The ballroom smelled of expensive perfume and hypocrisy.

When Eleonora walked in, the conversation died. Heads turned. They were waiting for the breakdown. They wanted to see the bankrupt girl cry.

She kept her chin high. The modified dress exposed her spine, a line of vulnerability that was actually a trap.

Julian spotted her. He was wearing a white tuxedo, standing next to Tiffany, who was draped in diamonds that probably weren't insured.

Tiffany laughed loudly. "Sister! Are you here to beg for the buffet leftovers?"

A ripple of laughter went through the crowd.

Eleonora didn't stop. She walked straight up to them.

Julian smiled, smug and oily. He extended a hand. "El. If you apologize nicely, I might write you a check."

Eleonora ignored his hand. She pulled her phone from her clutch and shoved the screen into his face.

The video played. The cemetery. The car. The moan.

Julian's face went the color of ash. He lunged for the phone.

Eleonora stepped back smoothly. She knew the risks. Publicly airing this was a declaration of war, a messy, low-brow tactic. But it was also a checkmate. It was designed to create a public spectacle so toxic that the Stark board would have no choice but to see Julian as a liability she was offering to clean up. It was an audition for Alden. "This video has already been sent to the Stark Family Trust's compliance officer. And a copy is on its way to the SEC, detailing your misuse of trust funds."

"You're crazy," Julian hissed, his voice trembling. "That's a family scandal! The stock will drop!"

"That's a Stark problem," Eleonora said, her voice cool and light. "Not a Compton problem. Oh, and Tiffany?"

She turned to her stepsister. "The UPenn Alumni Association was very interested in your forged transcripts. I believe they're opening an inquiry tomorrow."

Tiffany let out a strangled squeak. She grabbed Julian's arm. "Do something!"

Julian grabbed Eleonora's wrist. His grip was painful. "You bitch-"

Eleonora didn't pull away. She pointed with her free hand to the ceiling. "Cameras, Julian. Journalists everywhere. Go ahead. Hit me. Tomorrow's headline: 'Stark Heir Assaults Ex-Fiancée.'"

Julian froze. He looked around. He saw the eyes. He saw the lenses.

He dropped her hand like it burned him.

Eleonora stepped closer. She reached out and straightened his bow tie. "Consider our accounts settled. Thoroughly."

She turned. Her black skirt swirled around her legs like smoke. She walked away, leaving them shivering in the middle of the heated room.

Up on the mezzanine, behind one-way glass, Alden watched.

"Is that what you wanted, sir?" Almus asked.

Alden finished his drink. "She's more ruthless than I thought. Good."

Eleonora exited the ballroom. Her legs gave out. She leaned against the wall in the corridor, gasping for air. Her hands were shaking so hard she dropped her clutch.

A hand appeared, holding a white handkerchief.

She looked up. Almus Sharpe.

"Mr. Stark is pleased with your performance," the lawyer said. "Tomorrow, 9 AM. Come to sign."

Eleonora took the handkerchief. She wiped the cold sweat from her forehead. "Tell him I'll be there."

Julian burst into the hallway behind them. "You think this is over? You think you won?"

Eleonora didn't look back. She walked to the exit.

She took a cab to her apartment. When she got there, the door was ajar. The lock had been drilled out.

Inside, her few belongings were trashed. A message was spray-painted on the wall: WE OWN YOU.

It wasn't Julian. It was her father. The war had just begun.

The Compton estate smelled of mold and desperation.

Eleonora had been summoned. Or rather, dragged. Two of her father's "associates" had intercepted her outside her apartment.

She walked into the living room. Her stepmother, Vivian, sat on the sofa, looking like a coiled viper. Her father, Richard, stood by the fireplace, looking old and weak.

Tiffany was sitting in a wheelchair.

"You ruined Tiffany's reputation!" Vivian shrieked. "The Alumni Association sent a letter!"

"She ruined it herself when she cheated," Eleonora said calmly.

Julian stepped out of the shadows. He was standing next to Tiffany. "Give me the original video file, Eleonora. Or your father doesn't get a dime for his bail."

Eleonora looked at her father. "You're letting him threaten me?"

Richard looked at the floor. "El... for the family. You have to sacrifice."

Eleonora felt a crack in her chest. The last piece of her childhood, breaking.

Suddenly, Tiffany stood up from the wheelchair. She forgot she was supposed to be injured. She rushed at Eleonora. "You jealous witch!"

Eleonora sidestepped.

Tiffany's momentum carried her forward. She tripped on the rug and collided with the banister of the stairs. It wasn't a hard hit, but she let out a scream that could shatter glass.

She slid to the floor, clutching her stomach. "Ah! My baby! Julian, our baby!"

Silence.

Julian dropped to his knees. "Baby? You're pregnant?"

Vivian gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Murderer! Eleonora pushed her! She's carrying a Stark heir!"

Eleonora stared. "I didn't touch her."

Julian looked up. His eyes were wild. He saw it. The golden ticket. An heir. A way to secure his place in the trust against Alden.

"You tried to kill my child," Julian said, his voice dripping with venom.

"This is attempted murder," Vivian declared. "We're calling the police. Unless..."

"Unless what?" Eleonora asked, her voice trembling with rage.

"Unless you sign over your remaining inheritance rights," Richard said softly. "And marry Mr. Hightower to settle my debts."

Eleonora looked at them. Her father. Her family. They were selling her.

"You make me sick," she said.

She turned to the door.

Two large men blocked the exit.

"Welcome home, darling," Vivian smiled.

They grabbed her arms. Eleonora kicked and screamed, but they dragged her upstairs. They threw her into her old bedroom.

The lock clicked.

She ran to the window. Bars. They had put bars on the windows years ago, "for security." Now, it was a prison.

She checked her pockets. Her phone was gone.

Tomorrow was the signing with Alden. And she was locked in a tower, with no knight coming to save her.

Eleonora paced the room. The carpet was worn, the pattern faded.

The door opened. Vivian entered, followed by two maids. She held a dress. It was pink, frilly, and hideous.

"Put this on," Vivian ordered. "Mr. Hightower is coming for dinner."

"I will not marry that toad," Eleonora said.

"Your father owes him fifty million. You are the collateral."

The maids moved forward. Eleonora fought them. She scratched one, but they pinned her down. They stripped her of her suit and forced her into the pink monstrosity.

They dragged her downstairs.

The dining room was dimly lit. At the head of the table sat Mr. Hightower. He was a man made of grease and gold rings. He looked at Eleonora like she was a steak.

"Miss Compton," he leered. "Worth every penny."

Richard poured wine, his hands shaking. "She's yours tonight, if you sign the check."

Eleonora felt vomit rise in her throat.

Hightower reached out. His hand, covered in coarse hair, moved toward her arm.

Eleonora grabbed the steak knife from the table.

She slammed it down.

The blade vibrated, stuck in the wood, one millimeter from Hightower's finger.

The room froze.

"Touch me," Eleonora whispered, her eyes wide and manic, "and I will remove your fingers."

Hightower jumped back, then laughed. A wet, hacking sound. "Spicy! I like it!"

"Eleonora!" Richard roared.

Julian burst into the room. He was waving a paper. "The doctor confirmed it! Tiffany miscarried! Because of the fall!"

It was a lie. A blatant, convenient lie.

"Oh my god!" Vivian wailed.

"I'm pressing charges," Julian said, staring at Eleonora. "Assault. Unless..."

"Unless she disappears," Hightower suggested. "Marry me, little girl. I'll make the lawsuit go away. I have... influence."

"Fine," Julian said. "Take her. Just get her out of New York."

Eleonora looked at the knife. She couldn't fight them all.

She dropped her shoulders. "Okay."

"Okay?" Hightower blinked.

"I'll do it. But I need to use the restroom. To... freshen up."

Hightower grinned. "Don't be long."

Eleonora walked into the hallway bathroom. She locked the door.

She didn't look in the mirror. She climbed onto the sink.

She dug her fingernails into the ventilation grate. It was painted shut, but the screws were old. She remembered the simple pearl earrings they hadn't bothered to take. Prying one off, she used the sharp metal post as a lever, jamming it into the screw's rusted groove. The pearl snapped off, but the metal bit into the slot. It was agonizingly slow, her fingers raw, but the screw turned.

She pulled the grate off. A blast of dusty air hit her face.

It was a crawlspace. She used to hide here when her parents fought.

She hoisted herself up. The pink dress tore. She didn't care. She crawled into the darkness, the dust filling her lungs, crawling toward the only exit she knew.