Elena sat in front of her mirror as the first light of dawn filtered through her window, casting a soft glow over her reflection.

Her gaze was unyielding, locked onto her own eyes, which were now hardened by the years of loss and pain.

Today was not an ordinary day. Today marked the beginning of Damien Lawson's end—the man responsible for her father's death.

With a steady hand, she reached for her phone.

Her fingers danced across the screen, dialing a number she had saved for this very moment.

The person on the other end picked up on the first ring.

"Do your job well, and I will reward you handsomely," she spoke, her voice icy and deliberate.

"Yes, ma'am," came the swift response, the man's tone as firm as hers.

Satisfied, she ended the call, her mind already calculating her next move as she placed the phone back on the dresser.

She stood and walked over to her closet, her eyes scanning the rows of dresses hanging in neat order.

She pulled out a black one—a dress that clung to her body, accentuating her curves, with strategic cuts exposing just enough to distract anyone who dared to look too closely.

She ran her fingers over the fabric, feeling its smooth texture under her fingertips.

As her hand lingered on the dress, her thoughts drifted back to her father. He had always spoiled her with clothes, showering her with gifts for no reason at all.

"A girl's best friend isn't diamonds, Elena," he would say with a laugh, "it's good clothes."

She chuckled bitterly at the memory, the smile quickly fading as tears stung the corners of her eyes.

She missed him—missed his warmth, his laughter, the way he could light up a room with his presence.

The ache of his absence had never dulled, but today, it burned brighter than ever.

Wiping the tears away, Elena walked back to the mirror and picked up a tube of red lipstick.

Slowly, methodically, she applied it to her lips, the deep red standing out like blood against her pale skin.

Her reflection stared back at her, no longer the grieving daughter, but a woman on the verge of revenge.

Sliding into the black dress, she smoothed the fabric down and looked at herself one last time. She was ready.

Elena grabbed her keys and slipped into her red convertible, the engine roaring to life as she sped down the street, the wind whipping through her hair.

Today was the tenth of the month, the day she had been waiting for. After months of careful investigation, she had learned that every tenth of the month, Damien visited the cemetery to pay respects to his son.

In a stroke of poetic justice, his son's grave was just a few meters from her father's. It was almost as if the universe had conspired to aid her in this revenge.

The drive was short, and soon, the towering gates of the cemetery came into view.

Elena's car screeched to a halt outside the towering gates of the cemetery. She stepped out, her heels clicking against the pavement as she walked toward her father's grave.

The familiar tombstone came into sight, and she knelt in front of it, tracing the engraved words with her fingertips.

"Here lies Ethan Grey, a loving father and husband. 1960 - 2019."

The words brought a fresh wave of sorrow, but Elena quickly pushed it aside. She couldn't afford to break down now.

Just as she had anticipated, Damien arrived shortly after, dressed in a black suit, his face hidden behind dark sunglasses.

He walked silently toward his son's grave, just a few steps away from her.

Elena's breath caught in her throat.

This was it. Elena pulled out her phone, her fingers moving quickly as she sent the single word text:

"Now."

Sliding the phone back into her purse, she waited.

The cemetery was eerily quiet, save for the soft chirping of birds in the distance and faint rustling of leaves in the gentle morning breeze.

The silence felt heavy, like the calm before a storm.

"You bitch!"

A man's voice shattered the stillness of the graveyard, rough and loud.

Elena turned to see a man storming toward her, fury blazing in his eyes. She smiled inwardly. Everything was going according to plan, her revenge had begun.

"You fucking bitch!" the man yelled as he closed the distance between them.

Damien turned his head slightly, his attention now focused on the commotion unfolding just a few feet away.

"You think you can leave me? No! You don't get to leave me!" The man's voice dripped with anger, his performance so convincing that even Elena, for a brief moment, almost believed it wasn't an act.

Her pulse quickened—not out of fear, but excitement, as he reached her, grabbing her roughly by the arm, his grip was firm, but not enough to actually hurt her.

The slap came next, just as they had rehearsed. It wasn't hard enough to hurt her, but the sound echoed through the quiet cemetery, making it seem far more brutal.

Elena cried out, falling dramatically to the ground, clutching her cheek as if she had been struck with the full force of the blow.

As she crouched on the ground, she quickly applied red blush to her cheek, enhancing the illusion that the slap had left a mark.

"You think you can leave me?!" the man roared, towering over her.

He kicked at her, his foot barely connecting, but Elena screamed again, her cries filled with enough anguish to make anyone believe she was in true pain.

She had practiced this scene over and over, but now, in the moment, it felt so real that her emotions surged to the surface.

Her father's memory fueled her, reminding her why she was doing this.

Then, just as expected, Damien's voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

He strode toward them, his steps quick and determined. Elena's lips curled into a barely-there smirk as she lay on the ground, her back to Damien. The fish had taken the bait.

The man straightened up, his face twisting into an expression of panic as Damien approached.

"Stay out of this!" he shouted, but his voice lacked the conviction it had moments before.

The act was coming to its climax, and Elena knew Damien wouldn't be able to resist stepping in.

"It becomes my business when I see a man hitting a woman," Damien growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Elena's heart raced, The wheels were in motion, and soon, Damien would be trapped in her web.