Three years later.

The heavy iron gates of the Upstate New York Federal Women's Correctional Facility slid open with a deafening, metallic screech.

Ada walked out of the dark concrete tunnel. She wore a cheap, faded gray trench coat that hung loosely on her emaciated frame.

The bright afternoon sunlight hit her face. She flinched, raising her hand to shield her eyes. The back of her hand was covered in raised, purple scars from severe frostbite. She remembered the brutal winter when the guards, bribed by Jacklyn, had stripped her of her coat and locked her in an unheated solitary cell for three days. The agonizing burn of the ice eating into her flesh was a nightmare she would never forget.

She took a deep breath of free air, but the sudden intake of oxygen irritated her lungs, which had been damaged by three years of damp, freezing cells. A violent fit of coughing shook her fragile shoulders.

A black Ford sedan idled by the side of the road. The driver's door opened, and her cousin, Gary Fowler, hurried out.

"Ada," Gary said, his eyes filled with pity. He wrapped his arms around her thin body.

Ada leaned her forehead against his shoulder. It was the first time in three years she had felt human warmth.

Gary took the plastic bag holding her few belongings and opened the passenger door for her.

Ada slid into the seat. The car pulled away, leaving behind the concrete hell that had buried her youth and the memory of the baby they told her was stillborn.

Gary handed her a paper cup of hot coffee from the cup holder, his fingers pressing a small, cheap burner phone into her palm along with it. "Hide this," he whispered quickly, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror. "Use it only when absolutely necessary."

"It's over, Ada. Everything is going to be okay now," Gary continued, his tone shifting back to a comforting pitch. "Although... do you still remember Kael? It's a pity what happened to him after you went inside. He disappeared completely."

Ada's fingers tightened around the phone, slipping it deep into her coat pocket. The mention of Kael sent a dull ache through her chest, a ghost from a past she was too broken to mourn. She held the warm cup with both hands. Her eyes were dead and hollow as she stared at the passing trees. "How is Caleb?" she asked, her voice raspy from disuse, pivoting to the only blood relative she had left.

Gary shifted in his seat, avoiding her eyes. "Your brother is still in the state prison in California. He's... stable."

Before Ada could ask more, the screech of heavy tires ripped through the air.

Three massive, black Cadillac Escalades swerved out from a dirt crossroad. They formed a solid wall of steel across the highway, forcing Gary to slam on the brakes.

The Ford jerked violently. The hot coffee spilled over Ada's hands and her gray coat.

She looked up, her heart suddenly pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird.

The door of the center Escalade opened. A polished black leather dress shoe stepped onto the dusty asphalt.

Desmond Ortiz stepped out. He wore a perfectly tailored dark suit, looking like a king descending to inspect a slaughter.

Seeing the face that had haunted her nightmares for a thousand nights, Ada's lungs forgot how to expand. Her entire body began to shake uncontrollably.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing?" Gary yelled, unbuckling his seatbelt and jumping out of the car.

Desmond didn't even glance at him. He gave a slight nod. Two bodyguards rushed forward, grabbed Gary by the neck, and slammed his face hard against the hood of the Ford.

Desmond walked slowly to the passenger side window. He raised his hand and tapped his knuckles against the glass.

Get out.

Ada bit down on her lower lip so hard she tasted copper. She shook her head frantically, pressing her back against the seat.

Desmond's jaw tightened. He reached into his suit jacket, pulled out a thick stack of legal documents, and slapped them flat against the glass.

"Gary's company was liquidated yesterday," Desmond's voice was muffled but dangerously clear through the window. "I bought his debt. If you don't step out of this car right now, your cousin is going to federal prison for commercial fraud."

The words hit Ada like a physical blow to the stomach. Her family was already destroyed. She couldn't let Gary go down because of her.

Her psychological defenses crumbled into dust.

With trembling fingers, she pulled the door handle. The door swung open. She stepped out, immediately swallowed by Desmond's tall shadow.

Desmond reached out and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger. He forced her head up, his dark eyes scanning her hollow cheeks and scarred skin.

"Look at you," he sneered, his voice dripping with disgust. "You look exactly like the trash you are."

He let go of her face. He gestured to his bodyguards.

A hand shoved Ada roughly between the shoulder blades. She stumbled forward and was thrown into the back seat of his waiting Maybach.

The heavy door slammed shut behind her, sealing her fate.

The interior of the Maybach was suffocating. The heavy scent of Desmond's cedar and bergamot cologne filled the enclosed space, making Ada's stomach knot with anxiety.

She pressed her body hard against the leather door panel, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.

The car merged smoothly onto the highway. Desmond leaned back against the headrest, his dark eyes watching her with a cold, predatory stillness.

Ada forced herself to breathe. She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat and broke the silence.

"I want a divorce," her voice was hoarse, barely more than a rasp.

Desmond let out a low, dark chuckle. It sounded like a threat. "A divorce? You think a convicted felon gets to make demands?"

"I have nothing left," Ada pleaded, her fingernails digging into her own palms. "You took my freedom. You took my baby. Just let me go."

Desmond lunged across the seat. His large hand clamped around her thin wrist, pinning it to the leather seat.

"You don't get to leave," he snarled, his face inches from hers. "You will spend the rest of your miserable life in the shadow of my family, paying for what you did. Until I say you're done."

He threw her hand back at her in disgust.

The car fell into a dead, freezing silence. Thirty minutes later, the Maybach pulled up to the curb on Fifth Avenue, stopping in front of an exclusive, appointment-only luxury department store.

"Take her inside," Desmond ordered his head of security. "Burn those disgusting clothes. Put her in something suitable for the family dinner tonight."

Four massive bodyguards surrounded Ada. They marched her through the glass doors like a prisoner of war.

The store was blindingly bright. Wealthy shoppers stopped and stared at the bruised, emaciated woman being escorted by armed men.

Ada was shoved into a massive VIP fitting room. Two saleswomen nervously wheeled in racks of expensive evening gowns.

Ada stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror. She stared at her own reflection. Her collarbones jutted out sharply. Her skin was pale and covered in faint bruises. A wave of deep humiliation and burning anger washed over her.

She walked to the fitting room door and opened it a crack. "I need to use the restroom," she told the bodyguard standing outside.

The guard checked the adjacent marble bathroom. There were no windows, only one door. He nodded and let her step inside.

Ada locked the door instantly. She looked up. Above the toilet stalls was a large, industrial air conditioning vent.

She climbed onto the toilet seat, her legs shaking from weakness. She pushed her fingers through the metal grates and shoved upward. The cover popped loose.

Ignoring the sharp pain in her ribs, Ada pulled herself up into the dark, dusty ventilation shaft. The metal scraped against her elbows, tearing the skin, but she didn't stop. She crawled forward on her stomach, coughing silently through the thick dust.

Ten minutes later, the bodyguard kicked the bathroom door open. The room was empty.

Alarms immediately blared through the department store.

Ada dropped out of a vent in the back alley, landing hard on a pile of cardboard boxes. Pain shot up her ankle, but she scrambled to her feet and ran.

She pushed through the crowded Manhattan sidewalks, her heart hammering wildly. She could hear the crackle of security radios and heavy footsteps behind her.

She ducked into a subway station, rushing down the stairs toward the crowded platform. A train was just pulling in, the doors sliding open.

She lunged for the open doors.

A massive, iron-grip hand clamped down on the back of her trench coat collar.

Ada screamed, a raw sound of pure terror. She was jerked backward so hard her feet left the ground.

She spun around and crashed into a solid chest. She looked up into Desmond's eyes. They were pitch black, burning with a murderous rage.

The commuters around them backed away in fear, intimidated by the wall of bodyguards behind him.

Desmond didn't say a word. He bent down, threw Ada over his broad shoulder like a sack of flour, and turned around.

Ada kicked her legs and beat her fists against his back. "Let me go! You monster! Let me go!"

Desmond ignored her completely. He carried her out of the station and threw her violently into the back of the Maybach.

"Back to the manor," Desmond ordered the driver, his voice dripping with venom. "Now."

The Maybach screeched to a halt in front of the Ortiz Manor.

Desmond dragged Ada out of the car by her wrist. He hauled her up the stone steps and threw her through the front doors.

Ada tripped over the edge of the Persian rug and crashed to the marble floor. Her elbow slammed into the sharp corner of a glass coffee table. She gasped, clutching her arm as a sharp, sickening pain radiated up to her shoulder.

Desmond stood over her. He reached into his jacket and threw a piece of paper onto the floor beside her face.

It was a medical transfer log from the California State Prison.

"Your brother Caleb was stabbed in the yard yesterday," Desmond said, his voice devoid of any human emotion. "He needs emergency surgery. If you ever try to run from me again, the warden will make sure the doctors never arrive."

Ada stared at the paper. The letters blurred as tears filled her eyes. Her brother was bleeding out in a prison yard because of her.

The last pillar of her resistance snapped. She lowered her head until her forehead touched the cold marble floor. "Please," she whispered brokenly. "I'll do whatever you want. Just save him."

Before Desmond could answer, the sound of light, rapid footsteps echoed from the top of the stairs.

"Desmond!" Jacklyn's voice was sweet and melodic.

She walked down the stairs, holding the hand of a little boy. He looked about three years old. He wore a tailored navy blue suit. He had dark hair and eyes that looked strikingly like Desmond's.

Jacklyn walked over and linked her arm through Desmond's. She looked down at Ada on the floor and let out a soft, mocking laugh. "Oh, is this the new maid? She looks a bit dirty."

The little boy, Jakob, let go of Jacklyn's hand. He walked curiously toward Ada, his big eyes staring at the scars on her face.

As the boy stepped closer, a strange, violent jolt hit Ada's chest. Her heart started beating in a frantic, irregular rhythm. A bizarre, magnetic pull drew her eyes to the child, a phantom ache blooming in her empty womb. She didn't know why, but looking at his small face, a wave of desperate, suffocating maternal instinct washed over her. Every cell in her body screamed that she knew this child. The memory of the delivery room hit her like a physical blow-the brief second she had felt her newborn's warmth before they told her he was dead.

"No..." Ada muttered. Her mind fractured under the weight of the impossible connection. She lunged forward and grabbed Jakob's small arm, pulling him closer to her face, her eyes frantically searching his terrified features. "What is your name? Who are you?"

Jakob screamed in terror, trying to pull his arm away. "Mommy!"

Smack!

Jacklyn's hand cracked across Ada's face with brutal force. The slap threw Ada sideways, her cheek burning with fire. Jacklyn snatched Jakob and hid him behind her legs.

Desmond grabbed Ada by the collar of her coat and hauled her to her feet, his face twisted in absolute fury. "Don't you ever touch my son again!"

Ada didn't feel the pain in her cheek. She pointed a shaking finger at the boy. "He's mine! Desmond, I can feel it! He's my baby! You stole him from me!"

Jacklyn's face paled for a fraction of a second, but she quickly masked it with a look of disgusted pity. "She's insane, Desmond. Prison made her lose her mind. She's projecting her dead bastard onto Jakob."

Desmond's grip on Ada's collar tightened until she choked. He looked at her with pure revulsion. "You disgust me. Using your dead affair baby to insult my heir."

He threw her back onto the floor. He looked at the head butler. "Take her to the servant's quarters. Put her in a uniform. She starts scrubbing the floors today."

Two guards grabbed Ada by the arms and dragged her away. She fought them, twisting her neck to keep her eyes locked on Jakob until the heavy oak doors slammed shut, cutting off her view.

In the cramped, windowless servant's room, the butler threw a scratchy gray uniform at her feet.

Ada collapsed onto the narrow cot. She pressed her hands against her mouth to muffle her sobs. Her mind was spinning. The birthmark. The timing. Jacklyn's fake pregnancy.

She bit down on her lip until she tasted blood. A tiny, dangerous spark of hope ignited in the ashes of her soul. She had to find out the truth. Even if it killed her.