"Fuck, right there. Yes, Sophie."

The bed frame squeaks overhead. A rhythmic, mocking sound that vibrates through the thin basement ceiling. Dust motes drift down, settling onto my dirty clothes.

I sit in the corner of the dark room. The damp concrete chills my skin. I have been locked down here for a week. Seven days of stale air and tap water.

"Ah, Ryan, you're fucking amazing," Sophie Hart moans.

Her voice filters down perfectly clear. My husband, Ryan Carter, brought his mistress into my upstairs bedroom. They aren't even trying to hide it. I listen to them rock the bed back and forth, the wood groaning under their weight.

Another sound cuts through the noise of their sex. Electronic gunfire. Explosions.

"Got him! Headshot!" James Carter yells.

My son. He is sitting in the living room, just down the hall from the bedroom where his father is fucking another woman.

"Wow, you're amazing at this, James," Sophie calls out. The squeaking above me pauses.

"I practiced all week," James replies. "Mom never plays games with me. She just yells at me to do my homework."

"Well, your mom is just boring," Sophie laughs. "I'll play with you anytime."

"I wish you were my mom, Sophie," James says. His high-pitched voice carries down the air vent.

I pull my knees to my chest.

"When my real mom gets back from her vacation, can you still come over and play?" James asks.

Vacation. That is the lie they fed him.

"Maybe not, sweetie," Sophie replies. "Your mom doesn't like me very much."

"Then I hope she never

I have no idea when I passed out.

The heavy metal door of the basement stands wide open. A cold draft sweeps down the stairs, chilling the stale sweat on my neck.

A harsh buzzing cuts through the silence. My phone vibrates against the damp concrete floor. Damien Sterling must have finally exhausted his rage. He only returns my connection to the outside world when his temper fades.

I force myself up. My joints grind. Sharp pain flares along my ribs.

"Get up," I whisper to the empty room. "Just get up."

I drag my feet up the wooden stairs. Each step sends a jolt of agony through my bruised shins. I push the basement door shut behind me.

I step into the blinding light of the living room and bump hard into a soft shoulder.

"Watch it," Sophie Hart snaps.

She brushes off her pristine, structured dress. Haute couture. The kind of fabric that screams money without flashing a single logo.

"Oh, I see," Sophie sneers. Her eyes rake over my filthy clothes, lingering on the dust smeared across my cheek. "He played his little games with you again. Poor maid."

"Where is he?" I ask. My voice sounds like cracked glass.

"Out," she replies. "Working. Paying for the roof over your pathetic head."

"This is my house," I say.

"Is it?" Sophie laughs. "Then why do you live in the basement?"

Footsteps slap rapidly against the hardwood.

"James," I say, turning away from her.

I drop to my knees. I spread my arms wide to catch my son.

He runs right past me. He buries his face directly into Sophie’s waist.

"Mom, I need you to cook," James says. He doesn't even look at me. "The nanny's food tastes like dirt."

My arms fall to my sides. He calls me Mom, but he holds her.

"Sophie wants steak," James demands, finally cutting his eyes toward me. "And I need a bowl of borscht. Make it fast."

"James, look at me," I plead. "Do you know how long I was down there?"

"I don't care," he says. "I'm hungry."

He doesn't ask if I am hungry. He doesn't ask why I am covered in basement dust. My chest tightens. A sharp, twisting ache takes root behind my ribs. I am nothing but a machine to them.

"You heard the boy," Sophie says. "Get to the kitchen."

"I am not your servant," I say.

"No, you're just the incubator who birthed him," Sophie replies. "Now go make my steak medium rare."

I swallow hard, refusing to let the tears fall. I turn away and walk into the kitchen.

I stand at the stove. I chop the vegetables. I sear the meat. I pour the steaming red soup into three porcelain bowls. The smell of garlic and beef fills the air, making my empty stomach cramp painfully. Seven days of tap water and stale air have left me hollow.

I carry the heavy tray to the dining table. I set the bowls down one by one.

"Dinner is ready," I announce.

I grab the back of my chair and pull it out. I bend my knees to sit.

The wood scrapes violently against the floor. The chair vanishes.

I hit the ground hard. Pain shoots up my spine.

"I have never seen anyone as stupid as you!" James howls.

He stands behind my stolen chair, pointing down at me. His face turns red with laughter.

"James!" I shout. I rub my bruised tailbone. "Why would you do that?"

"Because it's funny," he replies.

"It's not funny. I could

The sharp sting of rubbing alcohol burns my nostrils. I keep my eyelids firmly shut. The scratchy hospital blanket offers no warmth against the freezing air of the room.

"You have no idea what she did," Sophie Hart cries. Her voice echoes off the sterile hospital walls, thick with forced tears. "She tried to hit James Carter! He was just trying to play, and she snapped. Then she just suddenly collapsed on her own to make me look bad."

A chair scrapes loudly against the linoleum.

"Damien," Sophie whines. Her pitch rises to a grating level. "I think the cancer on the medical report is completely fake. We should really see if she bribed the doctor just to get your sympathy. You know how manipulative she is."

"Whatever," Damien Sterling replies. His tone holds zero warmth. "She forced Madison Blake away from me. I will never sympathize with her in this lifetime. I don't care if she's sick or faking it."

Fabric rustles. He shifts his weight near the foot of the bed.

"She will always beg for my non-existent love," Damien adds. "Let her rot here."

I open my eyes. The harsh fluorescent light blinds me for a fraction of a second.

Cancer.

The word bounces around inside my skull. A genuine smile breaks across my face. My chest loosens for the first time in months. An immense weight lifts off my bruised ribs.

I am finally going to leave this annoying world. No more beatings. No more basements. No more screaming.

"You're awake," Damien notes.

He steps up to the edge of the mattress. His towering frame blocks out the overhead light, casting a long, dark shadow over my legs.

I stare directly at the ceiling tiles. I refuse to look at his face.

"You have cancer," he states. He crosses his arms over his chest. "The doctor just confirmed it. But you better not think about spending my family's money for treatment."

"I don't want a single cent from you," I whisper. My throat feels like dry sandpaper.

"Good," Damien snaps. "Because you aren't getting any. You can call your brother. Let him foot the medical bills."

I turn my head slightly. "Leave my brother out of this."

"Why?" Damien sneers. "If he actually cared about you, he wouldn't have just handed me business resources to stuff you into my house. He paid me to take you off his hands."

"That isn't true," I say.

"It is," Damien insists. "You're a hot potato everywhere you go. Nobody wants you. Not your parents, not your brother, and certainly not me."

"Then leave," I tell him. "Get out of my room."

"Gladly," Damien retorts. "Don't expect me to visit again. If you die, have the hospital burn the body."

He turns on his heel. His heavy footsteps pound against the floorboards. The solid wooden door slams shut behind him, rattling the metal hinges.

Sophie stays behind.

She steps right into the empty space Damien just vacated. The fake tears vanish completely from her face. A nasty smirk twists her red lips.

"It turns out there really is someone this pitiful in the world," Sophie laughs. She rests her manicured hands on the metal bed rail, leaning her weight onto it. "I'm actually starting to pity you."

I remain silent. I watch her gloat.

"Your James Carter hates you," she lists, tapping her index finger against the rail. "He calls me Mom now. He asked me to throw away all your photos."

I swallow hard, refusing to give her a reaction.

"Your Ryan Carter abuses you," she continues, tapping her middle finger. "He locks you in basements and treats you like garbage. He prefers my bed anyway."

"Are you done?" I ask.

"Not even close," Sophie says. She taps her ring finger. "Your brother abandoned you. He sold you off for a corporate merger. And you?"

She leans in, invading my personal space. The cloying scent of her expensive floral perfume makes my stomach churn.

"You don't even have the IQ to fight back," Sophie mocks. "You just sit there and take it. You let us walk all over you."

"You talk too much," I reply.

"I heard your adoptive parents didn't even let you finish high school," she sneers, ignoring my comment. "You are utterly worthless. An uneducated stray dog."

She stands up straight and brushes an invisible speck of dust off her designer dress.

"I don't even want to target you anymore," Sophie declares. "You don't qualify as my opponent. Beating you is boring."

"You're right."

A deep, commanding voice cuts through the quiet hospital room.

Sophie jumps back from the bed. She spins toward the open doorway.

Lucas Carter stands there. His tailored suit jacket hangs perfectly from his broad shoulders. Two massive security guards flank him, their expressions carved from stone.

"Grab her," Lucas orders.

The guards lunge forward in unison. They seize Sophie by her upper arms.

"Hey!" Sophie screams.

They slam her down onto the hard linoleum floor. Her knees hit the ground with a sickening thud.

"Get off me!" she shrieks. She thrashes violently against their iron grip. "Do you know who I am? Let me go!"

Lucas walks into the room. He stops right in front of her kneeling form. He crouches down, bringing his face level with hers.

He raises his right hand. He slaps her hard across the cheek.

A sharp, echoing crack fills the air.

Sophie gasps. Her eyes widen in pure shock. A bright red handprint instantly blooms on her pale skin.

"She indeed won't be your opponent," Lucas says. His tone remains dangerously calm. "No loud screaming in the hospital, idiot."

"You have no right to do this!" Sophie cries out. She struggles again, but the guards press her firmly into the tiles.

"Her brother is a group CEO," Lucas continues. He ignores her pathetic protests entirely. He stands back up, towering over her trembling form. "And the resources for the new project of the man you cling to were given by me."

Sophie stops fighting. The color rapidly drains from her face.

"What?" she whispers.

"If my sister is still around," Lucas explains, gesturing toward my hospital bed, "at least the board of directors won't allow him to marry someone new."

He steps closer to the terrified woman. He nudges her designer shoe with the tip of his polished oxford.

"If my sister leaves," Lucas challenges, "can a substitute really go far in Sophie's position?"

Sophie opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Her lower lip trembles.

"Tell your master," Lucas commands. His eyes narrow into cold, unforgiving slits. "I will make him pay for what he has done."

Lucas turns his attention away from the trash on the floor. He focuses entirely on me. The icy glare melts into something softer.

"Victoria," Lucas says.

"You came," I reply. My voice cracks.

"Of course I came," he says. He pulls a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to me. "I told you I would always come."

"They said you abandoned me," I murmur, clutching the soft fabric.

"They lied," Lucas states. He glares at Sophie. "And they will regret every word."

"What happens now?" I ask.

"Now?" Lucas repeats. He straightens his tie, his gaze shifting to the closed door. "Now, we start tearing their lives apart."