Chapter five: The Serpent's Gambit

(Anna's POV)

The phone slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the marble vanity. Harris's warning slithered through my mind like smoke—*This time, he might not hesitate.*

I stared at my reflection. The woman in the mirror wore my face, but her eyes... God, her eyes were different. Harder. Darker. The eyes of someone who'd stared death in the face and lived to plot revenge.

A draft slithered through the bedroom, making the silk curtains shudder. Jackson's abandoned tie lay coiled on the armchair like a sleeping snake. Black. Expensive. Just like his lies.

I reached for it, running the silk between my fingers. The last time I'd touched this tie, it had been around my throat. His hands tightening. My vision darkening. The bitter taste of poisoned wine on my tongue—

*No.*

I dropped the tie as if burned. That was the past. This was now. And in this life, I wouldn't be the one choking.

A floorboard groaned downstairs.

Silent as a shadow, I moved to the bedroom door. The grand staircase offered a perfect view of the foyer below. Golden light spilled across the black-and-white tiles, illuminating the two men standing like chess pieces about to clash.

Jackson.

And Harris.

My breath caught. They'd never met face-to-face in my first life—at least, not that I'd seen. Jackson stood rigid in his tailored suit, every muscle coiled. Harris leaned against the doorframe, all lazy grace in his rumpled Oxford and jeans. The contrast couldn't have been sharper—Jackson's polished cruelty versus Harris's deceptive ease.

"You're not welcome here." Jackson's voice could have frozen hell.

Harris's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Now, now, Blackwell. Is that any way to greet your wife's new friend?" He held out a slender black box. "I brought a wedding gift."

Jackson didn't move. "Get out."

"Open it." Harris thrust the box forward. "Unless you're afraid of what's inside."

The challenge hung between them. I pressed closer to the banister, my nails biting into the wood.

With deliberate slowness, Jackson took the box. The lid creaked open.

A silver pocket watch glinted in the light, its chain coiled like a noose.

My lungs seized.

*I knew that watch.*

In my first life, I'd seen it resting on Richard's desk the day I died—its chain slithering through his fingers as he murmured to Jackson, "The problem will be handled." Hours later, I'd been choking on poisoned wine.

Jackson snapped the box shut so hard the sound echoed through the foyer. "Last warning, Liam. Leave."

Harris's gaze flickered upward—straight to where I hid in the shadows. His lips curved. Silent words formed on his mouth: *Tick-tock, Anna.*

Then he was gone, swallowed by the night.

Jackson stood frozen, the box trembling in his hand. For one unguarded moment, his mask slipped. Raw, unfiltered fear flashed across his face—there and gone so fast I might have imagined it.

I retreated to the bedroom before he could turn. The watch meant something. Harris knew it. Jackson feared it. And I...

I needed to know why.

The gardens outside my window stretched toward the horizon, every manicured hedge and marble fountain a testament to controlled chaos. Like this marriage. Like the war brewing beneath Blackwell Manor's gilded surface.

The door clicked open.

I didn't turn. Let Jackson make the first move.

He set the box on the dresser with deliberate care. The silence between us thickened, poisoned by everything we weren't saying.

"You'll ask about the watch." His voice scraped like gravel.

I turned slowly. Moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face, gilding the tension in his jaw. "Will I?"

His fingers brushed the engraved serpent on the watch's face—a snake eating its own tail. "It belonged to my father."

"And Harris?"

Jackson's laugh was a dry, brittle thing. "Harris collects trophies." He looked at me then, really looked, and something in his expression cracked open. "You're playing a dangerous game, Anna."

"So are you." I stepped closer, close enough to catch his scent—bergamot and something darker, more dangerous. "The question is... whose rules are we following?"

His hand shot out, gripping my wrist. The watch's cold metal pressed between our palms. "Do you really think Harris Liam is your ally?" His breath warmed my lips. "He's using you. Just like everyone else."

I smiled, slow and sharp. "Then it's a good thing I'm using him too."

Jackson's grip tightened. For a heartbeat, I thought he might kiss me. Or kill me.

Instead, he pressed the watch into my hand. "Keep it. A reminder."

"Of what?"

"That some poisons work slow." His thumb brushed my pulse point. "And some wounds never heal."

The watch ticked between us, counting down to something inevitable.

Somewhere in the manor, a clock struck midnight.