The car took a sharp turn, and my purse slid off the seat, landing on the floor in the back. I turned to grab it, but my hand froze.

Tucked into the corner of the back seat was a torn lace garter. On Pablo's collar, a smear of bright red lipstick that wasn't my shade.

Pablo followed my gaze. There wasn't a trace of guilt on his face, just a taunting smirk.

"Oh, that. Cassie and I got a little carried away earlier," he said. "Besides, you're not into this kind of fun anyway. Why let a good garter go to waste?"

Cassandra giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. Her eyes, full of a victor's smugness, met mine. "Oh, Juliana, I'm so sorry. I'll have Pablo buy you a new one."

I didn't get angry. I smiled. I picked up the flimsy piece of lace, rolled down the window, and let the night wind snatch it away. "No need. I don't touch things that have been sullied."

Pablo's expression hardened. He'd caught the double meaning. He looked like he was about to explode, but the car had already pulled up to the hotel.

At the dinner, the greasy Senator Warren lived up to his reputation. His fat hands were never still, constantly brushing against my skin. "Miss Thorne, you truly are the Ricardo family's most dazzling jewel. That figure, that grace... simply captivating."

Pablo sat at the head of the table, turning a blind eye as he attentively poured champagne for Cassandra. When the senator's hand tried to slide under my skirt, he even raised his glass with a small, encouraging smile.

"Juliana is here to show the Senator our sincerity tonight. She'll finish this glass of vodka. Please, enjoy yourself," Pablo announced.

He pushed a full glass of straight vodka in front of me.

I stared at him. He was smiling, but his eyes were cold, issuing a clear threat: drink this, or your mother's safety is no longer guaranteed.

I picked up the glass and downed it in one go. The liquor burned a path down my throat like a blade, and a sharp, twisting pain shot through my stomach. Senator Warren cheered, taking the opportunity to pull me into his arms.

Pablo nodded, satisfied. He leaned toward Cassandra. "Take notes. This is how you work for the family."

I fought back the stabbing pain in my gut and pushed Senator Warren's hands away. "I'm going to the restroom."

Even steel shatters under enough pressure. But I wasn't going to break. Not here. Inside a stall, I pulled out my burner phone and sent an encrypted message to my contact in the Kavanagh family: "I accept the terms. I'm coming over tonight."

Then, I saved the complete video I had been secretly recording of Pablo bribing the senator—irrefutable proof of his betrayal of the family's code.

After that, I splashed cold water on my face, staring at my pale reflection. This hell had to end.

The scene I returned to was worse than I could have imagined. My purse was on the floor, its contents spilled. And the burner phone I used to contact my mother's caregivers was vibrating violently on the table, the screen lit up with a call from the "Private Clinic."

Cassandra was holding that phone, her finger hovering over the screen. When she saw me, a malicious smile spread across her face. Right in front of me, she raised the phone high and smashed it against the marble wall. The screen exploded into a spiderweb of cracks.

In that instant, my composure shattered. I lunged forward like a cornered animal, shoving Cassandra aside as I scrambled to retrieve the pieces of the phone.

Cassandra shrieked, collapsing dramatically into Pablo's arms. "Pablo! Juliana pushed me!"

Pablo slammed his hand on the table and shot to his feet. "Juliana Thorne, have you lost your mind? Apologize to Cassie right now!"

I ignored him, my hands trembling as I sifted through the shards, desperately searching for the SIM card. Just then, my other phone rang. It was the doctor from the clinic.

His voice was frantic. "Miss Thorne, your mother's condition has suddenly deteriorated! It looks like she was injected with an unknown substance. She needs to be moved, now! Any later and it will be too late!"

"Our people are being blocked at the entrance. You have to handle this!"

Hearing this, my head snapped up. I stared at Pablo, my voice trembling but my spine ramrod straight. "Pablo. Let my mother go."

Pablo glanced at Cassandra's tear-streaked face and sneered. "Now you know how to beg? Kneel."

He pointed to the wine spilled on the floor. "Kneel and wipe it off Cassie's shoes, and I'll think about it."

The room went silent. Senator Warren lit a cigar, watching the show with a glint in his eye. Cassandra nestled into Pablo's embrace, her eyes triumphant and mocking.

The seconds ticked by, each one a lifetime for my mother. And the man I had loved for ten years was using her life to force me to my knees before his new plaything.

I looked at Pablo's face, so familiar and yet suddenly so strange.

Five years ago, on a blizzard night, he was hunted, bleeding from a gunshot wound. I had carried him for two miles through knee-deep snow to a black-market doctor who saved his life.

When he woke up, he held my hand and swore he would rather die than betray me. A man's vow, it turned out, was the cheapest thing in the world.

"Pablo," I whispered his name, "you're going to hell."

With that, I turned and ran.

Pablo's furious roar echoed behind me. "You dare walk out that door? You won't see the sunrise in Veridia City! We'll see who comes to collect that old hag's body!"

I burst out of the hotel and jumped into the first taxi I saw. "Kavanagh Group headquarters! Fast!"

The radio was on, playing an interview with Pablo as the city's "Philanthropist of the Year." The host asked who he was most grateful for.

Pablo's voice was smooth and confident. "I'm grateful for my family's support, and for the woman by my side, who gives me new inspiration every day."

He never mentioned my name. I snapped the radio off, and the tears I had been holding back finally streamed down my face.

When I reached the clinic, they told me my mother had already been moved. I was about to pull out my gun and storm the Ricardo estate when a nurse stopped me. "Miss Thorne? A gentleman named Kavanagh had his people pick up your mother. They left this address."

Kavanagh? Before I could process it, my phone buzzed.

It was a text from Pablo. A photo of him and Cassandra, naked in a hotel bed. The message read: "Come back. Kneel and apologize. I'll pretend this never happened. Don't make me erase you from this city."