The man who'd gotten in partway through the ride was watching me like a hawk.

I reached for my phone to call the police, but the driver cut me off with a cold laugh.

"Miss Wiley, today is Assistant Harding's birthday. Mr. Morton arranged a lawn party for her at the manor, and you—you're the special gift he's prepared for her."

"Mr. Morton says if you behave yourself and keep Assistant Harding happy, he'll consider throwing you that engagement party after all."

He jerked his chin toward the hulking man beside me.

"Otherwise, we dump you right out the door. This is the highway. You won't even get the call connected before the next car turns you into roadkill."

"So sit tight if you want to live. A charity case surviving on Mr. Morton's scraps, and you actually thought you were the lady of the house?"

Only then did I realize I'd been tricked.

I couldn't figure out what Laurence was playing at.

But no matter what, I wasn't going to gamble with my life. I put my phone away in silence.

The manor had been decorated to perfection—even more lavish than the engagement party had been.

Laurence had one arm around Camille's waist, laughing and clinking glasses with the guests who'd come to celebrate.

Matching jade pendants hung from both their necks.

Anyone who didn't know better would have thought this was their wedding.

When he spotted me, Laurence walked over, his gaze appraising.

"I heard you were trying to get to the airport. Where were you headed?"

My voice was calm. "Home. Is that a problem?"

Something smug flickered in his eyes.

"So you've finally figured it out. Without me, you can't survive in Pearl City. Your only option is crawling back to whatever backwater you came from to dig in the dirt."

"I'm not a heartless man. All you have to do is put this on and play Camille's little pet for the day. Then I'll let yesterday slide, and we'll have the wedding next week."

It was a wooden sign, roughly the size of a laptop screen.

Five words were carved into it in bold, unmistakable letters.

Camille's Dog.

I stared at him in disbelief.

"You want me to be Camille Harding's dog?"

"In your dreams. She could drop dead and still not deserve it!"

Laurence's face turned to ice.

"Today is Camille's birthday, and this is the one gift she wants most. I promised her that whatever she asked for, I'd deliver."

"Besides, you nearly hurt her yesterday. You owe her."

He pulled out a small resin pendant and held it up like a threat.

"You care so much about sentimental value, don't you?"

"If you don't cooperate, I'll burn it. Then you won't even have a memory left."

The pendant itself was worthless. But sealed inside the resin were strands of my mother's hair.

She had died in an explosion. There was nothing left of her—no remains, no ashes.

Those few strands were all I'd managed to gather, one by one, from around the house.

I'd had them set in resin so it would feel like she was still with me.

Laurence made a show of swinging the pendant toward the barbecue pit beside him.

I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached, and forced the words out one by one.

"I'll do it."

The moment I hung the sign around my neck, laughter erupted from every direction. Phones shot up, cameras flashing.

Laurence smiled, satisfied.

"There we go. That's more like it. Remember—whatever Camille tells you to do later, you do it. No hesitation."

"Relax. Keep her happy, and once the party's over, I'll give you back the pendant. And everything I promised? I'll follow through."

I lifted my head, my face completely blank.

"Can I use the restroom?"

Laurence didn't refuse, but he confiscated my phone.

He even posted two bodyguards outside the door, as if I might try to run.

But what he didn't know was that I no longer wanted to leave.

Because that would be letting him off too easy.

I shut the stall door and pressed a button on my watch.

After a crackle of static, a bright, wheedling voice came through from the other end.

"Sis! Didn't you say you were coming back to the Harbor District today?"

"I was worried you'd be tired, so I brought people to pick you up. Pretty thoughtful of your little brother, right? Where are you?"

I took a deep breath, keeping my voice level.

"I've been taken. He betrayed me. He's forcing me to be his mistress's pet."

"The Wiley family code: repay every kindness, avenge every wrong. I shouldn't have to tell you what to do."

A beat of silence.

When Graham Wiley spoke again, every trace of playfulness was gone. His voice was thick with barely restrained fury.

"Send me your location. I'm on my way. That piece of garbage is dead."

Laurence had his men escort me to Camille and spoke in a gentle tone.

"Camille, darling, today Gillian is your personal pet. You can make her do whatever you want."

"Aww, I just knew you were the sweetest to me!" Camille planted a happy kiss on his cheek.

Then her gaze dropped to the wooden sign hanging from my chest, and she burst out laughing.

"No wonder Gillian didn't like the beer-bottle sign from yesterday. Turns out she prefers this kind. A natural-born glutton for punishment."

"But I've never seen a dog stand in front of its owner before. Looks like I'll need to teach you some manners first."

The moment the words left her mouth, Laurence shot a look at his bodyguards.

They kicked the backs of my knees without warning.

The pain buckled my legs and I dropped to the floor with a dull thud. The entire room erupted in laughter.

I tried to stand, but heavy hands clamped down on my shoulders and held me in place.

Camille sauntered over, swaying her hips, and slapped my face twice.

"There we go. A dog should look like a dog."

"Good girl. Are you hungry? Your owner prepared a treat for you."

She had someone bring over the trash can from the dining table. Inside were chicken bones she had just gnawed clean and tossed away.

Along with the vomit of some guest who couldn't hold his liquor and had thrown up after half a glass.

Camille stared at me with a taunting look and leaned close to my ear, whispering.

"You little tramp. Weren't you so full of yourself? Too bad the one who's going to eat garbage now is you."

So this was her revenge for what I'd said yesterday.

I looked at Laurence, my voice calm.

"Is this what you want too?"

A flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes. He was about to speak.

But Camille pouted, looking wounded.

"Mr. Morton, I'm only trying to teach her to behave. So she won't throw jealous tantrums anymore, or threaten you with divorce every time she doesn't get her way after you're married."

"Besides, you're the one who promised to stand up for me. Was that all a lie? Fine then, forget it. I'll give you back the pendant, resign on the spot, and get out of your sight!"

Laurence pulled her into his arms, soothing her, then turned to me with a voice like a command.

"Gillian, don't forget what you just promised me. You don't want the pendant anymore?"

"Camille is doing this for your own good. What successful man doesn't have women on the side? As a wife, you need to learn to be gracious and tolerant. Consider this my test for you."

"Don't make the birthday girl upset. Be a good girl and eat, and I promise I won't hold it against you. After today, you'll be the one and only Mrs. Morton."

My fingers slowly curled into fists. I stared in silence at this man I had once given my whole heart to.

When the Morton ancestors left behind that pair of jade pendants, they had said:

In ordinary times, keep them close for protection. In desperate times, use them as the seed money for a comeback.

But generation after generation, no matter how bitter or hard life became, not a single person had ever sold them.

Laurence's ambitions had always been sky-high. He wanted to build his own empire, but he refused to sell off the family heirlooms to fund it.

I couldn't bear to watch him struggle, and I didn't want to wound his pride.

So I hid my real identity and invested in him in secret.

Every executive who owed me a favor, every connection I had—I funneled them all toward Laurence, quietly feeding him projects and contracts.

Over four years, his company grew bigger and bigger.

But before he'd even truly reached the top, he'd already learned to pamper his mistress and grind his wife into the dirt.

Fine. At least now I knew.

There was no reason to be soft-hearted anymore.

I didn't surrender. Instead, I whipped my head around and sank my teeth into Camille's wrist.

She'd leaned in close to savor my humiliation. She never saw it coming.

Camille screamed, shoving at my head with both hands, trying to wrench herself free.

By the time the bodyguards pried me off, the bite mark on her wrist was deep enough to show bone. She was sobbing, wailing.

"Mr. Morton, she's jealous that you gave me the pendant! She did this on purpose to get back at me!"

"You have to stand up for me, or I swear I won't go on living!"

Laurence was beside himself with rage. He drew back his foot and kicked me hard in the stomach.

I crumpled to the ground, every organ inside me feeling like it had been knocked out of place.

"Gillian, you never learn, do you? Fine. Since you don't appreciate the chance I gave you, Camille will take your place as Mrs. Morton. She's a thousand times more obedient and well-behaved than you ever were!"

"You like biting people? A dog that bites its master doesn't need teeth. Someone get over here and pull out every single one of hers!"

"No anesthesia. Let her remember this pain so she learns to stay in her lane as a mistress and never lays a hand on Camille again!"

A bodyguard fisted my hair and yanked my head back, forcing my face upward. My scalp screamed, then went numb.

Camille's face split into a triumphant grin. She mouthed the words at me: You lose.

Another bodyguard pried my jaw open. Cold steel pliers clamped down on one of my teeth.

Before they could pull, a deafening roar erupted overhead.

Ten helicopters appeared out of nowhere, hovering low, their rotors shaking the air.

Over a hundred bodyguards in black-and-gold uniforms, steel batons holstered at their hips, descended from rope ladders.

They fell into formation behind a man with a striking face and a look that could kill.

Camille stared, slack-jawed, then clapped her hands over her mouth in excitement.

"Mr. Morton! Did you hire a male model troupe to celebrate my birthday? This is incredible!"

I let a slow smile curl across my lips.

I hope you can still smile like that when they're grinding you into the dirt.