for it. She didn't like that response. I didn't like that I wasn't immediately agreeing with her, doubting myself, seeking her validation.

"Well, if you're happy, that's all that matters," she said, recovering smoothly. "I just worry about you, you know? You've been through so much. Losing your parents so young, struggling financially, dealing with your family trying to take your grandfather's estate..." She squeezed my hand. "You deserve someone looking out for you."

Someone like her. Someone who pretended to care while actively working to destroy me.

"Speaking of which," she continued, "have you heard from your uncles lately? Any more threats?"

"Not recently," I lied. The threats would start again once the will was validated. But I wasn't about to share that information with her.

"Good. Because Adrian told me about that thing that happened..." She trailed off, her eyes going wide with manufactured concern. "When those men jumped you both in the alley? That must have been so terrifying."

That hadn't happened yet. Wouldn't happen for another two years, after I got my inheritance. But in my first life, Maribel had been there in the aftermath, holding me while I cried, telling me it wasn't my fault while subtly agreeing with Adrian that if I'd just compromised with my uncles, we wouldn't have been attacked.

"Anyway," Maribel said brightly, shifting gears. "I actually came here for another reason too. There's this charity gala next month—the Ravenport Spring Foundation thing? I'm on the planning committee, and I wanted to make sure you and Adrian were coming."

The gala. I remembered this. It was where Maribel had started spreading rumors about me in my first life. Subtle comments to the right people. Suggestions that I was unstable. That my relationship with Adrian was strained. That I'd been seen with other men.

"I don't know," I said slowly. "Those events are pretty expensive. And with everything going on—"

"Oh, don't worry about the cost!" Maribel waved her hand dismissively. "I already bought a table and you're on my guest list. Consider it my treat. Besides, it'll be good for you to get out, socialize, and remind yourself that there's more to life than work and stress."

She leaned closer, and that's when I smelled it.

Cologne. Men's cologne. Familiar. Expensive.

Adrian's cologne.