Chapter 2

Frank is our family's head of security. He's been with my father for over a decade, a retired soldier, a man of unwavering loyalty and integrity.

In my previous life, after I was sent to the mental asylum, everyone thought I was insane. Only he, defying Chloe and my so-called parents' warnings, secretly came to visit me.

Though he was later dismissed by Chloe under false pretenses, every year on the anniversary of my death, he would discreetly visit my grave to pay his respects.

I never forgot that kindness.

Reborn, he was the only one I could trust.

Tonight's Halloween ball was hosted by a highly exclusive organization comprised of the city's most influential elite. On the surface, it was a lavish socialite party, but in reality, it featured a truly depraved "after-party spectacle."

They would "invite" a death-row inmate, scheduled for execution soon, to experience a taste of decadent luxury in their final moments. It served as a morbid entertainment and talking point for those twisted elites.

In my previous life, I was completely oblivious, playing my part as the queen.

This time, I had Frank uncover every detail in advance.

Including the chosen female death-row inmate: her file, her photo, and the transport route and handover time.

I changed into a form-fitting black catsuit, easy for movement, and put on the most basic black mask. Then I drove to the address Frank had given me.

It was an extremely remote, abandoned road. The vehicle transporting the death-row inmate would briefly stop there to hand over the "cargo" to the ball organizers.

When I arrived, a black SUV was already waiting. Frank, with two bodyguards in black suits, stood by the car like three immovable giants.

"Miss Maxwell."

I nodded, my voice devoid of emotion: "Where is she?"

"In the car. As you instructed, we used military-grade tranquilizers. She'll be out cold for six hours; not even God himself could wake her."

I opened the car door. A stale mix of cheap cigarettes and mildew assaulted my senses.

A woman was slumped in the back seat, breathing heavily, clearly in a deep coma.

She looked to be in her thirties, with a rough face, but her eyes held the desperate, hardened aura of a true desperado.

Her file said her name was Ruby. She was on death row for a crime of passion and home invasion robbery, carrying two murders on her conscience. Her execution was scheduled for three days from now.

A perfect substitute.

"Do it," I spat out coldly.

Frank's two men moved swiftly, like handling lifeless cargo, roughly dragging Ruby out of the car.

I didn't waste any time. I retrieved the purple strapless gown and the glinting silver mask I'd prepared from my own car.

"Strip her, and put this on her. Remember, be clean about it, leave no traces."

"Yes, ma'am!"

While changing Ruby's clothes, one of the bodyguards pulled a crumpled photo from her tattered pocket.

It was a picture of a skinny little boy, smiling innocently at the camera.

I glanced at it, my heart utterly unmoved.

Pitiable?

When she plunged a knife into someone else's heart, did she ever think about their poor children?

When I was frothing at the mouth from electroshock, who pitied me?

I personally picked up the silver mask and placed it over Ruby's weathered face.

The opulent gown, paired with the exquisite mask, instantly concealed all her roughness and ruthlessness.

A mysterious, regal, and intriguing "queen" was born.

I admired my "masterpiece" with satisfaction.

"Frank, find a makeup artist. Touch up the exposed skin, so no one can tell the difference. Then, personally 'escort' her into the ball, announcing her as the late 'Skylar Maxwell, the heiress'."

"Yes, Miss Maxwell. I will personally guide her in, ensuring everything is flawless."

I looked at the magnificent mask covering the death-row inmate's face, my smile icy and cutting. I leaned closer to Frank, giving him my command in a voice only we could hear, every word deliberate:

"Remember, before midnight, she is not to remove the mask. She is not to utter a single word."

Frank's expression hardened: "Don't worry, Miss Maxwell, I'll have men watching her like a hawk. But what if she struggles, or something unexpected happens..."

I cut him off, my voice devoid of warmth, as if discussing an inanimate object.

"Then use industrial-strength adhesive. Glue that mask firmly to her face."