10

The bee's ominous warning about weird mission punishments lingers in my mind, sending a small chill down my spine. Seriously, what kind of twisted torture could they have cooked up for flopping a mission? Best not to find out. I shove the thought aside and refocus.

I sit on the edge of the massive four-poster bed in my new room, fiddling with the pen in my hand. The bed is like something straight out of a luxury hotel, draped in silk with a comforter that feels like clouds. If I were a princess, this is the bed I'd demand. The room itself is peak vieux riche vibes-tall ceilings, gilded crown molding, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the immaculate gardens. It's beautiful, but who's got time for aesthetics when the apocalypse is on the horizon?

Grabbing the diary, I start writing out my two-month game plan, listing every tiny thing that could possibly go wrong. The stakes are high, and I'm not about to risk it all on a poorly thought-out plan. I go over it again and again, drilling every detail into my brain. Satisfied that I've memorized everything, I get up and head toward the door.

Walking through the halls of this mansion feels like stepping into a movie. The hallway outside is just as extra as my room, with marble floors and mahogany paneling that scream old money. Fancy sconces line the walls, casting a warm glow over the oil paintings of long-dead ancestors, all staring down at me like I'm some kind of intruder. It's creepy and posh all at once. I make my way down the grand staircase, my footsteps muffled by the plush red carpet. The mansion is dead silent, save for the faint crackling of a fire somewhere below.

After wandering through a maze of ornate hallways, I finally reach the drawing room, where a massive fireplace is crackling away. The whole room is like something out of a vieux riche Pinterest board-dark wood panels, velvet couches, and floor-length drapes. The firelight dances off the walls as I stand there for a moment, taking it all in. Then, with a casual flick of the wrist, I toss the diary and the original Faye's embarrassing pages about Caden into the flames. They curl up, turn black, and disappear into ash. Good riddance.

Next, I call the original Faye's dad's secretary, Yun, and ask him about the Lozero family's businesses. The poor guy sounds super confused, probably wondering why Faye-who couldn't care less about stocks and companies-is suddenly all businesswoman. But he humors me, running through everything and even emailing me a detailed list. What a sweetheart. He's definitely telling Papa Lozero about this later. The original Faye was about as interested in the family business as a rabbit is in a steak dinner.

I'm banking on passing off my curiosity as some "maturing" phase. Like, "Look at me, I'm growing up and finally taking an interest in the family empire." Hopefully, they buy it. Faye's parents were close to her, but how close can a vieux riche family really be when they're more interested in social events than quality time? Still, I need to keep up appearances. I make sure to do all the basic, inconsequential things the original Faye would do, like completing her homework and posting some obligatory selfies on social media. Can't have people thinking I'm too different, or they'll get sus.

Once that's done, I flop back onto the bed, sinking into the plush mattress like it's a personal cloud. I open the email from Secretary Yun and skim through the details. If I'm gonna show interest in Wilde's lab, aka his zombie virus factory, I'm gonna need a legit excuse. Can't just walk in there without a plan. It takes me about thirty minutes to come up with a solid backstory, and I rehearse it until it's burned into my brain. Gotta be ready to talk my way out of anything.

Finally, feeling prepped and ready to tackle this psycho, I slide under the silk sheets. They feel cool against my skin, and the bed is so soft it's like I'm floating. As sleep starts pulling me under, one last thought sneaks into my mind: Oh, but how I wish Wilde was just a tiny bit uglier... Life would be so much easier if this world-ending maniac wasn't so ridiculously attractive.