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.

The next afternoon, Ada stood in the second-floor guest bedroom. She wore the ill-fitting, coarse gray maid's uniform.

Her arms trembled as she dragged a heavy wet rag across the floor-to-ceiling windows. The severe malnutrition from prison made every movement feel like lifting weights. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead.

The bedroom door clicked open.

Jacklyn walked in, swaying her hips elegantly. She carried a silver tray with sliced apples. She kicked the door shut behind her with her heel.

Ada stopped wiping the glass. She gripped the wet rag tightly, her muscles tensing in defense.

Jacklyn set the tray on a side table. She picked up the small, razor-sharp silver fruit knife resting next to the apples. She ran her thumb lightly over the flat of the blade.

"You really made a fool of yourself yesterday, Ada," Jacklyn whispered, walking slowly toward her. "Claiming Jakob is yours. How pathetic."

Jacklyn stopped two feet away. She leaned in, her perfume sickeningly sweet. "But you know what the funniest part is? He sleeps in silk sheets bought with your family's money. He calls me Mommy."

Ada's chest heaved. The anger boiled over, burning her throat. "The stillbirth report," Ada gritted out. "You forged it, didn't you? You stole him."

Jacklyn didn't deny it. Instead, a slow, terrifyingly triumphant smile spread across her face.

That silent confirmation snapped the last thread of Ada's sanity. She dropped the rag and took a step forward, her hands reaching out to grab Jacklyn by the throat.

Just as Ada's fingers brushed the silk of Jacklyn's blouse, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Desmond was walking past with his assistant.

Jacklyn's eyes darted to the door. Her triumphant smile vanished, replaced by a look of sheer, calculated madness.

Without a second of hesitation, Jacklyn raised the silver fruit knife.

Ada watched in frozen horror as Jacklyn slashed the blade hard across the inside of her own left forearm.

Blood instantly welled up, bright red and thick, soaking into the pristine white silk of her sleeve.

Jacklyn grabbed Ada's hand and forcefully shoved the bloody handle of the knife into Ada's palm.

Then, Jacklyn threw her head back and let out a piercing, blood-curdling scream.

Bang!

The heavy wooden door was kicked open so hard it rebounded off the wall.

Desmond burst into the room. He stopped dead.

Jacklyn was collapsed on the floor, clutching her bleeding arm, sobbing hysterically. Ada stood over her, holding a blood-dripping knife.

The visual triggered a violent flashback in Desmond's mind. The stairs. The blood. Three years ago.

His vision tinted red with rage.

"Desmond!" Jacklyn wailed, crawling toward him. "She tried to kill me! She said I took her place!"

Ada's hand shake so violently the knife rattled. She shook her head frantically. "No! Desmond, she cut herself! I swear to God!"

Desmond didn't listen. He lunged forward and kicked Ada's wrist with his heavy leather shoe. The knife flew out of her hand and clattered against the wall.

He grabbed a fistful of Ada's hair and yanked her backward.

Ada screamed in pain as she was dragged out of the room and thrown onto the hallway carpet.

"Get the medics!" Desmond roared at his assistant.

He turned back to Ada, grabbed her by the collar of her uniform, and dragged her down the hallway like a corpse. Ada's knees banged against the stairs as he hauled her down to the basement.

Deep in the bowels of the manor was a reinforced steel Panic Room, built for extreme security threats.

Desmond punched a code into the keypad. The heavy metal door hissed open.

He threw Ada violently into the pitch-black room. She hit the concrete floor hard, scraping her palms.

"You want to act like a violent animal?" Desmond spat, his voice echoing in the dark. "Then you'll live in a cage. No food. No water. Until you learn."

Ada scrambled to her knees, crawling toward the sliver of light at the door. "Desmond, please! Don't lock me in the dark! Please!"

Desmond looked down at her with absolute disgust. He hit the button.

The heavy steel door slammed shut with a final, echoing boom. The locks engaged.

Absolute, suffocating darkness swallowed Ada whole.

The silence was deafening. Only the faint hiss of the air vent broke the quiet.

Ada curled into a tight ball on the freezing concrete. The severe claustrophobia she developed in solitary confinement hit her like a freight train. Her throat closed up. She began to hyperventilate, her body shaking uncontrollably in the dark.