I swiped the keycard and pushed open the door to suite 802.

The velvet box in my coat pocket pressed against my ribs—a platinum watch I had flown back from Paris two days early to hand Julian myself.

A woman’s silk slip lay crumpled on the hallway carpet. A man’s dress shirt trailed beside it.

"Harder, Julian."

The voice froze the blood in my veins.

I rounded the corner into the bedroom. Julian stood over the edge of the mattress, his hands gripping my cousin Serena’s bare hips. She threw her head back, her manicured nails digging into his shoulders.

The velvet box slipped from my fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

Julian flinched, pulling back instantly as he grabbed a sheet to wrap around his waist. "Evelyn? You’re in Europe."

"What is this?" The words scraped out of my throat. "Julian, what are you doing?"

Serena didn’t bother covering herself. She sat up lazily, pushing her hair back, and offered me a slow smirk. "Isn't it obvious, darling? He’s fucking me."

"Shut up!" I stepped toward the bed, my hands shaking.

"You shouldn't have come back," Julian said, his eyes flat, completely devoid of the warmth he’d shown me for three years.

"Get out," I whispered, pointing a finger at Serena. "Get the hell out of my hotel before I call security!"

Serena stood up, walked right past Julian, and stopped inches from my face. Before I could flinch, her palm cracked hard across my left cheek.

The force whipped my head to the side. The sting flared red and hot.

"Do you think you can order around?" Serena’s voice was venomous.

"You hit me?" I gasped, touching my burning face. "Have you lost your mind?"

"You're the one who lost, Evelyn," Serena sneered. "Oh, sorry honey. I forgot you hadn't realized while you were shopping in Milan, your precious father collapsed. Richard had a massive stroke. He's comatose. Brain dead, for all practical purposes."

My chest seized. "Dad...?"

"He can't run the company anymore," Serena continued, leaning in until her breath brushed my ear. "My father, Victor, convened an emergency board meeting this morning. The board stripped your father of his voting rights and handed executive control to my branch of the family. I control the conglomerate now."

"That's impossible—" I stammered, stepping backward. "The trust—the shares are mine—"

"The trust required his active signature to transfer authority upon majority, which he never executed," Julian interrupted smoothly, buttoning his trousers. "Your uncle owns the board now, Evelyn. Serena holds the keys to the kingdom. Did you really think I was going to marry a penniless nobody?"

"You swore you loved me!" I shouted at him.

Julian fastened his watch, not even bothering to look at me. "I loved the future head of the family. That’s Serena now. Be realistic."

"You disgust me," I spat. "Both of you."

"Run along to the hospital, little girl," Serena laughed, tossing my luggage toward the threshold. "Go hold his hand before the machines turn off."

***

I drove through red lights, the steering wheel slick beneath my sweating palms.

When I burst into the intensive care unit on the fourth floor, the sterile stench of antiseptic hit me like a wall. My father lay motionless beneath a tangled web of plastic tubing, a ventilator hissing rhythmically beside his gray, hollow face.

"Dad?" I reached for his cold hand. "Dad, wake up. Please."

"Miss Thornton."

I turned. Dr. Albright stood in the doorway, a clipboard tucked under his arm. He wasn't meeting my eyes. For five years, he had treated my family like royalty. Now, his expression was completely detached.

"Doctor, what happened? Why wasn't I contacted immediately?"

"Your uncle, Victor Thornton, instructed us to manage the family notifications," Albright said mechanically. "Furthermore, Victor Thornton has formally requested a suspension of non-essential life support protocols."

"What?!" My voice cracked. "He can't do that!"

"The Thornton Group's private insurance policy has been revoked for this patient, and personal accounts under Richard Thornton have been frozen by board resolution," a cold voice sounded from behind the glass partition.

Uncle Victor strode into the room, impeccably tailored, a thick gold signet ring on his pinky. Behind him walked Serena, clutching Julian’s arm.

"Uncle Victor," I pleaded, rushing over to him. "He's your brother! You can't cut off his medical care!"

"The company cannot waste millions carrying dead weight, Evelyn," Victor said without an ounce of warmth. "Richard ran this firm into the ground with his weak sentimentalism. His treatment costs two hundred thousand dollars a week. We aren't paying it."

"I'll pay it!" I cried. "Release my trust fund!"

"You don't have a trust fund anymore," Victor replied calmly. "Every asset tied to your father's name is frozen until the succession audit is complete."

Serena stepped up beside Julian, lifting her left hand to inspect her fresh French manicure. A massive four-carat emerald-cut diamond blazed on her ring finger.

"Look familiar, Evelyn?" Serena purred. "Julian slipped it on my finger twenty minutes ago in the car. It looks so much better on me than it ever would have on you."

Julian offered a thin, unapologetic smirk. "It belongs to the real heiress."

Nausea clawed up my throat. I looked at the monitors, watching the faint, erratic line of my father's heartbeat. He was going to die. They were going to kill him right in front of me just to scrub his name from the ledger.

My pride, my dignity—none of it mattered. Nothing mattered except the sound of that ventilator.

My knees hit the floor.

I looked up at Victor, tears burning behind my eyelids. "Please. Uncle Victor, please. I'm begging you. Don't pull the plug. I'll sign over my personal shares. I'll leave the country. Just pay the hospital."

Victor looked down at me as if I were a stain on his shoe. He didn't move an inch.

Serena stepped forward instead.

*Crack.*

Her hand struck my right cheek, snapping my head back. Pain flared through my jaw.

"Get off your knees, you pathetic bitch," Serena snarled, leaning down, her eyes glittering with cruel delight. "Did you really think you were still that untouchable little princess? You're nothing. You've always been nothing without Richard's money, and now he's a vegetable."

Julian chuckled softly beside her. "Don't embarrass yourself any further, Evelyn. It's pathetic."

Victor checked his watch. "Dr. Albright, disconnect the dialysis at six o'clock."

"Understood, Mr. Thornton," the doctor murmured.

"I have been merciful enough to give you enough time to say goodbye to your father," Victor gave me a cold stare.

They turned and walked out, footsteps fading down the polished corridor.

***

Two hours. I had less than two hours before they killed my father.

I called three family attorneys; none took my call. I called my father's oldest associates; every single one sent me straight to voicemail. The board had sealed the gates.

There was only one person in this city with enough capital, enough influence, and enough sheer ruthlessness to crush Victor Thornton overnight.

Adrian Blackwood.

He was my father's fiercest business rival, and my personal enemy since childhood. He had spent the last decade tearing chunks out of our market share. He despised my family. But he had money.

Thirty minutes later, I stood in the penthouse lobby of Blackwood Tower.

The security guards tried to push me back, but the frosted glass doors of the executive suite opened. Adrian stepped out, flanked by two assistants.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, draped in a charcoal bespoke suit. His dark eyes swept over me—taking in my swollen red cheeks, my disheveled hair, my wrinkled coat.

A faint, mocking smile touched the corner of his lips. "Well, well. The Thornton princess looks like she crawled out of a dumpster."

"Adrian," I choked out, pushing past the security guard. "I need to talk to you. Privately."

He raised an eyebrow, waving his assistants away. He didn't invite me into his office; he simply stood in the doorway, looking down at me with cold amusement.

"Speak," he ordered. "You have sixty seconds."

"My father is dying. Victor froze the accounts and took over the company. The hospital is cutting his life support at six." The words tumbled out of me, jagged and frantic. "I need two million dollars for his treatment and legal retainers. I will repay you. I'll give you inside access to the Thornton supply chains once I contest the takeover. Anything."

Adrian let out a low, quiet chuckle. It wasn't warm; it was sharp as glass.

"Inside access? Evelyn, your uncle offered me those supply chains an hour ago in exchange for my non-interference." He tilted his head, his gaze raking over my trembling frame. "Your father's company is already carcass meat. Why would I pay two million dollars for scraps I can take for free?"

Despair crushed my chest. "Then you're just going to let him die?"

"His life has no value to me," Adrian said softly. Then he took a step forward, closing the distance until the scent of cedar and expensive tobacco wrapped around me. His fingers reached out, his thumb brushing against the bruise on my cheek. "However... you might."

I recoiled from his touch. "What?"

"I'll pay for the finest private hospital in the state," Adrian said, his tone casual, as if negotiating a property lease. "I'll hire the best neurologists on the continent. I'll fund his care indefinitely."

"In exchange for you," He continued, dark eyes locking onto mine with absolute authority. "From today on, you belong to me. You move into my penthouse. You warm my bed. You become my mistress."

The air vanished from my lungs.

A laugh tore from my throat—wild, shocked, furious. "You sick bastard. You're trying to turn me into a whore while my father is on his deathbed?"

"Take it or leave it," Adrian replied evenly, checking the time on his platinum cuff. "I don't think you have much time."

"Go to hell!" I spat, tears of rage finally spilling down my cheeks. "My family's allies will help me. The courts will intervene. I don't need your sick games, Adrian. I'd rather starve than crawl into your bed!"

I spun around and marched toward the elevators, my chin held high, clinging to the shredded remnants of my pride. Someone would answer my calls. The family wouldn't abandon me entirely. They couldn't.

I hit the lobby and stumbled out into the cold evening air, pulling out my phone to dial our family's oldest trustee.

Before I could press call, my screen lit up with an incoming line.

*St. Jude's Intensive Care Unit.*

Panic seized my throat. I answered instantly. "Hello? Please, don't disconnect him yet—"

"Miss Thornton?" a brisk, professional voice interrupted. "I'm calling from the patient transport logistics desk."

"Transport? What are you talking about?"

"Your father's account balance has been settled in full," the administrator said smoothly. "All medical liens have been cleared, and he is currently being airlifted to the Hope Pavilion Private Medical Center via private transport."

My breath locked in my chest. My legs nearly gave out on the pavement. "Settled? By who? Who paid the fees?"

"The wire transfer arrived three minutes ago," the woman replied, typing on her keyboard. "Account holder: Adrian Blackwood."

Before the hospital's call about the wire transfer could even settle in my mind, the line crackled and dropped. I stood on the pavement, trembling, unable to process Adrian's name attached to my father's life.

It had to be an error. A cruel maneuver.

I couldn't trust Adrian. Desperation drove me across town to the gated suburb where my aunt Clara lived. If anyone in the family possessed an ounce of decency, it had to be Richard’s younger sister.

I pounded on her carved mahogany front door until Clara opened it.

"Evelyn?" She smoothed the lapels of her cashmere cardigan, taking in my disheveled coat and bruised face. "Good heavens. What are you doing here?"

"Aunt Clara, Victor froze Dad’s funds," I rushed out, stepping past her into the grand foyer. "The hospital threatened to end his care. I need a loan. Five hundred thousand. Just enough to place him in a stable facility until I can get a corporate lawyer."

Clara gave a small, mocking titter. She closed the heavy door and turned to face me, folding her arms. "A loan? With what collateral, child? Victor runs the board now. Your father’s position is finished."

"He is your brother!" My voice cracked. "How can all of you stand by and watch him die?"

"I have a solution, actually," Clara said, leaning her head to the side. "One that gives you money, a home, and keeps Richard in a clinic."

Hope spiked in my chest. "What is it?"

"My husband’s younger brother, Gregory. You remember him."

The air went cold in my throat. "Gregory? The one who lives secluded in the country?"

"He needs a devoted wife," Clara remarked without pity.

"a devoted wife to tend to his daily needs, bathe him, spoon-feed him, and endure his outbursts." A wave of sickness hit my gut. "You want me to become a full-time servant?"

"I want you to marry him," Clara corrected sharply. "His family trust will grant you a substantial dowry on the wedding day. You can use every cent of it to keep Richard breathing. You solve our domestic problem, and we solve your financial one."

"Cut the crap. You think I don't know what you're really saying? Gregory suffered an equestrian injury three years ago, and he’s bound to a wheelchair. His temper is sour, and the nurses quit every second month. You want me to sell myself off as an unpaid nurse to a bitter invalid?" My hands clenched into fists. "Are you insane?"

"Beggars cannot be choosers, Evelyn," Clara snapped, her eyes narrowing. "You were arrogant for twenty-three years. Now you're worthless. Either take Gregory, or watch your father rot in the morgue."

"Go choke on your dowry, Aunt Clara," I whispered.

I turned on my heel and walked out the door, slamming it behind me so hard the stained glass rattled.

My phone chimed the second my feet hit the driveway. An urgent alert from Hope Pavilion Private Medical Center: *Patient Richard Thornton successfully admitted to Neuro-ICU. Room 1204.*

I hailed a cab and sped across the city.

Hope Pavilion was a fortress of limestone and polished chrome, catering exclusively to dignitaries and titans of industry. When the elevator doors opened onto the twelfth floor, the quiet hum of world-class medical equipment filled the corridor.

And standing right outside room 1204, resting one broad shoulder against the tinted window, was Adrian.

He hadn't removed his charcoal coat. He was watching the doctors inside adjust my father's monitors, his expression completely blank.

"Adrian," I said, catching my breath as I stopped two paces away.

He didn't turn his head right away. "Your aunt showed you the door, I take it?"

"You had someone follow me?"

Adrian finally fixed his dark eyes on me. "I don't need to follow you to know your family is a nest of vipers. You went begging, and they tried to strip whatever skin you had left."

"Why did you move him here?" I demanded, gesturing toward the room. "Why pay the bills?"

"Don't mistake this for charity," Adrian said, his tone dry and hard. "I wanted you to understand reality. Your father's life doesn't belong to the doctors, Evelyn. It belongs to me. If I stop funding this room, he dies within twenty-four hours."

He reached into his inner pocket, pulled out a folded leather folio, and held it out.

"What is this?" I asked, hesitating.

"Your terms."

I snatched the folio, opening it. A dense, typed agreement met my eyes.

"Clause one: Evelyn Thornton relocates immediately to the Blackwood estate," I read out loud, my voice trembling. "Clause two: Evelyn Thornton must act as Adrian Blackwood’s exclusive personal companion and public partner at all social, corporate, and family functions."

"Turn the page," Adrian commanded softly.

"Clause three: Complete prohibition of contact with Julian or any other male suitors," I continued, anger heating my blood. "Clause four... Clause five..."

My speech died in my throat.

Clause five spelled out private living arrangements with humiliating clarity—sharing his living quarters, maintaining physical access, rendering absolute obedience behind closed doors whenever requested.

Blood rushed into my ears, turning my cheeks crimson.

"You bastard," I hissed, looking up from the paper. "This is disgusting. You're forcing me into being your mistress!"

"Clause six states that upon full execution of the term, I guarantee the long-term maintenance of your father’s medical trust, and I will deploy my legal team to recover thirty percent of your father's personal equity from Victor," Adrian said calmly.

"You expect me to sign away my dignity for this?"

Adrian checked his watch, the same mocking half-smile touching his mouth. "You can keep your dignity, Evelyn. Provided your father has enough time left to wait for it."

Through the glass, the heart monitor beeped in a fragile, steady rhythm. My father looked so small beneath the white sheets. Without the expensive neuro-stimulators and imported blood filters Adrian had just bought, he wouldn't last through the night.

Tears of fury welled in my eyes. My hands shook so violently that the papers rustled.

"Give me a pen," I choked out.

Adrian drew a sleek silver fountain pen from his breast pocket and passed it over.

I pressed the nib to the bottom line and scribbled my signature, pressing down so hard the paper nearly tore. I shoved the folder back against his chest.

"There," I spat. "You bought yourself a Thornton. Are you satisfied now?"

"Not yet," Adrian murmured, tucking the contract away. "Though seeing you finally bend your knees is a pleasant start."

"You love this, don't you?" I snapped, stepping directly into his personal space, my anger overflowing. "Tearing me down. Taking revenge for things that happened before!"

Adrian’s jaw set. The amused glint in his eyes vanished, replaced by an icy shadow.

"You think this is about childhood pranks?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave. "Who swapped my keynote speech right before the statewide youth summit, Evelyn? Who let the whole auditorium laugh while I stood on stage holding a stack of blank sheets?"

"You had embarrassed me the day before in front of the entire tennis club!" I fired back.

"And what about the winter gala?" Adrian leaned down, his eyes boring into mine. "You locked me inside the botanical glasshouse in freezing weather. I missed the entire assembly. My grandfather signed the family succession over to my uncle that night because he thought I had failed to show up."

"I was sixteen, Adrian! I didn't know your family was holding a succession vote!" A bitter laugh escaped my throat. "And don't pretend you were innocent. You spent years treating me like dirt! You never once looked at me like a friend!"

"You're right," Adrian whispered, his face inches from mine, his dark eyes impenetrable. "I never viewed you as a friend. Not then. And certainly not now."

He pulled back, his mask of cold composure snapping instantly back into place.

"Your luggage is being collected from the hotel," he said, turning toward the elevator bank. "A car is waiting downstairs. Go to the estate."

"Adrian—"

"I don't repeat myself, Evelyn. You signed."

He walked away without looking back, leaving me alone in the sterile corridor.

I stared through the glass at my sleeping father for two long minutes, pressing my palm against the cool partition, before turning toward the exit.

When I reached the lobby of Hope Pavilion, two towering men in identical dark suits stepped into my path, nodding respectfully.

"Miss Thornton? Mr. Blackwood instructed us to escort you safely to the grounds."

They didn't give me a chance to argue, ushering me toward a black town car idling at the curb.

An hour later, the vehicle passed through the iron gates of Blackwood Manor. The estate loomed against the dusk sky, all dark granite and towering stone arches.

A butler waited on the front steps alongside three maids. When I dragged my suitcase out of the trunk myself, none of them moved to assist me.

"Welcome, Miss Thornton," the butler said, his voice polite, yet stripped of the deference granted to a true lady of the house. "Mr. Blackwood left instructions. Your suite has been prepared on the east wing. Dinner will be served in your room."

Their eyes swept over my rumpled clothes, cold and knowing. To every servant standing in this courtyard, I wasn't an heiress.

I was merely the master’s latest purchase.

"Step back from the terrace doors, Miss Reed."

The maid didn't even look up while setting a silver tray on the desk.

"My name is Evelyn Thornton," I said, gripping the brass handle. "And I want fresh air."

"Mr. Blackwood gave strict instructions," she replied, smoothing her apron. "The terrace remains locked. And he told us to address you by your mother's maiden name."

A red light blinked from the smoke detector above the bed. Another glinted inside the molding above the wardrobe.

"Don't bother wandering. Mr. Blackwood expects you to remain in these quarters until summoned," the maid added, turning to face me.

"Tell him I am not his prisoner."

"You signed the contract, Miss Reed. That makes you his responsibility."

She walked out, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind her.

The suite was vast, furnished in cream velvet and dark walnut, yet the air felt as thin as an interrogation room. Not a single object belonged to me. The clothes in the walk-in closet still had designer tags attached, but fit surprisingly well, as if they were made to my exact measurements.

By midnight, the silence inside the estate had grown suffocating.

The latch clicked.

Adrian stepped inside, shedding his suit jacket and tossing it onto an armchair. He loosened his silk tie, his dark eyes fixing directly on mine.

"Still awake?" he asked, shutting the door behind him.

"Get out of my room, Adrian."

"My house," he corrected, crossing the rug toward the foot of the bed. "My suite. And according to clause five, my bed."

Blood rushed into my face. "I am not sleeping with you."

"Did you read the document before you ruined my fountain pen?" He stopped two paces away, towering over me. "Physical availability. Unconditional residence. You agreed to every word."

"I signed to save my father's life," I snapped, folding my arms tightly against my chest. "Don't act like this is anything other than extortion."

Adrian smiled, a cold, sharp twitch of his lips. "Extortion requires leverage I didn't create. Victor put your father on the chopping block. Julian threw you to the wolves. I merely gave you a price tag."

"You want me to thank you?" My voice rose. "You want me to crawl across the floor and tell you how generous you are?"

"I want you to stop pretending you have a choice," he murmured, taking another step forward. "Yesterday, you were the untouchable Thornton heiress, spitting on anyone who couldn't match your bloodline. Tonight, you're living on my credit cards."

"I don't need your charity! Once the court hears my petition—"

"The court won't hear your petition for six months," Adrian cut in, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Without my money, Richard is ashes by Sunday. Say it."

"No."

"Say it, Evelyn. Tell me you need me."

"Go to hell."

Adrian moved before I could retreat. His hand gripped my wrist, tugging me forward until my chest met the crisp linen of his shirt. The scent of cedar and cold autumn rain hit me, intoxicating and sharp.

"You always were stubborn," he said, his thumb pressing into the pulse point at my inner wrist. "Even when you were drowning."

"Let go of me," I choked out, trying to yank my arm back.

He didn't release me. Instead, his other hand rose, his fingers brushing against the side of my neck, tilting my head back until our eyes locked.

"Look at you," he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips before rising back to my eyes. "Your pulse is hammering. Are you angry, Evelyn? Terrified? Or excited?"

"I despise you."

"That's not what your body is saying."

His face lowered. His breath brushed across my cheek, warm and dangerous. My skin flared with heat at the contact, a traitorous shiver racing down my spine. The sudden surge of desire terrified me more than his threats ever could.

My knuckles pressed hard against his chest. "Stop. Don't continue."

Adrian halted, his lips hovering an inch above mine.

For three endless seconds, neither of us moved. His eyes searched mine, fierce and demanding, waiting for me to yield.

I held my ground, refusing to close my eyes, refusing to surrender.

Adrian let out a quiet exhale and stepped back, releasing my wrist.

"Goodnight, Miss Reed," he said, snatching his jacket off the chair.

The door shut behind him with a decisive thud.

The moment the lock clicked, my knees gave out. I sank onto the edge of the mattress, my hands shaking violently.

Shame burned through my veins like poison. How could my skin burn for his touch when I hated every breath he took? How could my body react to the man holding my father hostage?

I buried my face in my hands, weeping silently in the dark.

***

The morning brought an invasion of couriers.

By ten o'clock, six rolling garment racks filled the salon adjoining my bedroom, laden with haute couture dresses in silk, velvet, and lace. Velvet boxes crowded the vanity table—sapphire earrings, emerald pendants, platinum bracelets.

On the dressing table sat a crystal flacon of vintage white gardenia perfume.

My breath caught in my throat. It was the exact fragrance my mother wore before she passed away ten years ago—a custom blend discontinued before I turned fourteen.

Downstairs, the heavy thud of movers echoed through the foyer.

I walked out to the landing and stared over the railing. Four men in overalls were rolling a gloss-black 1920s Pleyel grand piano into the east parlor.

"Careful with the pedals," the butler instructed from the doorway. "Mr. Blackwood spent three months locating that specific instrument in Vienna."

I had mentioned that exact piano once, during an interview for a society magazine when I was seventeen. A childhood dream my father never bothered to fulfill.

Adrian hadn't bought random luxuries. He had researched every private memory, every buried desire, every wound in my past.

These weren't romantic gestures. They were chains coated in gold. He was outfitting his pet bird with the finest feathers to remind me who owned the cage.

"What is this trash doing in my brother's house?!"

A shrill voice cut through the quiet parlor.

A young woman strode through the double doors, dressed in an emerald designer pantsuit, her blonde hair pulled tight into a high ponytail. Sophie Blackwood.

Her glare locked onto me the moment I stepped off the bottom stair.

"You," Sophie snarled, rushing across the marble floor. "What are you doing here?"

"Sophie," I began evenly, stopping on the final step. "I didn't invite myself."

"Shut your mouth!" Sophie shouted, her face twisting with rage. "You ruined Adrian's life at the winter gala! He froze in that glasshouse for hours because of your sick prank! Grandfather disinherited him for two years while the family called him an incompetent drunk!"

"I didn't know about the succession vote—"

"You ruined our branch of the family!" Sophie took another step, snatching a glass of red wine from the table. "And now you crawl back here because your daddy is broke? You little parasite!"

Before I could dodge, Sophie threw the contents of the glass straight into my face.

The cold liquid splashed over my cheeks, staining the ivory silk dress I wore, soaking through the fabric in dark, bloody streaks.

"Look at you," Sophie laughed mockingly, gesturing to the guards standing near the archway. "Adrian only keeps you here to show the city how low the Thorntons have fallen. You're nothing but a paid whore!"

"Step away from me, Sophie," I said, wiping the wine from my eyes, my voice deadly quiet.

"Or what? You'll call your father?" Sophie smirked, turning to the two estate guards. "Search her. Strip that dress off her right now. She probably stole jewelry from the master suite."

"Miss Sophie," the butler warned softly. "Mr. Blackwood gave orders—"

"I am a Blackwood," Sophie snapped. "I want this squatter inspected! Strip her!"

The two guards hesitated for a second, then advanced.

"Don't touch me!" I screamed, slapping a guard's hand away.

Another guard grabbed my shoulder, pinning me against the wall while Sophie yanked the silk fabric hard. The delicate seams ripped apart with a violent tear, exposing my bare shoulder and the lace of my undergarments.

They shoved me backward through the double doors, forcing me out onto the cold stone terrace corridor.

"Get out of this house," Sophie spat, tossing the torn shreds of my dress onto the floor. "Go beg on the street where you belong!"

I stood on the cold stone, clutching the remnants of a torn dress shirt over my chest, my skin stinging from the wine and rough hands. Tears of pure humiliation burned in my eyes.

I couldn't stay here. I would rather sleep on the pavement than let this family strip away whatever soul I had left.

I turned toward the wrought-iron driveway, ready to run barefoot into the autumn mist.

A sharp screech of tires echoed across the courtyard.

A black Maybach drifted around the circular drive, spraying gravel as it braked hard against the front steps.

The driver's door flew open, and Adrian stepped out, his face like thunder.