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.

Eleonora kicked the grate open and tumbled onto the wet grass of the backyard.

She landed hard. Her ankle twisted with a sickening pop.

Pain shot up her leg, blinding and white-hot. She bit her lip to keep from screaming.

Sirens.

Blue and red lights flashed against the trees.

She tried to stand, but her leg collapsed.

Police officers swarmed the yard. Vivian had called them. Of course she had.

"Eleonora Compton?" A flashlight blinded her. "You're under arrest."

"I'm the victim!" she screamed. "They held me hostage!"

The officer grabbed her arms, cuffing them behind her back. "We have a statement from three witnesses regarding assault on a pregnant woman and corporate theft."

"Theft?"

"Documents found in your bag, ma'am."

Tiffany. She must have planted something.

They shoved her into the back of a cruiser. Through the window, she saw Hightower talking to her father. They were shaking hands.

The holding cell was cold. It smelled of urine and bleach.

They took her shoes. They took her jewelry, but not the small gold locket she'd managed to slip from its chain and tuck deep into the padded lining of her bra just before they'd dragged her from her apartment.

Eleonora sat on the metal bench, shivering. Her ankle was swollen to the size of a grapefruit.

Stark Tower. Penthouse.

Almus Sharpe put down the phone. "She's been arrested. Vivian accused her of stealing trade secrets and causing a miscarriage."

Alden was tying his tie in the mirror. He paused. "Theft? That's clumsy."

"Should I post bail?"

Alden looked at his reflection. His eyes were unreadable.

He waited five seconds.

"No," he said.

Almus blinked. "Sir?"

"I want to see what she does," Alden said, turning to the window. "This is a stress test. If she breaks, she's useless to me. If she waits for a savior, she's weak."

"And if she fights?"

"Then she's my wife."

Back in the cell.

Officer Martinez, a woman with kind eyes, handed Eleonora a paper cup of water. "You don't look like a thief."

"I was framed," Eleonora said, her voice hoarse. "I need a phone call."

"You have the right to call a lawyer."

Eleonora dialed the number on the private card Alden had given her.

It rang.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

She held her breath. Pick up. Please, pick up.

Click. Voicemail.

The automated voice was cold. "The subscriber is not available."

Eleonora lowered the phone. The dial tone buzzed in her ear like a flatline.

He wasn't coming.

She was alone.