Georgia felt conflicting emotions warring inside her chest. She felt fear at the manipulation, at being used so completely.
Rage at whoever had orchestrated this, at the violation of it all, of what this meant, of how deep the conspiracy against her truly ran.
But above all, she felt a desperate, aching need to know her son's real father.
Who had she been with last night? And did he have any idea what had happened, what had been created from this single encounter?
She looked down at her body, at the evidence of what had happened just hours ago in this timeline. This was the night. Right now, at this very moment, her son had just been conceived. The child who would be born nine months from now, the child who would be stolen from her arms, the child whose fate she now had the power to change.
If she could figure out who his father really was.
If she could unravel the conspiracy before it destroyed her again.
Georgia forced herself to move, to push through the shock, confusion and focus on what needed to be done.
She couldn't change what had already happened last night, but she could control what happened next.
She found her clothes scattered across the floor, the elegant emerald green gown now wrinkled and discarded carelessly.
The Wellington family emeralds still sparkled from where they'd been placed carefully on the dresser. At least whoever had been here had the decency to remove the priceless jewelry properly.
She dressed quickly, her hands still trembling and her mind still reeling from the implications of everything she now knew.
Her body protested every movement, reminding her of what had happened in this bed, of the intimacy she couldn't remember but could feel in every aching muscle.
Georgia grabbed her purse and phone, casting one last look at the rumpled bed, at the evidence of a night that had changed everything without her even knowing it.
Then she left, closing the door on secrets she was only beginning to unravel.
The elevator ride down felt endless, each floor a reminder of how far she'd fallen, how completely she'd been manipulated.
The lobby was quiet at this early hour, just a few business travelers checking out and staff quietly cleaning up from last night's gala.
The valet was waiting by the entrance, a young man in his early twenties with a professional smile.
He recognized her immediately, or rather, he recognized Mrs. Wellington, the wife of one of the city's most prominent businessmen.
"Good morning, Mrs. Wellington," he said, already moving to retrieve her car. "I hope you had a pleasant stay. The gala last night was magnificent, as always."
Georgia managed a tight smile, accepting the keys he handed her. Her Mercedes, a wedding gift from Grandma Wellington that had felt like a golden chain even then, was already waiting at the curb.
"Thank you," she murmured, sliding into the driver's seat.
The drive passed in a blur of conflicting thoughts and emotions.
In her previous life, she'd gone straight to the orphanage, desperate to see Emma, desperate to make sure the little girl was okay.
She'd been so focused on getting there that she hadn't even thought about going home first.
But this time, she'd woken up earlier. This time, she knew Emma was stable. This time, she had a different priority.
This time, she needed to go home first. She needed to see what was happening in her own house while she'd been unconscious in a hotel room.
She needed to see the terrible truth that had been unfolding for years but had been too blind to see.
Soon, the Wellington mansion loomed ahead. A beautiful prison that had held her captive for three years, soon to be four in the original timeline. Three years of slowly dying inside while everyone around her smiled and pretended everything was fine.
She pulled into the circular driveway, her hands gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white.
The house was quiet, most of the staff not yet awake at this early hour. Only a few lights were on, including the one in Arlo's study.
Georgia took off her shoes and got out of the car.
The front door opened before she could reach it.
Mrs. Palmer, the head housekeeper who'd been with the Wellington family for over thirty years, stood in the doorway with her usual warm smile.
"Good morning, Mrs. Wellington," she said. "I was worried when you didn't come home last night, but Mr. Wellington said you'd stayed at the hotel because you weren't feeling well after the gala.
He came back very late last night, or rather early this morning. He said he had urgent business matters to attend to and didn't want to be disturbed.
Are you alright, dear? You look pale."
So Arlo had been at the mansion while she'd been at the hotel. While someone else had been in that bed with her. The timeline was becoming clearer, and more damning.
He'd covered for her absence.
"I'm fine, Mrs. Palmer," Georgia managed in a voice steadier than she felt. "Just a bit of a headache. I have an emergency at the orphanage I need to attend to. Can I just change quickly?"
"Of course, dear." Mrs. Palmer's expression shifted to concern. "Let me make you some tea and toast at least. You need something in your stomach, especially after last night."
What did Mrs. Palmer know about last night? Georgia studied the older woman's face, but saw only genuine concern there, nothing suspicious or knowing.
"No need," Georgia said. "I really need to hurry."
"Should I let Mr. Wellington know you're here?" Mrs. Palmer asked.
Georgia's heart stopped. "No, don't disturb him," she said quickly. "I'll just change and head out."
With that, she climbed the stairs to her room, the guest room in the east wing where she'd been relegated since the first month of marriage.
Georgia moved through the house like a ghost, her feet remembering the path even though her mind was screaming at her to turn back, to not see what she knew she was about to see.
She paused before a certain door.
She could hear voices inside.
A woman's laugh, breathy and satisfied.
Georgia's hand trembled as she moved closer.
In her previous life, this moment hadn't happened yet.
She'd gone straight to the orphanage that morning, never knowing what was happening in her own home. She'd discovered their affair months later, in a different way, at a different time.
But death had given her knowledge. Death had shown her the truth about everything, including this.
Georgia continued to her room.
She needed to change, to wash away the evidence of last night, to prepare for what came next.
She stood in front of the mirror and looked at herself.
Her reflection showed a woman in a wrinkled evening gown, her hair disheveled, faint bruises on her shoulders visible above the neckline.
Her hand moved unconsciously to her flat stomach. Right now, at this very moment, new life was beginning inside her.
She had so many questions.
But she also had something she'd never had before: knowledge. Time. A second chance.
And she would use every advantage, exploit every opportunity, manipulate every situation to her benefit.
She had nine months before the trap would close completely, to unravel the conspiracy, find her son's real father, and change her fate.
This time, she would not be the victim.
This time, she would be the storm they never saw coming.
This time, Georgia Wellington would burn their world to ashes and dance in the flames.