Elizbeth dragged her suitcase down the long, freezing corridor of the Wilkinson estate. The wheels rattled loudly against the marble floor, the sound echoing off the high ceilings.

She reached the door at the very end of the hall. She pushed it open and dragged her bag inside.

The guest room was sparsely furnished. The air smelled stale, like a room that hadn't been breathed in for months.

Elizbeth let go of the suitcase handle. Her knees buckled. She collapsed onto the edge of the stiff mattress and buried her face in her hands.

A ragged sob ripped from her throat. Her shoulders shook violently as the tears she had been holding back finally poured out. The silence of the room absorbed her pain, offering no comfort.

After a few minutes, her breathing slowed. She wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. Her chest still ached, but her eyes hardened.

She unzipped the front pocket of her suitcase. Her fingers brushed against a worn, wooden picture frame. She pulled it out.

It was a photo of her and her grandfather standing in front of his clinic. He was smiling, his hand resting proudly on her shoulder.

Elizbeth traced his face through the glass. Her throat tightened. As long as the clinic is safe, she told herself. I can survive this.

She stood up and reached behind her back, struggling with the zipper of her wedding dress. She finally yanked it down, stepping out of the heavy fabric. She pulled a simple, faded cotton pajama set from her bag and slipped it on.

She pulled the thin blanket back and prepared to lie down.

A violent pounding on the door made her jump. The wood rattled in its frame.

Elizbeth's heart slammed against her ribs. She walked to the door on bare feet and slowly turned the handle.

Carlton stood in the hallway. His face was a mask of dark fury. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his eyes wild and impatient.

Before Elizbeth could speak, his large hand shot out. His fingers clamped around her wrist like a steel vice.

"Ow!" Elizbeth gasped, trying to pull her arm back.

Carlton ignored her. He turned and yanked her out of the guest room.

Elizbeth stumbled forward, struggling to keep her balance. Her bare feet slapped against the freezing marble as he dragged her down the corridor.

As they rounded the corner, a woman in a crisp black uniform froze in her tracks. It was Judi Grimes, the head housekeeper. Her eyes widened as she stared at Carlton dragging his new bride down the hall.

Carlton stopped abruptly. He turned his head, his eyes narrowing into lethal slits as he glared at the housekeeper.

"Keep your mouth shut, Judi," he warned, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

Judi immediately dropped her gaze to the floor and scurried away down a side hallway.

Elizbeth's cheeks burned with intense heat. The humiliation of being dragged like a misbehaving child in front of the staff made her stomach churn.

Carlton didn't slow down. He pulled her all the way back to the master bedroom. He kicked the door open, dragged her inside, and threw her toward the center of the room.

Elizbeth crashed onto the velvet sofa. She scrambled to sit up, rubbing her red, throbbing wrist. She glared at him, her chest heaving.

Carlton marched into the massive walk-in closet. A second later, he walked out holding a sheer, black silk nightgown. He threw it directly at her face.

"Put it on," he ordered.

Elizbeth pulled the silk from her face. She looked at the tiny straps and the plunging neckline. Her face flushed a deep crimson.

"I'm not changing in front of you," she snapped, clutching the fabric to her chest.

Carlton let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "Don't flatter yourself. There is absolutely nothing on your body that I want to look at."

He turned his back to her, crossing his arms over his chest.

Elizbeth's jaw tightened. Her fingers shook as she pulled her cotton shirt over her head. She stripped out of her pants and quickly slid the cold, slippery silk over her body. It clung to her skin, offering almost no coverage.

"I'm done," she muttered, wrapping her arms around her waist.

Carlton turned around. His dark eyes flicked to her bare shoulders. His gaze lingered there for exactly one second before he snapped his eyes back to her face.

He closed the distance between them in two long strides. He reached out and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look up at him.

"My grandfather is coming tomorrow morning for a surprise inspection," Carlton said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You will play the part of a devoted, happy wife. Do you understand?"

Elizbeth stared into his cold eyes. The reality of her situation crushed down on her. She gave a small, jerky nod.

Carlton released her chin as if her skin burned him. He pointed a finger at the velvet sofa.

"That is your bed," he stated coldly.

He turned and walked toward the massive king-sized bed. He climbed in and reached over to the bedside lamp. He clicked it off, plunging the room into darkness, leaving Elizbeth shivering on the couch.

The morning sun pierced through the gap in the heavy curtains, striking Elizbeth directly in the eyes.

She groaned and shifted on the narrow velvet sofa. Her neck was stiff, and a dull ache radiated down her spine.

She sat up, rubbing the back of her neck. The sound of running water echoed from the master bathroom.

A moment later, the bathroom door swung open. Carlton walked out. He had a white towel wrapped low around his waist. Droplets of water clung to his broad chest and slid down the deep ridges of his abs.

Elizbeth's breath hitched. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She quickly averted her eyes, staring hard at the floor, her heart suddenly beating entirely too fast.

A sharp knock sounded at the bedroom door.

"Sir," Judi's voice called out clearly from the hallway. "The elder Mr. Wilkinson is coming up the stairs."

Carlton's head snapped toward the door. Panic flashed in his dark eyes. He moved instantly.

He crossed the room in three massive strides and grabbed Elizbeth by the upper arm.

"Hey!" Elizbeth yelped as he hauled her off the sofa.

He practically threw her onto the center of the king-sized bed. She bounced against the mattress, completely disoriented.

Carlton jumped onto the bed next to her. He grabbed the thick duvet and yanked it up, covering them both up to their shoulders. He pulled her body flush against his bare, damp chest.

The double doors of the bedroom swung open.

Jacob Wilkinson stepped into the room. He leaned heavily on a silver-headed cane, his sharp, calculating eyes scanning the space.

The cold, ruthless expression on Carlton's face vanished instantly. It was replaced by a soft, affectionate smile.

Carlton wrapped his heavy arm around Elizbeth's waist, pulling her even closer. He rested his chin on the top of her head.

Elizbeth's entire body went rigid. Her muscles locked up.

Carlton's fingers dug into her waist under the covers, pinching her hard. It was a silent, painful warning.

Elizbeth gasped slightly from the pinch. She forced the corners of her mouth up into a shy smile. She looked at the old man.

"Good morning, Grandfather," she said, her voice tight.

Jacob's sharp eyes lingered on their tangled bodies. The tight lines around his mouth relaxed into a satisfied nod.

He walked slowly toward the side of the bed. "How did you both sleep?" he asked, his voice rough like sandpaper.

Carlton ducked his head. He pressed his warm lips against Elizbeth's forehead, letting them linger there.

"Everything was perfect, Grandfather," Carlton murmured, his voice thick with fake adoration.

The feel of his lips on her skin sent a violent shiver down Elizbeth's spine. A bitter, sour feeling rose in the back of her throat.

Jacob reached into his tweed jacket pocket. He pulled out a small, square velvet box and set it gently on the nightstand.

"Take good care of your wife, Carlton," Jacob instructed. He tapped his cane on the floor once, turned around, and walked out of the room.

The heavy doors closed. The loud click of the lock echoed in the quiet room.

The warmth vanished from Carlton's face in a fraction of a second. His eyes turned back to ice.

He let go of Elizbeth as if she were covered in acid. He threw the duvet off his body and rolled out of the bed, putting as much distance between them as possible.

The sudden loss of his body heat was a stark reminder of the act. The warmth had been a lie, and the cold that replaced it felt more honest, yet somehow more brutal. A bitter wave of humiliation washed over her, and she had to fight the sting in her eyes.

Carlton grabbed a dry towel and aggressively rubbed his wet hair. He glared at her.

"Clean yourself up," he ordered, his voice dripping with disdain. "And don't get used to the acting. Remember exactly why you're here."

Elizbeth clamped her teeth together. She pulled the duvet up to her chest, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the fabric. She refused to let a single tear fall while he was looking.

Carlton walked into the closet. He emerged a few minutes later wearing a perfectly tailored Armani suit. He didn't even glance at the velvet box on the nightstand.

He grabbed his watch from the dresser, strapped it to his wrist, and walked out of the bedroom without looking back.

After Carlton left, Elizbeth sat alone in the massive, empty bed. She reached out with a trembling hand and picked up the velvet box, her chest heavy with a suffocating weight. She knew she couldn't stay in this hostile room without the one thing that brought her comfort. Slipping out of the master bedroom, she hurried down the hall to the guest room.

Elizbeth sat cross-legged on the bed. She slowly popped open the velvet box.

Resting on a bed of white satin was a stunning antique brooch, shaped like a swallow in mid-flight.

She picked it up and pressed the cool metal against the center of her chest. The memory of Carlton's fake kiss and his immediate, violent rejection played on a loop in her mind. A single tear escaped, sliding down her cheek and dripping onto her collarbone.

She wiped her face aggressively. She needed to ground herself.

She turned and reached into her open medical bag she had just brought in, sitting on the floor. Her fingers brushed against the soft leather of her acupuncture roll. She traced the outlines of the specialized silver needles hidden inside. The familiar texture calmed her racing heart.

She took a deep breath, slipped the leather roll into the pocket of her silk robe, and stood up. Her throat was dry. She needed a glass of water from the kitchen downstairs.

Elizbeth opened the master bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway. The estate was eerily silent.

As she walked past the grand staircase, a loud, heavy thud echoed from the West Wing.

Elizbeth froze. Her heart skipped a beat. She stared down the dark, forbidden corridor. The contract clause flashed in her mind: Permanent ban from entering the West Wing.

Another crash sounded, louder this time. It was followed by a low, guttural roar of pure agony. It sounded like a wild animal trapped in a snare.

Elizbeth's medical instincts flared, instantly overriding her fear. She gritted her teeth, turned on her heel, and sprinted toward the West Wing.

The lighting in this hallway was dim. The air felt heavy and oppressive.

She followed the sounds to a massive oak door at the very end of the hall. It was cracked open.

Elizbeth pushed the door gently. It swung inward, revealing a scene of absolute chaos.

Shattered porcelain and the remains of an expensive floor lamp littered the Persian rug.

Carlton was on his knees in the center of the room. Both of his hands were clamped the sides of his head. The muscles in his arms and back were twitching violently, spasming out of control.

He let out another agonizing roar. He lunged forward and slammed his forehead directly into the solid walnut wainscoting covering the wall.

Elizbeth gasped. A dark smear of blood was already painted across the wood paneling.

She didn't think. She bolted into the room, her bare feet crunching over broken glass.

"Carlton, stop!" she screamed, reaching out and grabbing his broad shoulders to pull him back.

Carlton's head snapped around. His eyes were bloodshot, the whites completely red. His pupils were blown wide, unfocused and wild. He had completely lost his mind to the pain.

Like a provoked beast, he swung his massive arm backward.

The sheer force of his strike caught Elizbeth in the chest. She was lifted off her feet and thrown backward through the air.

Her spine crashed against a heavy mahogany bookcase.

Pain exploded in her back, radiating down her legs. She let out a choked gasp and slid down the wood, collapsing onto the floor. She curled in on herself, her face contorting in agony.

Carlton didn't even register that she was there. He raised his bloody fist and began pounding it into the wall, the skin on his knuckles splitting open.

Elizbeth watched him, her breathing shallow. He was experiencing a catastrophic neurological pain event. If she didn't stop him, he was going to kill himself.

She ignored the screaming pain in her spine. She bit her lip until it bled, placed her hands flat on the floor, and forced herself to stand on shaking legs.

She reached into her robe pocket and pulled out the black leather roll.

Her fingers worked with practiced speed, flicking the leather strap open. A row of long, gleaming silver needles caught the dim light.

Elizbeth took a deep, shaky breath. Her eyes locked onto the back of Carlton's neck, mapping the critical acupoints hidden beneath his skin.

She pulled out the longest needle-the nerve-calming pin. Her eyes hardened with absolute focus.

With desperate determination, Elizbeth lunged across the room toward the out-of-control man.