The afternoon sun beat down on the pavement. Taking advantage of Brennen’s afternoon board meeting, Aracely walked down the tree-lined street back to the estate. She had just finished secretly consulting specialized research at the medical school library.

She carried a faded canvas tote bag. She had stopped at a public restroom outside campus to glue the suffocating scar back onto her face and put on the heavy glasses.

A loud engine roared behind her. A silver Aston Martin sped down the street, hugging the curb.

The sports car swerved sharply toward her. A massive puddle of muddy water splashed up.

Aracely's muscles reacted instantly. Her training kicked in. She dodged the water perfectly. But then she remembered her "clumsy maid" persona. She forced herself to slip and fall hard onto the wet grass.

Her tote bag hit the ground. The zipper burst open. Cheap notebooks, old pens, and a pink, heart-shaped piece of paper spilled out.

The Aston Martin screeched to a halt. The door swung up. Erasmo Clark stepped out wearing limited-edition designer clothes. He whistled.

Erasmo walked over and stood over her. "Look at the ugly duckling rolling in the mud."

Aracely locked her jaw. She ignored him. She kept her head down and started picking up her pens.

Erasmo saw the pink paper. He snatched it off the grass before she could reach it.

Aracely's face tightened. She reached for it. It was a cruel prank note some bullies had shoved into her bag at the lecture hall.

Erasmo dodged her hand. He unfolded the paper. He cleared his throat and started reading it out loud in a mocking, theatrical voice.

The letter was a forged, pathetic love note directed at a wealthy heir on campus, shamelessly begging for his affection and heavily hinting at needing financial support for her tuition. It painted her as a desperate gold digger willing to throw away her dignity and pride for a few scraps of cash.

People walking by stopped to watch. They pointed at Aracely sitting in the mud. Disgust covered their faces.

Aracely curled her hands into fists. Her nails broke the skin of her palms. She had to swallow the anger. She couldn't show her fighting skills here.

The passenger window of the Aston Martin rolled down. Brennen Levine sat inside. His profile was carved from stone.

He wore dark sunglasses. He watched the scene coldly. The memory of losing control in the hallway last night made his stomach turn with disgust.

He heard the filthy words in the letter. His brow furrowed in deep revulsion. He pushed the car door open and stepped out.

Brennen walked over to Erasmo. He snatched the pink paper out of his nephew's hand.

He scanned the handwriting. His eyes looked at it like it was toxic waste. He threw the paper right at Aracely's face.

The paper slid down her scarred cheek and landed in the mud. Brennen looked down at her.

"You are not only physically repulsive," Brennen said, his voice dripping with ice. "Your soul reeks of rotting garbage."

He leaned in slightly. "If you ever try your cheap tricks on anyone in the Levine family again, I will make you wish you were dead."

Aracely looked up. She stared right into Brennen's eyes through her thick lenses. Her eyes weren't scared. They were dead and cold.

Brennen felt a sharp sting in his chest at her gaze. It made him angrier. He turned to Erasmo. "Get in the car. Stop wasting time with trash."

Erasmo shrugged. He whistled again and got into the driver's seat. The car roared away, blowing exhaust smoke into Aracely's face.

Aracely sat alone in the mud. She picked up the dirty pink paper. A cold, mocking smile touched her lips.

She stood up and brushed the dirt off her knees. Her mind replayed the moment Brennen snatched the paper.

As a top medical expert whose career had been ruthlessly sabotaged into forced anonymity, she didn't miss it. Brennen's index and middle fingers were twitching uncontrollably.

It was the physical symptom of a nervous system on the verge of total collapse from chronic insomnia. Aracely narrowed her eyes. She had just found the tyrant's fatal weakness.

Heavy rain lashed against the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the master bedroom. It was past midnight. Brennen sat alone in the dark.

He hadn't slept a full hour in three days. The twitching in his fingers was getting worse. The blood vessels in his temples felt like they were going to burst.

Humiliating the maid on the street today didn't make him feel better. It only made the rage inside him grow wilder.

Brennen grabbed his crystal whiskey glass and hurled it at the fireplace. It shattered into a hundred pieces. He hit the intercom button.

"Arthur," Brennen rasped. "Bring Evelyn to the master bedroom. Now."

Arthur paused for a second on the other end. "Right away, sir."

Down the hall in the guest suite, Evelyn got the call. She almost screamed with joy. She thought her days of waiting were over. She was finally going to secure her place as Mrs. Levine.

Evelyn ran into her walk-in closet. She stripped and put on her most revealing Victoria's Secret lingerie.

She was sweating from excitement. To cover it up, she grabbed a bottle of limited-edition Chanel N5 from her vanity.

She sprayed it wildly. On her neck, her wrists, her inner thighs. The room choked on the heavy, chemical floral scent.

Evelyn put on her stilettos. She swayed her hips as she walked down the hall. She took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy oak doors of the master bedroom.

The room was pitch black. A flash of lightning illuminated the space for a split second.

Brennen was leaning against the headboard. His eyes were closed. He heard the sharp click of her heels. He frowned. On their wedding night, the woman had been barefoot.

"Brennen, darling." Evelyn cooed. She kicked off her heels and crawled onto the edge of the large bed.

As she moved closer, the suffocating cloud of Chanel perfume hit him. It was like a chemical bomb going off in the closed room.

Brennen waited for the sweet, clean scent of gardenia. It wasn't there. Only this cheap, powdery stench filled his nose.

His stomach violently rolled over. Pure physiological rejection hit him. He snapped his bloodshot eyes open.

Evelyn reached out and placed her hand on his bare chest.

Before she could speak, a steel hand clamped around her throat.

Brennen grabbed her and threw her off the bed like a bag of garbage. She hit the floor hard.

Evelyn gasped in pain. She grabbed her throat, staring up at the man in the dark. He looked like a demon.

"Get out!" Brennen roared. Murder burned in his eyes. Evelyn knew he would snap her neck if she stayed a second longer.

She scrambled to her feet and ran out of the room, leaving her shoes behind.

The bedroom fell dead silent again. Brennen's chest heaved. He walked to the window and threw it open. The freezing rain blew in, washing away the stench.

The cold air cleared his mind. A terrifying realization hit him.

The woman he slept with on his wedding night-the woman with the natural scent who cured his pain-was not Evelyn Hickman.

Brennen spun around. He marched to the door and ripped it open. Arthur was standing down the hall.

"Lock down the estate," Brennen ordered. His voice was lethal. "I don't care if you told me the security footage from the wedding night was corrupted," Brennen ground out, his jaw tight with barely suppressed rage. "Rip out the hard drives. Find the best data recovery experts in the world, pay them whatever they want, but I need to see every single second of that night! No one leaves this estate until I have answers."

Arthur saw the dark look on his boss's face. He bowed his head. "Yes, sir."

Brennen leaned against the doorframe. He rubbed his fingers together. He thought about the scent in the hallway last night. The maid.

The two scents merged perfectly in his memory. Brennen's eyes turned pitch black. He was going to find the ghost playing games with him.

Evelyn paced the floor of her guest room. She clutched her silk robe tightly around her body. Her face was chalk-white. Arthur had just delivered Brennen's ultimatum.

If Brennen didn't get a logical explanation by sunrise, the Hickman family would have to return the massive dowry and pay millions in breach-of-contract penalties. They would be bankrupt.

Evelyn ground her teeth. A flash of pure, desperate madness crossed her eyes. She picked up the hem of her robe, dodged the patrolling bodyguards, and slipped down the back stairs to the basement.

The servant quarters were damp and freezing. Aracely had just finished fourteen hours of manual labor. She sat on her hard mattress, rubbing her aching shoulders.

The flimsy wooden door slammed open, hitting the wall with a loud bang.

Evelyn stormed in. Before Aracely could stand, Evelyn raised her hand and slapped Aracely across the face. The crack echoed in the small room.

Aracely's head snapped to the side. A drop of blood pooled at the corner of her mouth. She didn't hit back. She just stared at Evelyn with cold, dead eyes.

"You useless piece of trash!" Evelyn screamed. "You couldn't even keep him hooked! Now he's coming for me!"

Aracely wiped the blood from her lip. "You soaked yourself in cheap perfume and threw yourself at him. Don't blame me for your stupidity."

Evelyn's face twisted in rage. She pulled out her phone. She dialed the ICU nurse on video chat.

The screen lit up. Grandmother's frail face appeared, surrounded by tubes and the rhythmic beep of the machines.

Evelyn glared at the screen. "When I count to three, pull the breathing tube."

Aracely's pupils shrank. She lunged forward to grab the phone. Evelyn stepped back quickly.

"Three!" Evelyn shouted. Her eyes were wild.

Aracely froze. Her fists clenched so hard her fingernails broke the skin. Drops of blood hit the concrete floor.

"Two!" Evelyn's finger hovered over the red 'end call' button.

Aracely closed her eyes. Hot tears burned her cheeks. She forced the words out of her tight throat. "I'll do it."

Evelyn smiled in triumph. She hung up the phone. She threw a black silk nightgown-identical to the one from the wedding night-at Aracely's face.

"If you don't satisfy him tonight and clear his suspicions, the old lady dies tomorrow." Evelyn turned and walked out.

Aracely stood alone in the freezing room. Her hands shook as she picked up the thin silk.

She walked into the tiny bathroom. She looked at the ugly scar in the mirror. She grabbed a bottle of strong solvent.

She rubbed the harsh chemical over the edges of the silicone. The skin underneath burned and tore as she peeled the fake scar off. Her true, flawless face was revealed.

She washed her face with freezing water. She pulled the black silk nightgown over her head. The cold fabric made her shiver uncontrollably.

Aracely opened her door. She didn't rely on anyone else. Relying entirely on her own sharp memory of the estate's layout, which she had meticulously memorized while cleaning over the past few days, she carefully navigated the shadows. She stuck strictly to the less-monitored servant staircases and service corridors.

The hallway was empty. Arthur had pulled the guards to the security room to check the footage.

Aracely stood in front of the heavy oak doors of the master bedroom. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She took a deep breath to steady her shaking hands.

She reached out. Her fingers wrapped around the cold metal handle. She pressed down.

The lock clicked. She pushed the door open an inch. It was pitch black inside.

Before she could step in, the door was violently yanked open from the inside.

A massive, burning hot hand shot out of the dark. It clamped around her wrist and dragged her brutally into the suffocating darkness of the room. The door slammed shut behind her.