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.

The consequences of rejecting Preston Vance arrived the very next morning.

Elinor walked into her Economics 101 lecture hall. Usually, a few girls in the front row would smile or nod at her. Today, as she walked down the aisle, heads turned away. People actively shifted their bags onto empty seats to block her from sitting next to them.

She found an empty desk in the very back corner and sat down.

Professor Harrison, a strict man with thick glasses, stood at the podium. "Listen up. The midterm group project accounts for thirty percent of your final grade. You must form groups of three. Submit your names to my desk by the end of this hour."

The lecture hall instantly erupted into chaotic chatter as students scrambled to form teams. Chairs scraped against the floor.

Elinor stood up. She walked over to a girl named Jessica Adler, whom she had shared notes with last week. "Jessica? Do you have a third person for your group?"

Jessica looked at Elinor, then glanced nervously toward the middle of the room. Preston Vance was sitting there, leaning back in his chair, watching them.

Jessica quickly shook her head, grabbing her backpack. "Sorry, Elinor. We're full." She hurried away as if Elinor had a contagious disease.

Elinor tried two more groups. Both gave her immediate, flimsy excuses and turned their backs.

From the center of the room, Preston and his friends let out a loud, intentional burst of laughter. Preston caught Elinor's eye and smirked, tapping his pen against his desk.

The message was clear. Preston had ordered the entire class to freeze her out.

By the end of the hour, the classroom was empty. Elinor stood alone in the quiet hall. She walked down to the podium where Professor Harrison was packing his briefcase.

"Professor," Elinor said, her voice tight. "I couldn't find a group. Can I complete the project independently? I'll do the work of three people."

Harrison didn't look up. "The syllabus is clear, Miss Richardson. The objective is teamwork. I cannot make exceptions. Especially not when Trustee Vance is reviewing my department's funding proposal this week. Find a group, or take a zero for thirty percent of your grade." He snapped his briefcase shut and walked out.

Elinor gripped the edge of the podium until her fingers hurt. A zero meant she would lose her academic standing.

She walked out of the building into the biting wind. Her stomach growled, a sharp reminder that she hadn't eaten since the tequila shot two nights ago.

She pulled out her phone and opened her university email, hoping her work-study application had been approved.

There was a new email from the Financial Aid Office.

Dear Miss Richardson, Your application for the Need-Based Poverty Grant has been reviewed and denied. Reason: Applicant failed to provide sufficient evidence of genuine financial hardship.

Elinor stopped walking. The wind whipped her hair across her face.

Denied. That grant was three thousand dollars. It was her food, her subway fare, her textbooks for the entire semester. She knew her adoptive father's medical bills proved her poverty. The only way this was denied was if someone on the board of trustees intervened. Preston's father.

She was completely cut off.

"Elinor."

She turned. Sarah Jenkins, a quiet girl from her history class, was standing a few feet away, looking around nervously. Sarah stepped closer and lowered her voice.

"Elinor, just go apologize to Preston," Sarah whispered. "You can't win against him. He bragged about getting your grant pulled. Is your pride worth failing the class and starving?"

Elinor looked at Sarah. She felt the heavy, invisible chain of Boyd's billion-dollar debt around her neck. She refused to ask him for anything beyond the bare minimum he provided. Buying her own food, paying her own subway fare-these small acts of financial independence were her last shred of dignity.

Elinor bit her inner cheek. "I didn't do anything wrong, Sarah. I won't apologize for saying no."

Sarah sighed, looking at her with pity. "Suit yourself." She walked away quickly.

Elinor stood alone in the middle of the bustling campus. The world felt like it was closing in on her, brick by brick.

Suddenly, her phone vibrated in her hand.

She looked at the screen. It was an unknown number. Her thumb hesitated before swiping to answer. She pressed the phone to her ear.

"Little bird," Boyd's voice slithered through the speaker. It was smooth, lazy, and laced with dark amusement. "Are you having fun at school?"

Elinor's heart stopped. The blood rushed out of her head. Did he know? Did he see the rejection? Did he see the grant denial?

She gripped the phone, her knuckles white. She couldn't force a single word past her frozen vocal cords.

Boyd didn't wait for an answer. "Eight o'clock tonight. The Pinnacle restaurant. I have something to discuss with you."

The line went dead.

Elinor lowered the phone. The Pinnacle. The most exclusive restaurant in the city. A summons from Boyd was never just a dinner. It was an interrogation. It was a punishment.

A deep, violent shiver ran down her spine. She had no money, no friends, and a monster waiting for her at eight o'clock.

The sun set, plunging New York City into a freezing, gray twilight.

Elinor stood in the bathroom of a campus library, looking in the mirror. She had changed into an old, faded olive-green winter coat. It was bulky and shapeless, perfect for blending into the shadows. She couldn't afford a taxi, and she didn't want to call Boyd's driver. She had to walk to the subway station and take the train to Midtown.

She checked her watch. 7:00 PM. She had a full hour to get to The Pinnacle.

She left the library and took a shortcut down a narrow, poorly lit alleyway between two brick buildings to reach the subway entrance faster. The alley smelled of rotting garbage and damp concrete.

Halfway down the alley, three figures stepped out from behind a large dumpster, blocking her path.

Elinor stopped dead in her tracks.

The streetlamp at the end of the alley illuminated the smirking face of Preston Vance. Flanking him were two massive guys from his fraternity. One of them was Rocco Gallo, a guy known for his violent temper.

"I told you," Preston said, his voice echoing off the brick walls. "You'd regret it."

Elinor saw the faint scratch mark on Preston's cheek from where she had pushed past him yesterday. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but she didn't step back.

She turned around to run back the way she came.

Rocco lunged. He was terrifyingly fast. His heavy hand clamped down on the strap of her backpack. He yanked backward with brutal force.

Elinor flew backward. Her shoulder slammed hard against the rough brick wall. The impact knocked the wind out of her. She gasped, pain shooting down her spine.

Preston slowly walked up to her. He reached out and slapped her cheek lightly, a degrading, stinging tap. "What's wrong? Your rich old sugar daddy didn't send his bodyguards to walk you to the train?"

"What do you want?" Elinor spat, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and boiling anger.

"Nothing much," Preston smiled, his eyes cold. "I just want to teach you some manners. Get on your knees right now, and apologize for embarrassing me."

Elinor stared at his arrogant, twisted face. She thought of the billion dollars. She thought of Deshaun's shattered leg. She had been pushed, beaten, and starved by billionaires. She was not going to kneel for this spoiled frat boy.

She gathered the saliva in her mouth and spat directly into Preston's face.

Preston recoiled, wiping his cheek in disgust. His eyes widened in pure fury. "You bitch! Hold her down!"

Rocco and the other guy lunged at her.

Elinor's survival instincts, honed on the rough streets of Queens, exploded. She didn't cower. As Rocco reached for her arms, she planted her left foot, swung her right leg, and kicked Rocco directly in the side of his knee with the heavy heel of her boot.

Rocco roared in pain and buckled forward.

The moment his head dropped, Elinor brought her elbow down in a vicious, sweeping arc, smashing it into the back of his neck. Rocco crashed to the concrete.

The second guy froze in shock. He didn't expect the quiet girl to fight like a street brawler.

But Preston recovered. He lunged forward, his hands tangling in Elinor's hair. He yanked her head back violently and slammed her against the brick wall.

Elinor's vision flashed white. A sharp, ringing sound filled her ears. She felt the skin on her arm tear as it scraped against a jagged piece of metal protruding from the wall. Warm blood instantly soaked her sleeve.

Preston raised his fist to hit her.

Elinor dropped her weight, slipping out of her coat slightly. Her hand hit the ground, her fingers wrapping around a loose, heavy half-brick lying in the dirt.

With a scream of pure adrenaline, she swung the brick upward with all her remaining strength.

The rough stone smashed directly into Preston's shin bone.

Preston let out a high-pitched shriek. He dropped her hair and hopped backward, clutching his leg in agony.

Elinor didn't wait to see if he fell. She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the tearing pain in her arm and the dizziness in her head. She sprinted out of the alley, her boots pounding against the pavement.

She ran for four blocks without looking back, weaving through the evening crowds until her lungs burned and her legs felt like lead.

She finally collapsed against the glass window of a closed boutique. She gasped for air, her chest heaving.

She looked at her reflection in the dark glass.

Her hair was a wild, tangled mess. The corner of her lip was split and bleeding. Her old coat was torn at the shoulder, and a long, jagged cut on her forearm was actively bleeding, the crimson stain spreading rapidly down her sleeve.

She looked at her watch. 7:50 PM.

A wave of absolute terror washed over her, colder than the winter wind.

She was going to be late. And she was covered in blood and dirt.

She pictured Boyd's face. She pictured his cold, black eyes. If he saw her like this, if he found out she was fighting in an alley... the punishment would be unimaginable.

But she had no choice. She couldn't run from him.

Elinor wiped the blood from her lip with the back of her trembling hand. She pulled her torn coat tighter around her bleeding arm, and limped toward The Pinnacle.