A beat-up pickup rattled down a potholed dirt road. Every bump sent the back of my head cracking against the window frame.

My biological father was in the passenger seat, counting a stack of bills he'd shaken out of a crumpled envelope. Slow and methodical. Thirty thousand dollars.

I was tied up in the back seat, blood from my wrists dripping onto the seat cover. I didn't flinch. I just stared at the back of those two heads.

My biological mother must have felt it, because she spun around. The second her eyes met mine, guilt flickered across her face, gone in an instant and replaced by aggression. She reached across and slapped me, the crack of it filling the car.

"What are you looking at?! When you get to Crawford's place, I'm locking you up first to keep you from making trouble for yourself."

I had a rag in my mouth and couldn't answer. My face burned, but it was nothing next to my wrists.

Back at the Connolly estate.

Isabella was stepping into my walk-in closet, flipping through rows of couture gowns until she pulled out the French limited-edition piece worth a hundred and twenty thousand dollars. She put it on. It hung loose at the waist, but she didn't care. She reached into the jewelry cabinet, lifted out the Swarovski limited-edition tiara, and set it crooked on her head.

She stood in front of the floor-length mirror and spun three times, laughing. "Mom! Come look, don't I look ten times better than her in this?"

Margaret stood in the doorway, eyes glistening, smiling in a way I'd never once seen her smile at me. "You look stunning, baby. You always do."

She'd already instructed the house manager to book out the most exclusive private yacht in Miami. Tonight: a gala to celebrate the return of the true Connolly heiress.

Corey had stayed, too. "Isabella, once I consolidate the Harrison assets, I'm going to throw you the biggest wedding New York has ever seen."

Margaret swirled a glass of champagne. "She's probably already been dragged out to the middle of nowhere by now. Imagine her on her knees in the mud, crying her eyes out." She laughed. "Serves her right."

"Absolutely." Isabella's laughter rose. "She took what was mine for twenty years."

Corey joined in. They were all heading toward the door, ready to board the yacht, when Margaret's phone rang.

Raymond Connolly.

Margaret raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. She smoothed her hair, cleared her throat, and hit the speakerphone button with a self-satisfied flourish.

"Raymond, you must be exhausted from the trip. I was just about to call you—"

She was gearing up to list every crime I'd supposedly committed against Isabella. She didn't get through the first word.

A voice exploded through the speaker. "Margaret. What the hell did you do to my daughter?!"

The background was a wall of blaring alarms and a chorus of panicked voices.

Margaret went still. "Raymond? What are you—"

"Don't you dare say my name. Where is Ivy?!"

Isabella shrank behind Margaret, who opened and closed her mouth with nothing coming out.

Dad's voice dropped from fury to something raw and hoarse. "The Connolly Group's liquidity chain collapsed ten minutes ago. Every core business unit has filed for bankruptcy. What in God's name did you people do to my daughter?!"

The champagne glass slipped from Isabella's fingers and hit the floor. The color drained from all three faces at exactly the same moment.