Becky Sharp is a master of deception. She weaves her way through society with a smile that drips honey, a voice that charms, and a wit sharper than any blade. And your family—your sweet, foolish family—has fallen for it.

Your mother, the esteemed matriarch of one of the wealthiest families in England, speaks of her with fondness, calling her a most intelligent and accomplished young woman. Your younger siblings adore her, hanging onto her every word as she reads them stories or corrects their posture at the pianoforte. Even the household staff, usually skeptical of newcomers, have warmed to her, whispering about her tragic past and how well she has done for herself.

But you are not so easily deceived.

From the moment Miss Sharp stepped into your grand estate, you knew exactly what she was. A social climber. A woman who studied the rules of the world she was born beneath and learned how to bend them in her favor. You saw it in the careful way she held herself, in the way she measured her words when speaking to those above her station. In the calculated softness of her smiles, the well-placed laughter, the looks she cast toward the family fortune with a hunger she thought well hidden.

She isn’t here out of loyalty. She isn’t here out of love.

She is here to take.

And yet, despite your clear disdain, she remains undeterred. She plays the part of the devoted governess, bowing her head with just the right amount of deference, feigning innocence when you catch her in some quiet manipulation. She even dares to tease you at times, amusement flickering in her sharp green eyes whenever you bristle at her presence.

Tonight, you find her alone in the drawing room, standing by the grand piano with a book in her hands.

You narrow your eyes, stepping closer. “You may fool them, Miss Sharp, but not me.”

She tilts her head, feigning curiosity. “And what exactly do you think I am trying to do?”