The first twenty-four hours in the cage dragged by like thick, suffocating mud.

Elinor sat curled in the corner of the room, her knees pulled tight to her chest. She hadn't moved. When Maria entered silently to place a silver tray of roasted salmon and asparagus on the table, Elinor didn't even blink.

An hour later, Maria returned and carried the untouched food away.

Elinor buried her face in her arms. A low, continuous sob tore from her throat. She couldn't stop crying. The tears were a physical reaction to the crushing weight of the billion-dollar debt and the memory of Boyd's hands on her skin.

Two floors down, in the massive corner office of the Walker Group, Boyd sat at his mahogany desk. A live video feed from the London branch played on his massive monitor. Six executives were presenting the quarterly projections.

Boyd wasn't listening.

He wore a wireless earpiece in his right ear. It was connected directly to the hidden microphones in the top-floor suite. Elinor's broken, breathless crying piped directly into his ear canal.

The sound grated against his nerves. He reached up and aggressively twisted his platinum cufflink. His jaw ticked.

"Mr. Walker?" the London VP asked nervously through the screen. "Do you agree with the margin adjustments?"

Boyd stared at the screen. His eyes were cold and dead. "Pause for ten minutes," he snapped. He hit a button on his keyboard, cutting the video feed instantly.

He pressed the intercom button on his desk. "Alex."

"Yes, sir," Alex Stone's voice came through immediately.

"Make her shut up," Boyd growled, ripping the earpiece out and throwing it onto the desk.

Ten miles away, in a cramped, mold-infested apartment in Queens, Deshaun Campbell stared at his cracked phone screen.

He had called Elinor thirty-two times. Every single call went straight to voicemail. He had dragged his bad leg all the way to the NYU campus, standing outside her lecture halls, but she never showed up.

Deshaun gripped the curved wooden handle of his cane. His knuckles turned stark white under his dark skin. He suffered from selective mutism; his vocal cords worked, but the trauma of his childhood kept the words locked behind his teeth.

He typed furiously on his prepaid phone. Elinor, are you okay? Please text back.

Nothing.

A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck. He knew about Boyd Walker. He knew the kind of shadow that man cast over Elinor's life. If she was missing, Walker was the reason.

Deshaun grabbed his worn winter coat. He limped out of the apartment and took the subway to Manhattan. The two-hour ride felt like a lifetime.

He stood in the massive, marble-floored lobby of the Walker Group building. The security guards at the front desk blocked his path.

Deshaun didn't try to speak. He pulled a small whiteboard and a marker from his backpack. He wrote in large, jagged letters: I NEED TO SEE ELINOR RICHARDSON. He held it up to the guard's face.

"Kid, you can't be here," the guard said, reaching for Deshaun's arm.

Deshaun violently jerked away. He hit his cane against the marble floor, creating a sharp, echoing crack. He held the whiteboard higher. People in the lobby started to stare.

The head of security recognized him. He had seen the crippled boy waiting for Elinor outside the university gates before. He tapped his earpiece and made a call.

Up in the penthouse office, Alex Stone walked in. "Sir, the Campbell boy is in the lobby. He's demanding to see Miss Richardson."

Boyd looked up from his paperwork. A dark, dangerous shadow crossed his eyes. "Bring him up."

Five minutes later, the elevator doors opened. Deshaun was shoved into the private reception room outside Boyd's office.

Boyd stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the city. He slowly turned around. The sheer physical presence of the billionaire made the air in the room feel thin. Deshaun's chest tightened, but he forced himself to stand tall, leaning heavily on his cane.

He raised the whiteboard. Where is Elinor? Is she safe?

Boyd let out a soft, mocking laugh. He walked toward Deshaun, looking at the boy's cheap clothes and the heavy wooden cane. "She is perfectly safe. She is simply paying the price for her disobedience."

Deshaun's eyes widened. He frantically wiped the board and wrote again. It's my fault! She came to my birthday party. Punish me, let her go!

Boyd stopped a few feet away. He tilted his head, studying Deshaun like a scientist observing an insect. "Oh? You want to take her punishment?"

Boyd reached into his pocket and pressed a button on a small remote.

Upstairs in the cage, the massive flat-screen television mounted on the wall suddenly clicked on. Elinor gasped and scrambled backward.

The screen displayed a high-definition, live security feed of the reception room. Elinor saw Boyd's back. And then she saw Deshaun.

"No!" Elinor screamed, launching herself at the screen. She slammed her hands against the glass. "Deshaun! Run! Get out of there!"

But the screen had no microphone. Her voice bounced off the walls of her cage.

Downstairs, Boyd looked at Deshaun. "Very well. I accept your request."

He didn't raise his voice. He simply looked at the two massive bodyguards standing by the door. "Break his other leg. Teach him what happens when he touches things that don't belong to him."

Deshaun didn't even have time to raise his cane. The bodyguards lunged. One grabbed Deshaun from behind, locking his arms. The other kicked the cane away.

Upstairs, Elinor watched in absolute horror. She pounded her bloody fists against the screen. "Boyd! Stop! I'll do anything! Please!"

The second bodyguard raised his heavy, steel-toed boot. He brought it down with sickening force directly onto Deshaun's good knee.

A loud, wet crack echoed through the reception room.

Deshaun's mouth opened in a silent scream. His eyes rolled back in his head as the agony ripped through his nervous system. He collapsed onto the marble floor, his body convulsing.

Boyd stepped over Deshaun's twitching body. He walked directly up to the security camera mounted in the corner of the room. He looked straight into the lens.

Upstairs, Boyd's face filled the screen. His eyes bored into Elinor's soul. He mouthed the words slowly, deliberately.

See? This is what happens when you cry.

Boyd didn't reach for his checkbook. He simply looked down at the agonizing boy. "His medical bills," Boyd said, his voice carrying perfectly to the microphone hidden in the room, "will be added directly to your adoptive father's debt, Elinor. Every time you rebel, the people around you will pay the price." He turned to his guards. "Now get this garbage out of my sight."

The screen in the cage went completely black.

Elinor's hands slid down the cold glass. The air left her lungs completely. Her vision tunneled. She collapsed onto the floor, her body shaking so violently her teeth rattled together. The silence in the room was absolute.

The bodyguards hauled Deshaun up by his armpits. His right leg hung at a grotesque angle, the foot dragging limply against the polished marble.

Deshaun gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. He violently shoved the guards away, refusing to let them carry him. He grabbed his wooden cane from the floor. His hands were shaking from the blinding pain, but he gripped the handle until his knuckles were bone-white.

He put his weight on the cane and his previously injured leg. Every movement sent a wave of nausea through his stomach. He dragged himself toward the elevator.

As he passed Boyd, Deshaun stopped. He turned his head. The look in the boy's eyes was no longer fear. It was a pure, concentrated hatred that burned like acid.

Boyd saw the look. He smirked, adjusting his left cufflink. The hatred of an insect meant nothing to him.

The elevator doors closed, taking the bleeding boy away.

Boyd turned and walked toward the private staircase. He climbed the steps to the top floor and unlocked the heavy oak door of the cage.

Elinor was lying on the floor beneath the blank television screen. She looked like a discarded ragdoll. Her eyes were open, staring blankly at the carpet, completely devoid of life.

Boyd walked over to her. The sight of her absolute defeat sent a strange, uncomfortable prickle down his spine. He reached down to pick her up.

The moment his fingers brushed her shoulder, Elinor violently flinched. It was as if he had pressed a hot iron against her bare skin.

"Don't touch me!" Her voice was a broken, raspy whisper, but it vibrated with pure venom.

Boyd's face hardened. His jaw ticked. "It seems the lesson wasn't clear enough."

He ignored her weak attempts to push him away. He bent down, scooped her up into his arms, and carried her toward the massive bed in the center of the room.

Elinor thrashed wildly in his grip. She balled her hands into fists and struck his chest, his shoulders, his neck. Her hits lacked power, bouncing off his solid muscles like rain against a window.

Her futile resistance didn't anger Boyd. It ignited a dark, twisted heat in his blood. His grip tightened around her waist.

He threw her down onto the soft mattress.

Before she could bounce back, Boyd leaned over her.

Elinor's survival instinct snapped. The image of Deshaun's broken leg flashed behind her eyes. A primal rage exploded in her chest. She didn't shrink back. She lunged forward like a cornered wildcat.

She opened her mouth and sank her teeth deep into the muscle of Boyd's shoulder, right through his expensive suit jacket and shirt.

She bit down with everything she had, her jaw locking tight.

A sharp, piercing pain shot through Boyd's shoulder. He let out a low grunt. He could feel the fabric tear and the sudden, warm wetness of his own blood seeping into his shirt.

He didn't pull away. He didn't strike her.

Instead, a strange, dark thrill rushed through his veins. His pupils dilated. He looked down at the girl attached to his shoulder.

"Finally grew claws?" he whispered, his voice thick with a sick kind of excitement.

He wrapped his massive arms around her back, pulling her body flush against his, trapping her completely. He buried his face in the crook of her neck.

Elinor refused to let go. She tasted the metallic tang of his blood on her tongue. She wanted to tear the flesh from his bones.

Boyd turned his head. He found the soft, pulsing skin just below her ear. He opened his mouth and bit down.

It wasn't a kiss. It was a brutal, territorial bite. His teeth scraped hard against her tender flesh, breaking the skin just enough to leave a permanent, bruising mark. He tasted her blood, mixing with the scent of her fear.

The sudden, sharp pain shocked Elinor. She gasped, her jaw releasing his shoulder. She stared up at him, her eyes wide with horror and confusion.

Before she could scream, Boyd's mouth crashed down onto hers.

He swallowed her scream completely. The kiss was punishing, tasting of copper and violence. He forced her lips apart, invading her mouth, claiming every inch of her breath.

Elinor pushed against his chest, but his weight was crushing. Her oxygen depleted. Her muscles burned with exhaustion. The fight slowly drained out of her, replaced by a suffocating helplessness.

Her hands fell limp onto the mattress. She stopped moving.

A single, hot tear slipped from the corner of her eye. It rolled down her cheek and soaked into the pillow. Then another.

She wasn't sobbing. It was a silent, broken weeping. The sound of a trapped animal that knew it was going to die.

Boyd felt the wetness against his cheek. He felt the absolute stillness of her body beneath him.

He froze.

The dark excitement in his blood suddenly vanished, replaced by a heavy, suffocating pressure in his chest. The silent tears felt like acid burning through his skin. He pulled his mouth away from hers.

He looked down. Her eyes were closed, tears continuously spilling over her lashes.

Boyd's breath grew ragged. He didn't understand the sudden panic gripping his throat. He abruptly rolled off her. He grabbed the thick duvet and pulled it up, wrapping it tightly around her trembling body, cocooning her.

He pulled her wrapped body against his chest, locking his arms around her so she couldn't move.

"Sleep," he ordered. His voice was harsh, but his grip was strangely careful.

Elinor was too exhausted to fight. Surrounded by his scent and the lingering terror, her brain finally shut down. She slipped into a heavy, dreamless unconsciousness.

Boyd lay there in the dark. He listened to her breathing slow down. He slowly reached up and touched his own shoulder. His fingers came away sticky with blood. He stared at the red stain on his fingertips, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached.

Elinor woke up to the smell of butter and toasted bread.

Her entire body ached as if she had been beaten with a baseball bat. She slowly opened her eyes. The heavy curtains were pulled back, letting the bright morning sun flood the cage.

Boyd was gone. The space beside her on the bed was cold.

She sat up, wincing as the bruised skin on her neck stretched. On the mahogany nightstand beside the bed sat a silver tray.

On the tray was a plate with a perfectly fried egg, shaped exactly like a heart. Next to it sat two slices of golden toast and a crystal glass of milk. Beside the plate was a small tube of expensive medical-grade bruise ointment and a piece of heavy cardstock.

Elinor picked up the card. Boyd's sharp, aggressive handwriting slashed across the paper: Apply it. School today.

A wave of pure nausea hit her stomach. The combination of the brutal violence from yesterday and this twisted, domestic 'heart-shaped' breakfast made bile rise in her throat. It was the ultimate psychological torture. A carrot and a stick.

She threw the note onto the floor. She picked up the silver tray. Her hands were steady.

She walked straight into the marble bathroom. She stood over the toilet, tilted the plate, and watched the heart-shaped egg and the toast slide into the water. She poured the milk in after it.

She hit the flush handle. The water swirled, sucking the food down into the pipes. She watched it disappear, her face completely blank.

An hour later, Frank Gallo, Boyd's head driver, was waiting for her in the underground garage. He drove her to the New York University campus in silence.

The moment Elinor stepped out of the black SUV, she felt the shift in the air.

Students walking past her stopped and whispered. Eyes tracked her every movement. She heard fragments of sentences floating in the cold air: "...sugar baby..." "...old billionaire..." "...bought her..."

Elinor tightened her grip on the straps of her backpack. She bit the inside of her cheek and kept her eyes locked on the pavement. She needed this degree. It was the only raft she had in this ocean of debt and control.

She walked toward the main plaza in front of the library.

Suddenly, a loud screech of microphone feedback echoed across the quad.

Elinor looked up. Standing on the steps of the library was Preston Vance. His father sat on the university's board of trustees. Preston was wearing a designer sweater, holding a massive bouquet of ninety-nine red roses in one hand and a red megaphone in the other.

"Elinor Richardson!" Preston's voice boomed across the plaza.

Hundreds of students stopped. Cell phones were immediately pulled out, camera lenses pointing directly at her.

Preston smiled, a confident, arrogant smirk. "I like you! Be my girlfriend!"

The crowd erupted into cheers and whistles. Preston walked down the steps, holding the roses out toward her. He looked like a prince in a movie. He expected her to melt.

Elinor didn't melt. The blood drained from her face, leaving her skin the color of chalk.

She didn't see romance. She saw a death sentence.

Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She knew Boyd. She knew his paranoia. Somewhere, somehow, Boyd was going to see this. If he thought she was entertaining another man, the punishment wouldn't fall on her-it would fall on Preston, or worse, Deshaun again.

She had to stop this immediately.

Elinor pushed through the crowd. She walked right up to Preston. The cameras flashed around them.

Preston's smile widened. He held the roses out further.

Elinor looked him dead in the eyes. Her voice was ice-cold and loud enough for the front row of students to hear. "I do not like you. Do not ever bother me again."

Preston's smile froze. The confidence shattered, replaced by instant, humiliating shock. He had never been rejected in his life, let alone in front of the entire campus.

The crowd gasped. The cheers turned into loud, mocking whispers.

"Did she just reject Vance?"

"Guess the billionaire pays better."

Elinor didn't wait for his reaction. She turned on her heel and walked away fast.

Preston's face flushed a dark, angry red. He dropped the megaphone. "You'll regret this, Richardson!" he screamed at her back.

Elinor ignored him. She practically ran into the library, seeking the darkest, quietest corner in the back stacks.

She collapsed into a wooden chair, her chest heaving. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably. She pulled her cheap, cracked phone from her pocket. She needed to know if Deshaun was alive. She opened her messages and typed: Deshaun, please tell me you are at the hospital.

Her thumb hovered over the send button.

She leaned her head back against the window, trying to catch her breath. As she looked out the glass, her eyes focused on the tall, glass-fronted office building across the street from the library.

On the roof of the building, a tiny, unnatural flash of light caught her eye.

It was the sun reflecting off a long-range camera lens.

The phone slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the desk. A paralyzing cold seeped into her bones.

Boyd hadn't let her go to school out of mercy. He had put her on a larger stage, and he was watching every single second of it. The cameras were everywhere.

She slowly picked up her phone. She deleted the message to Deshaun. She couldn't contact anyone. She was entirely, hopelessly alone in a transparent prison.