Ignoring the stares and murmurs around her, Daphne wrenched herself free from the waiter’s grip and stumbled forward, dropping to her knees in front of Logan.

Once filled with boisterous laughter and chatter, the room went eerily silent. All eyes were on her now.

“Please,” she begged, her voice cracking with desperation. “Save my father!”

Logan leaned back on the plush sofa, his expression icy and detached. He looked down at her as if she were a stranger begging on the street.

“Why beg me?” he said coldly. “Go ask Kyle.”

Daphne’s chest tightened at the mention of Kyle. She knew Logan was fully aware that the only family with access to the rare, life-saving medication her father needed was the Carmichaels. He just wanted to see her squirm.

Her voice trembled as she pushed forward, her pride long forgotten. “Help me this once, and I’ll do anything you want.”

Logan’s lips curled into a smirk, a cruel glint flickering in his eyes.

“Anything?” he asked, his voice laced with mockery. “Then strip. Right here. In front of everyone.”

Gasps and low chuckles rippled through the room. Some men whistled while the women exchanged smug, satisfied smiles. This was entertainment to them—a game at her expense.

Daphne’s gaze flicked to the crowd of familiar faces, the elite heirs and heiresses of Glendale, Los Angeles. They were people she had once socialized with and attended galas and charity events alongside. Now, they watched her with a mixture of pity and disdain.

Logan’s demand was cruel, a calculated attempt to humiliate her in the worst way possible. But as much as her chest burned with shame, she knew her father’s life hung in the balance.

What choice did she have?

Taking a deep breath, she reached for her bulky coat.

The room erupted. Some of the men jeered, while others laughed outright. A few women muttered cruel remarks under their breath, their sneers sharp enough to cut.

Logan, lounging with a glass of red wine, didn’t even glance her way. He sipped his drink, handing the glass back to the woman beside him as if he couldn’t be bothered to watch.

Daphne slid off her coat, revealing the modest sweater underneath. Her fingers trembled, but she kept going. She pulled the sweater over her head, leaving her in a thin camisole that clung to her frame.

The room’s noise quieted momentarily as her bare shoulders and slender arms came into view.

Then, just as the murmurs started again, Logan finally looked her way. His gaze lingered for a moment too long, taking in the marks scattered across her exposed skin—marks he had left.

Without missing a beat, Daphne grabbed the hem of her camisole. She began lifting it.

Suddenly, a coat landed over her shoulders, its warmth cutting through the cold, heavy air.

Logan stood, his face dark with disgust.

“Daphne,” he spat, “you’ve completely lost all sense of shame.”

Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to cry in front of him.

“You promised,” she whispered, clutching the coat tightly. “You said if I did what you asked, you’d save my father.”

Logan’s lips curled into a sneer. “I said I’d consider it. Don’t confuse that with a promise.”

Before she could say another word, Logan motioned to the security guards near the door. “Get her out of here,” he barked.

The guards moved quickly, grabbing her arms and dragging her out of the room. Her protests fell on deaf ears.

By the time she was thrown onto the street, humiliation and despair overwhelmed her.

...

An hour later, she arrived at the hospital, her heart pounding in fear. But to her immense relief, she was told that her father had already been given the medication he needed half an hour ago. His condition was now stable.

Daphne released a shaky breath and sank to the floor, her legs stretching beneath her. For the first time that night, she felt something other than dread. It was fleeting, but it was there—relief.

She couldn't hold back her tears when she finally stepped into her father’s room. He looked so frail lying there, his face lined with age and illness.

Two years.

That’s all it had taken to turn him into a shadow of the man he used to be.

By the time she left the ward, the clock had struck midnight. The hospital’s halls were quiet, the air cold and still. As she stepped outside, a sleek black Maybach parked conspicuously near the entrance, caught her attention.

She froze when she saw who was inside.

Even after everything that had happened in the private room—after the pain, the humiliation—she knew Logan had been the one to save her father.

Without his influence and money, her father wouldn’t even be in this hospital, let alone receiving such top-notch care. No matter how much she wanted to hate him, she couldn’t bring herself to.

Taking a deep breath, she approached the car. The window rolled down just enough for her to see Logan’s face, his expression unreadable.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Logan’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “How much do you think your ‘thank you’ is worth?”

Her head dropped, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. She already knew the answer: not much. Not anymore.

Through the crack in the window, Logan’s voice came again, sharp and impatient. “Get in the car. What are you waiting for? An invitation?”

She hesitated but ultimately climbed in. The hospital was in the new district, and at this hour, catching a cab was nearly impossible.

“Drop me somewhere I can grab a ride home,” she said, her voice low. “I don’t want to bother you any more than I already have.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, his eyes glinting with something she couldn’t place. “You think I’m here to take you home?”

Daphne gripped the seatbelt tightly, her knuckles turning white. The tension in the car was thick, suffocating.

Out of nowhere, Logan’s calm, measured voice broke the silence. “Madison hasn’t been feeling well lately. You’re moving into Belleview Manor to take care of her.”

Though his tone was flat, there was no mistaking the commanding edge beneath it. The words made Daphne’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

She knew there was no room for argument.

Belleview Manor.

The place Logan called home.

The place Madison, his fiancée, lived.

How much did Logan hate her to humiliate her like this?

But refusing wasn’t an option. After everything that had happened, Daphne understood one thing: Logan’s cruelty wasn’t just for show. It was calculated, deliberate. She couldn’t risk her father’s life by defying him.

When they arrived, Madison greeted them at the door. Her smile faltered momentarily as she spotted Daphne standing just behind Logan. But then, she recovered quickly, her expression warm and friendly.

“Daphne!” she exclaimed, her voice sweet as honey. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

Daphne felt her face heat up, her cheeks burning with shame. She couldn’t bring herself to meet Madison’s gaze.

How could she when the woman standing before her had once been her best friend?

The weight of the betrayal—and the lies—hung between them like an unspoken curse.

When Madison found out Logan had arranged for Daphne to take care of her, she seemed genuinely pleased.

“I’m so glad you’re here to keep me company,” she said brightly.

Daphne opened her mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. Before she could force anything out, Logan strode past her, scooping Madison into his arms with an ease that made Daphne’s chest tighten.

“Why are you barefoot again?” he scolded gently, his tone soft and affectionately. “Don’t you remember the last time you got sick?”

Madison’s cheeks flushed as she protested, her voice barely above a whisper. “Logan, don’t do this. Daphne’s right here.”

Daphne stared at her toes, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. She couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe. She was trapped, standing there like an outsider in a home that had once been hers.

Logan turned, his gaze settling on Daphne like she was an inconvenience he wanted gone.

“The maid’s room by the spiral staircase,” he said curtly. “That’s where you’ll stay.”

Daphne swallowed hard and managed a quiet “Okay.”

Without looking back, she walked to the small room he’d mentioned and closed the door firmly behind her, shutting out the sickly sweetness that clung to the air.

The maid’s room was tiny, almost claustrophobic, but that didn’t bother her. What did was the memories.

This wasn’t her first time at Belleview Manor.

Once upon a time, every corner of this house had been filled with laughter, love, and moments she had shared with Logan. Back then, the walls had held secrets that only the two of them knew.

But those days were long gone.

Now, those memories were like ghosts—haunting and unwelcome.

...

Late into the night, Daphne was startled awake by a tickling sensation on her face. Half-asleep, she blinked groggily, only to freeze when she realized Logan’s face was mere inches from hers, his dark eyes watching her in the dim moonlight.

Her heart leaped into her throat.

“Logan?” she whispered, panic rising in her chest.

Before she could react, he moved quickly, pinning her beneath him.

His voice, low and hoarse, sent a shiver down her spine. “Have you forgotten your place, Daphne?”

Of course, she hadn’t.

How could she?

She was nothing more than a mistress, a tool he used whenever it pleased him.

Even through the fabric of her clothes, she could feel his intentions.

Her voice trembled as she pleaded, “We can’t... Madison is still here.”

“She’s asleep,” Logan muttered, his hand sliding up the hem of her shirt.

“Logan, please,” she choked out, tears filling her eyes. “Not here. We can’t—”

Logan paused, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. “Why not? We’ve done it here before.”

His words made her chest tighten painfully. So, he remembered.

Leaning closer, he bit her ear lightly, his voice dripping with mockery. “Be louder. Madison’s upstairs. Maybe she’ll come down and save you.”

Daphne’s eyes locked with his, and for a moment, she thought she saw something other than anger or desire—a flicker of something she couldn’t name.

But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

Biting her lip, she closed her eyes.

The last shred of beauty she had once clung to—the love she’d hidden deep in her heart—was torn to pieces.

...

The next morning, Madison greeted her in the kitchen, her voice as sweet and kind as ever. “Did you sleep okay last night?” she asked, tilting her head in concern.

Daphne’s cheeks burned with shame. She looked down, unable to meet Madison’s gaze.

How could she face her after what had happened?

After a moment, Madison hesitated, then handed her phone to Daphne. “I... I wasn’t sure if I should show you this, but...”

Daphne frowned and took the phone. The moment her eyes landed on the screen, all the blood drained from her face.

It was a photo. From the night before. Her, stripping in the private room at the bar. Logan’s cold, detached face was visible in the background, as was the jeering crowd of men and women who had watched.

By then, the photos had made their way through high society.

It wasn’t just the usual gossip anymore—it was a full-on spectacle, a public shaming.

But while others seemed to relish in her downfall, Madison was the one person who actually tried to offer some comfort. “Daphne, don’t let this get to you. I’ll talk to Logan. We’ll get all these photos taken down, and I’ll stop people from talking behind your back.”

Daphne gave a bitter smile. Madison meant well, but she didn’t realize that the one person who wanted to see Daphne suffer the most was the very man she was trying to protect her from—Logan.

That afternoon, Madison mentioned she had someone she wanted Daphne to meet. So, they headed out together to a café.

When they arrived, Daphne spotted Kyle sitting in a prime seat by the window, his hand waving in greeting. After their brief encounter at the party, they hadn’t had a chance to really talk.

They exchanged pleasantries briefly before Madison said she had to leave for something else.

“I’ll let you two catch up,” she said with a smile before heading out.

Once Madison was gone, Kyle didn’t waste any time. “Daphne, I know things are rough for you right now.”

The words hit hard. Daphne knew precisely what he was referring to—the photos. Kyle must have seen them too.

Shame washed over her, and her eyes started to sting with tears.

Was he disappointed in her?

“I’m sure you must have your reasons,” Kyle continued, his tone calm and understanding as if he could see right through her.

That did it. Daphne couldn’t hold back anymore. The tears spilled over, and she began to cry openly.

For the past two years, everyone had turned their back on her. Friends, family—everyone. They avoided her as if she were some kind of plague.

Even Madison, who had once been her closest friend, had distanced herself after the collapse of the Ravenscroft Enterprise.

Kyle was the only one who hadn’t turned away.

The only one who still believed in her.

...

An hour later, Daphne left the café, her eyes red and swollen from crying. Kyle offered to drive her home, but she declined.

She didn’t want him to know she was living with Logan now. She couldn’t let him see how much her life had crumbled.

As she walked back, her mind kept turning over Kyle’s offer.

Kyle had suggested she and her father leave the country. He said medical care abroad was far better than what was available here and promised he could arrange for a top medical team to treat her father.

He also told her that in a new place, with a fresh start, maybe things could get better. She could escape this city that had broken her.

It was tempting. So tempting.

But as she thought of one person in particular, she hesitated. Logan.

When Daphne arrived back at Belleview Manor, she was still lost in thought. But the moment she stepped inside, things took a sharp turn.

Without warning, she was roughly thrown onto the couch. The world spun, and her body hit the cushions with a thud. She barely had time to recover before she started frantically scanning the room.

Luckily, Madison wasn’t there.

“You still had the nerve to come back?” Logan’s voice was cold and laced with anger.

Before she could react, a stack of photos was thrown in her direction, scattering across the floor like confetti.

Logan’s face was twisted in fury. “Meeting with your ex? Do you think I’m dead?”

Daphne opened her mouth to explain, but Logan didn’t let her. Like a man possessed, he overpowered her.

In the living room of Belleview Manor, on the sofa—he violated her.

Her mouth was silenced. Her hands and feet were restrained.

The humiliation and helplessness gnawed at her, but what hurt more than anything was the crushing fear inside her.

The physical pain seemed to pale in comparison to the terror she felt, knowing that she was trapped.

When it was finally over, Daphne lay there on the verge of collapse. Logan’s cold voice broke through the silence, his words carrying a weight of finality.

“If this happens again, you can start planning your father’s funeral.”

The threat was clear, chilling.

After that, Kyle reached out a few more times, asking to meet with Daphne. But each time, she turned him down.

She hated herself for being so ungrateful, but she knew what Logan could do. She had seen his ruthlessness firsthand. When he said something, he always followed through.

She couldn’t risk it. Not while her father’s life was in Logan’s hands.

Daphne was effectively under house arrest at Belleview Manor. She lived there now, under the pretense of being a “maid.”

During the day, she kept Madison company to help alleviate her boredom. She also took on the cooking and housework. Though she wasn’t exceptionally skilled in the kitchen and often fumbled through chores, Madison didn’t seem to mind. She encouraged her often, even when things went wrong.

But then there was Logan.

He was nothing like Madison. He would scowl at her nearly every day, berating her for being useless. It seemed like he found endless reasons to criticize her, no matter how hard she tried.

The contrast between the two was jarring—Madison, kind and understanding, and Logan, cold and cruel. Daphne had never felt so stuck.