A Pawn's Guide to Success

Jarrold’s gaze was unnervingly calm. "How much?"

"Eighty thousand," I said without missing a beat. "It's for my family's debts. I'll pay you back. I promise."

I wasn't lying. In my past life, I'd have rather worked three jobs than ask him for a cent, clinging to some foolish pride. How pathetic.

A smart woman keeps her eyes on the prize, not her heart.

Jarrold fell silent, his expression an unreadable mask. I couldn't tell what he was thinking.

Was he going to refuse?

After all the times he'd used me to manipulate Cindy, was he really going to get stingy now?

Not a chance.

Just as I braced for rejection, he reached into his suit jacket and produced a sleek black card. "No limit," he stated evenly. "Use it as you see fit."

I didn't pretend to hesitate. I arranged my face into a look of tearful gratitude and accepted the card with both hands—while internally, I was already counting the zeros.

For this kind of money, a slap or two was a bargain. My last life had taught me the hard way what real loss felt like.

After wiring the eighty grand to settle the debts, I went straight to the hospital and paid off my mother's entire backlog of medical bills.

She was both relieved and terrified. "Susan, where did this money come from? You haven't done anything… foolish, have you?"

My mother was a simple woman, worn down by a life of hardship.

I gave her a reassuring smile. "Of course not, Mom. I have a good job now. My boss gave me an advance, and I'll pay it back from my salary."

As far as I was concerned, playing my part in the Jarrold-and-Cindy show was my job—and it paid infinitely better than any minimum-wage grind.

She believed me, praising how capable I'd become.

I just smiled and said nothing. In this second life, I was nobody's pawn. I would get rich, and I would keep my mother safe.

After leaving the hospital, I hit the luxury boutiques. Designer handbags, fine jewelry, haute couture—I bought it all, then liquidated every item through discreet channels.

The proceeds landed neatly in my private account. Jarrold was generous and never questioned my spending.

Soon, my secret nest egg surpassed a hundred thousand.

He did ask once, a faint frown on his face, "You bought a lot of jewelry lately. Why haven't I seen you wear any of them?"

I paused, then gifted him a sweet, guileless smile. "I'm keeping them safe at home. It's better to be low-key. I wouldn't want anyone to start ugly rumors about you."

He didn't ask again.

He still took me out occasionally, and I played my role flawlessly—posing for pictures he could "leak" to make Cindy jealous.

She was slowly losing her mind.

Soon after, she publicly announced she was attending a charity gala and was seeking a male escort.

The moment Jarrold saw her post, he dropped everything—and me—and left.

I let a suitably wounded look cross my face for a moment before turning to my real work.

I'd always admired the design department at the Jameson Group. But with only a high school diploma, I'd never even gotten an interview. Now, things were different.

I had an in, and everyone treated me with deference.

Who needed love when ambition felt this good?

The next day, Jarrold showed up unannounced, holding a garment bag. "You're accompanying me to the Foundation Gala tonight," he commanded. A simmering anger lurked in his eyes—clearly, things with Cindy had not gone well.

Sure enough, when we entered the ballroom, Cindy's gaze hit me like a physical blow. Her knuckles were white around her champagne flute, and I thought the crystal might shatter.

I glanced at Jarrold, calibrating my performance. He met Cindy's stare, then pulled me firmly against his side.

Her glass shattered on the marble floor. She turned and fled the room.

Jarrold's eyes followed her, but he didn't give chase.

Later, a group of fellow trust-fund heirs pulled him aside to discuss business.

I waited. Ten minutes. Twenty. He didn't return.

Then a waiter approached. "Susan Wendell? Mr. Jameson requests your presence upstairs."

I nodded and headed for the grand staircase.

But as I reached the landing, I found Cindy waiting for me, her eyes blazing with pure hatred.

"Jarrold loves me, Susan," she spat. "You're just a cheap stand-in!"

I didn't bother arguing. "Is that so?" I asked, my voice dripping with bored amusement.

My indifference was the final straw. A terrifying, manic light ignited in her eyes.

"You think you can compete with me?" she hissed, her lips twisting into a deranged smile. "You're out of your league."

Before I could move, she violently grabbed my wrist and let out a piercing scream, tears instantly streaming down her face.

"Susan, no! Don't push me! Please—don't push me!"