Ella turned her back on Leland. She walked down the narrow, dimly lit corridor-a secluded passageway designed specifically to connect the main ballroom to the VIP lounges-her cheap shoes making soft scuffing sounds against the carpet.

The hallway smelled of dust and old wiring. The overhead fluorescent lights flickered, casting long, broken shadows against the walls.

She reached a corner where the corridor intersected with a heavy glass door leading to an outdoor terrace.

As she stepped past the door, a massive hand shot out from the darkness.

Thick fingers clamped around her wrist like a steel vice.

Before Ella could even gasp, a violent yank pulled her off her feet. She was dragged through the glass door and out into the freezing night air of the unlit terrace.

Her back slammed against the exterior marble wall. The impact knocked the breath out of her lungs.

The black paper bag slipped from her fingers, hitting the concrete floor with a dull thud.

Ella gasped for air. Her shoulder blades throbbed from the hard marble. She forced her eyes open, blinking against the sudden darkness.

The moonlight caught the sharp, angular jawline of the man pinning her to the wall.

Ivan Campbell. Her second oldest brother.

Ivan's eyes were bloodshot. The smell of expensive bourbon radiated from his pores. He leaned in close, his chest pressing heavily against hers, trapping her completely.

"Look who crawled out of the loony bin," Ivan sneered. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble.

Ella tried to pull her wrist free. She twisted her arm, but Ivan's grip was immovable. The difference in their physical strength was absolute.

Ivan laughed. He squeezed her wrist harder. Ella felt the bones in her arm grind together. A sharp, hot pain shot up to her elbow.

"You still smell like the ghetto," Ivan whispered, his face inches from hers. "You think putting on a dress tonight changes what you are? You're a mistake. You should have stayed lost when you were three."

Ella stopped struggling. She let her arm go limp in his grip.

She looked up into Ivan's furious, bloodshot eyes. The cold wind whipped her hair across her face.

"Why, Ivan?" Ella asked. Her voice was quiet, cutting through the wind. "From the day they brought me back when I was fourteen. You hated me instantly. Why?"

Ivan's jaw ticked. The muscle jumped under his skin. "Because you ruined this family. You made Mom and Dad look at you instead of Ashlyn."

Ella let out a short, dry laugh. The sound was entirely devoid of humor.

"You don't give a damn about Ashlyn," Ella said, her eyes piercing through his drunken haze. "You hate me because I'm real. Because you're terrified."

Ivan's breathing hitched. "Shut up."

"You're a violent, out-of-control brute," Ella continued, her words precise and surgical. "You realized the moment I walked into that house that I was smarter than you. You were terrified that the little trash girl from the foster system was going to outshine the great Ivan Campbell."

Ivan's face contorted. The truth hit him like a physical blow, shattering his fragile ego.

"I said shut up!" Ivan roared. His furious shout echoed violently down the secluded hallway, the sheer volume of his voice vibrating against the glass door.

He let go of her wrist. His large, heavy hand flew up into the air, his fingers curling into a thick, brutal fist.

Ivan didn't punch her. Instead, his massive hand shot forward and clamped directly around Ella's throat.

He shoved her upward. The soles of Ella's cheap shoes scraped against the marble wall as her feet left the ground.

Her windpipe crushed under the weight of his grip. The air in her lungs was instantly trapped.

Ella's hands flew up. She clawed frantically at Ivan's thick forearm, her fingernails digging into his expensive suit jacket.

Ivan's face was twisted into a demonic mask of pure rage. Spittle flew from his lips.

"Die," Ivan hissed, his eyes wide and unhinged. "Just die and leave us alone."

Ella's face flushed a deep, burning red. The blood pounded in her ears like a war drum. Her vision started to narrow, the edges of the world turning fuzzy and black. Her lungs screamed for oxygen.

But she didn't close her eyes. She stared down at him. She refused to let a single tear fall.

She forced her throat to open just a fraction of a millimeter against his crushing fingers.

"Glen..." Ella choked out. The word was a broken, wet rasp. "Ten years ago... the car crash."

Ivan's entire body went rigid.

"You... coward," Ella gasped, her face now turning a terrifying shade of purple.

The mention of their oldest brother's paralyzing accident hit Ivan's nervous system like a shockwave. His pupils dilated in absolute panic.

Instead of letting go, his fear made him squeeze harder.

The blackness closed in on Ella's vision. Her hands went weak, sliding off Ivan's arm.

Suddenly, the heavy glass door of the terrace was violently thrown open.

A flood of harsh yellow light spilled onto the dark balcony. Ivan's previous roar had carried through the empty VIP corridor, drawing the exact two people who were obsessed with maintaining the family's flawless image.

"Ivan!" a woman's voice shrieked.

Karen Campbell stood in the doorway, her hands pressed to her cheeks. Leland was right behind her.

Leland rushed forward. He grabbed Ivan's shoulder and yanked him backward with all his strength.

Ivan stumbled back, his hand ripping away from Ella's neck.

Without the wall and his hand holding her up, Ella collapsed. She hit the concrete floor hard, landing on her hands and knees.

She gasped loudly. The freezing air rushed into her burning lungs, feeling like swallowed glass. She coughed violently, her whole body shaking as she clutched her bruised throat.

Ivan was still thrashing against Leland's hold. "She's a demon! She knows! She's a freak!"

Karen didn't rush to her daughter on the floor. She didn't even look at Ella's purple, wheezing face.

Instead, the matriarch of the Campbell family hurried over to Ivan. She grabbed his face in her hands.

"Ivan, stop it!" Karen hissed, looking frantically around the empty terrace as if cameras were hidden in the potted plants. "Are you out of your mind? Do you know how many reporters are downstairs? If someone sees this, the company stock will plummet by morning!"

Ella sat back on her heels. She pressed her hand against the throbbing skin of her neck.

She listened to her biological mother worry about the stock market while her daughter was seconds away from being murdered.

A slow, chilling smile spread across Ella's face. It was a bleak, dead expression.

In that single moment, the last microscopic thread of hope Ella had for this family snapped. They were dead to her.

Leland shoved Ivan hard toward the glass door. "Get him out of here," he snapped at Karen. "Lock him in a suite until he sobers up. And tell security to secure the second-floor ADA lounge. Glen is up there, and I will not have this drunken embarrassment anywhere near him."

Karen grabbed Ivan's arm and dragged the muttering man back inside.

Leland turned his attention to Ella. He looked down at her sitting on the cold concrete. There was no pity in his eyes, only intense irritation.

Karen quickly reappeared in the doorway. She marched over to Ella, her high heels clicking sharply against the floor.

"Get up," Karen ordered. Her voice was ice. "Stop lying there like a corpse."

Ella placed her hands on the ground and pushed herself up. Her legs trembled slightly, but she locked her knees.

She lifted her chin.

Against her pale skin, the dark purple and angry red fingerprints on her neck looked like a violent, abstract painting.

Karen grimaced. She didn't ask if it hurt. She just stared at the bruises with deep annoyance.

"This is going to cause questions," Karen muttered to herself. She turned toward the doorway. "Sylvia! Get out here!"

A young woman carrying a heavy black makeup case scurried onto the terrace. She was the family's private makeup artist. She kept her eyes glued to the floor, terrified of the Campbells.

"Cover that up," Karen commanded, pointing at Ella's neck. "Use the thickest theatrical concealer you have. I don't want to see a single shadow."

Sylvia nodded frantically. She popped open her case.

She scooped a thick glob of heavy, cold foundation onto a sponge. She stepped up to Ella.

As the rough sponge pressed into the swollen, damaged tissue of Ella's neck, a sharp, burning pain shot through her nerves. Ella didn't flinch. She stood perfectly still, letting the woman paint over the evidence of her brother's violence.

Karen picked up the black paper bag from the floor. She shoved it into Ella's chest.

"Put the dress on," Karen said. She leaned in, her perfectly manicured finger pointing right between Ella's eyes. "You will walk out there. You will read the apology Leland wrote. If you show one tear, one ounce of anger, I will have Leland drag you back to Pine Ridge tonight. And I will permanently cut off your trust fund."

Ella took the bag. She walked into the small staff restroom off the hallway.

She stripped off her old blue dress. She pulled the shapeless, ash-gray gown over her head. It hung on her thin frame like a potato sack.

She looked in the mirror. The makeup on her neck was thick and cakey, a slightly different shade than her face, but it hid the purple. She looked like a ghost.

She walked out.

"I know what to do," Ella said. Her voice was raspy, but the tone was terrifyingly resolute.

Karen frowned, unsettled by the dead look in Ella's eyes, but she checked her diamond watch. "We are out of time. Move."

They walked down the corridor until they reached the heavy black velvet curtains behind the main stage.

Leland was waiting. He shoved a cold, metal microphone into Ella's hand.

From the other side of the curtain, the booming voice of the host echoed through the speakers.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Campbell family has a very special, very personal segment to share with you tonight..."