Aileen walked into the massive, marble-tiled bathroom.
She turned the gold-plated faucet on full blast. The water rushed out, freezing cold.
She cupped her hands, catching the icy water, and splashed it violently against her pale face.
The shock of the cold temperature hit her skin, clearing the heavy fog of guilt from her brain.
Aileen stood up straight. Water dripped from her chin onto her silk dress. She grabbed a thick white towel from the rack and pressed it against her face.
As she lowered the towel, her eyes caught the edge of the walnut vanity cabinet under the sink.
A hazy, fragmented memory flickered in her mind. The original Aileen kneeling on the cold tiles in the middle of the night, hiding something in the dark.
Aileen dropped the towel on the counter. She crouched down and pulled open the heavy wooden doors of the cabinet.
The shelves were lined with rows of expensive, unopened skincare bottles and bath salts. Everything looked perfectly normal.
Aileen didn't stop. She reached her arm in and shoved the heavy glass bottles aside, pushing them to the edges of the cabinet.
She reached her hand all the way to the back, feeling around the dark, dusty corner behind the plumbing pipe.
Her fingertips brushed against smooth, cold plastic.
Aileen grabbed the object and pulled it out into the light.
It was a standard, white, medical-grade plastic pill bottle. There was no prescription label on it. The surface was completely blank.
She stood up and held the bottle under the bright vanity lights. She pressed down on the safety cap and twisted it open.
She tipped the bottle over her palm. Three small, round, white pills tumbled out.
Aileen brought her hand closer to her face. She squinted, reading the tiny alphanumeric code stamped into the chalky surface of the pill.
Her modern medical knowledge supplied the answer instantly. It was a high-dose, heavy-duty antipsychotic. A prescription medication used to treat severe schizophrenia and dissociative identity disorder.
A cold chill crawled up Aileen's spine, settling in the back of her neck.
The original owner wasn't just suffering from depression. She was heavily medicated for a severe split personality disorder. The illness was infinitely worse than the system had let on.
Aileen carefully tipped the pills back into the bottle and screwed the cap on tight.
She knelt down and shoved the bottle back into the dark corner behind the pipe, rearranging the skincare bottles to hide it perfectly.
She stood up and planted both hands flat on the marble countertop. She stared at her reflection in the mirror.
She took a deep breath. Her mind was sharp. Her logic was flawless. She was completely sane.
A crazy, dangerous plan started forming in her head.
Everyone in this house already thought she was an unpredictable lunatic. Why not give them exactly what they expected?
If she staged a massive, undeniable psychological breakdown, she could use the "insanity" as a shield. She could treat Jadyn well while in a "manic state," and the system wouldn't be able to flag it as OOC because crazy people don't have a baseline character.
A slow, cold smile spread across Aileen's face. She turned and walked out of the bathroom.
She went to the walk-in closet and started pulling open the drawers of her vanity. She dug through her designer bags.
Inside the zippered pocket of a Birkin bag, her fingers brushed against a heavy piece of metal.
She pulled it out. It was a Centurion Card. An exclusive, no-limit black card with Archer's name embossed on the front.
Aileen held the heavy metal card between her index and middle finger, letting it catch the light.
She walked back to her desk, flipped the laptop open, and sat down. It was time to start the show.
