The headlights were blinding. A knot of pure terror tightened in Eliana's stomach. She stumbled back, her spine hitting the cold iron bars of the gate.

She couldn't see the man's face clearly, but the oppressive aura of power rolling off him in waves was suffocating. It made the air thick and hard to breathe.

Her mind raced. A man like this, in a car like this, at this hour. He wasn't just a guest.

Was he one of them? A Holloway?

In the abyss of her despair, a single, desperate idea took root. She lurched forward, her voice trembling. "Sir, please, you have to help me. Take me away from here. I'm being held captive!"

The man in the car didn't move. The smoke from his cigarette curled lazily into the night air. His gaze was fixed on her, unblinking and unnervingly steady, as if he were dissecting her every move.

In the driver's seat, Arthur Hayes glanced at his boss in the rearview mirror and remained perfectly still, a statue of professional silence. His silence was its own statement, underscoring the absolute authority of the man in the back.

Seeing no reaction, Eliana's panic grew. She pointed a shaking finger back at the looming mansion. "Please, they're trying to sell me! I'll pay you back, whatever it costs, I promise!"

Branson finally spoke. His voice was a low, magnetic rumble, laced with ice. "Sell you? It sounds like you're worth a great deal tonight."

The mockery in his tone hit her like a physical blow. Her body went rigid. It was no use. He wouldn't help.

But beneath his cold expression, Branson had already recognized the Stevenson manor behind her. A family dispute, a desperate escape, and a woman appearing at midnight in front of his car. He had no reason to believe her words without knowing the truth.

Just then, lights began to flare on inside the manor. Shouts echoed through the night, followed by Melinda's shriek. "Eliana! She's gone!"

Eliana's face went white. She glanced over her shoulder. It was over.

She watched in horror as the Bentley's rear window began to rise, a sheet of dark glass sealing off her last sliver of hope.

Melinda, flanked by two burly security guards, stormed toward her. She grabbed Eliana's arm, her fingers digging in with enough force to bruise. "You little bitch," she hissed, her eyes darting nervously at the idling luxury car. "Are you trying to ruin this family?"

Eliana was dragged back toward the villa, her suitcase thrown to the ground behind her.

As the guards hauled her into the brightly lit foyer, a desperate plan formed in her mind. Her body suddenly went limp. Her eyes glazed over, becoming unfocused and lost.

"So dark..." she mumbled, her voice faint. "I want to go home... Grandma..."

Melinda froze. The guards paused, their grips loosening.

Like a puppet with its strings cut, Eliana began to wander aimlessly through the foyer, her movements slow and clumsy, as if she were searching for something that wasn't there.

Annabell ran down the stairs in a silk nightgown, her face a mask of contempt. "What is she doing? Faking a breakdown?"

Lawrence, her stepfather, approached cautiously, his brow furrowed with pretend concern. "Eliana?"

She gave no sign of hearing him. She just kept walking, her gaze empty.

The old butler, who had seen decades of family drama, spoke up. "Sir, Madam... it looks as though she's sleepwalking."

Doubt flickered in Melinda's eyes. She grabbed Eliana's right hand and shook it lightly.

"Hey, Eliana. Wake up."

Eliana pretended to be startled awake. She blinked in confusion, looking around.

"How... how did I get here?"

"You were sleepwalking," Melinda said coldly.

"Take her back to her room," Melinda ordered the guards, waving a hand impatiently.

The moment the bedroom door locked behind her, Eliana's disguise fell apart. She collapsed against it, her back drenched in cold sweat.

Minutes later, Melinda entered. Her smile was a grotesque parody of warmth. In her hand, she held a tablet.

She held the screen up to Eliana's face. It showed a real-time video feed. An elderly woman with white hair lay in a private medical facility bed, a web of tubes and wires connecting her to beeping machines.

Grandma.

Melinda's voice was soft, but every word was a dagger. "Your grandmother is receiving treatment at one of New York's finest private medical facilities. The daily cost is enormous. As long as you're a good girl, she'll receive the best care. If not..."

Eliana stared at the screen, her nails digging so deep into her palms that she felt the skin break.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked, her voice a dead, hollow thing.

Melinda's smile widened, triumphant. "Simple. You will take Annabell's place. You will marry into the Holloway family."

The next morning, Annabell lounged in her opulent bedroom, popping a strawberry into her mouth.

"See, Mom? I told you that country girl wouldn't dare disobey," she said, her voice gloating. "Her grandmother is her weak spot."

Melinda sat on the chaise lounge, stirring her coffee with practiced elegance. Her eyes were cold. "Don't celebrate too soon. If she was actually trying to escape last night, then we have a problem. "

Annabell leaned in, her curiosity piqued. "So what's the plan?"

Melinda set down her cup and retrieved a slim black card from her Hermès bag. "Julian Holloway, the third son, is hosting a party in his suite at The Plaza Hotel tonight. We just need to get Eliana into his bed. Once the deal is sealed, she can't cause any more trouble."

Annabell's eyes lit up as she looked at the key card. "That's a brilliant idea!"

That afternoon, under the pretext of "choosing an engagement gown," Melinda drove Eliana to Bergdorf Goodman on Fifth Avenue.

Eliana was a silent doll, letting them move and dress her, but her mind was a whirlwind, desperately searching for a way out. This wasn't just about a dress. She knew that.

Annabell, with false sincerity, selected an expensive but garishly revealing red slip dress and forced Eliana to try it on.

In the mirror, Eliana saw a beautiful, fragile girl who looked like a lamb being led to slaughter. A cold glint flashed in her eyes.

Later, at the department store's café, Annabell excused herself to go to the restroom. When she returned, she casually slid an envelope across the table toward Eliana.

Inside was the black key card. Room 3608.

Annabell leaned close, her voice a venomous whisper only Eliana could hear. "This is your chance to change your fate, Eliana. Mr. Julian Holloway is waiting for you. Please him, and your grandmother gets to live."

Eliana's fists clenched under the table, her nails breaking against her skin. But when she looked up, her face was a mask of timid obedience. "I... I understand."

Annabell's smile was triumphant, her open contempt a fresh wound.

They didn't take her to the hotel themselves. They put her in a black car and watched from across the street as she walked through the gilded entrance of The Plaza, only driving away when she was out of sight.

Eliana stood in the magnificent lobby, the key card feeling like a block of ice in her hand.

She knew what was waiting for her in room 3608. A humiliation worse than death.

She couldn't do it. She absolutely could not.

She turned to run, but two men in dark suits immediately fell into step behind her, their presence a silent, suffocating threat. Melinda's watchdogs.

There was no retreat. She walked to the elevators.

The polished brass doors reflected her pale, desperate face. As the numbers climbed, her brain worked faster than it ever had before.

36... 3608...

A wild, insane idea sparked in the darkness of her mind.

The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open on the 36th floor.

Eliana stepped out and, instead of turning right toward 3608, walked with resolute steps toward the left, down the corridor to the very end.

The last door on the left was for the hotel's most exclusive suite. The Presidential Suite. Room 3601.

She had no idea who was inside. But she was willing to bet that whoever it was, they were a better gamble than the "old and ugly" Julian. At the very least, she might create enough chaos to escape.

She took a deep breath, smoothed down her dress, and forced a stiff, practiced smile onto her face.

She raised her hand and pressed the doorbell for 3601.