The Lincoln Navigator pulled to a stop.

The massive Greek Revival portico of the Rollins estate cast a long, dark shadow over the driveway.

The driver turned off the engine.

He did not get out to open the door for Gina.

Gina pushed the heavy door open herself.

Her worn canvas shoes stepped onto the thick, expensive Persian rug that covered the entrance steps.

The heavy mahogany front doors were wide open.

Inside the grand foyer, a massive crystal chandelier cast a warm, golden light.

Edwina Rollins sat on a tufted velvet sofa.

Hailie Rollins sat next to her.

Hailie wore a pristine white Chanel haute couture dress.

The fabric draped perfectly over her slender frame.

Hailie held a delicate bone-china teacup.

She looked over the rim of the cup at Gina.

Her eyes scanned the faded gray jumpsuit and the greasy hair.

A sharp, satisfied gleam flashed in Hailie.

Edwina slammed her teacup onto the glass table.

The porcelain clattered loudly.

Edwina pinched her nose with two fingers.

"Take her to the basement immediately."

Edwina glared at the head butler.

"Hose her down. The smell of that asylum is making me nauseous."

Gina did not blink.

She did not open her mouth.

She dropped her shoulders and let her arms hang limp at her sides.

She followed the butler.

Her shoes dragged across the polished marble floor.

She walked toward the narrow, unlit door that led to the servant quarters.

"Oh, Mother, poor Gina looks so miserable."

Hailie.

Her voice was high and coated in fake sweetness.

"She is just a tool, Hailie."

Edwina.

"Do not waste your pity on a broken thing."

Gina walked down the concrete stairs.

The air in the basement was damp and cold.

The butler pointed to a small, rusted shower stall in the corner.

He dropped a folded pile of fabric on a wooden stool and walked away.

Gina stepped into the stall.

She turned the metal knob.

Freezing water blasted out of the showerhead.

It hit her back like a spray of icy needles.

Her muscles instantly contracted.

Her breathing hitched, but she did not step away.

She let the freezing water wash away the heavy smell of bleach and institutional soap, keeping the exposure calculated and brief. Stepping out quickly, she rigorously scrubbed her skin with the thin, scratchy towel until it turned red, instantly performing a rapid, silent set of isometric muscle flexes to force her core body temperature back to normal.

She raised her hand to her left collarbone.

Her fingers traced a thick, raised line of scar tissue.

The rough skin felt numb under the cold water.

A memory slammed into her brain.

Five years ago.

The top of the grand staircase.

Hailie.

Hailie.

The feeling of empty air.

The sickening crunch of her own collarbone snapping against the marble steps.

The fake medical reports that declared Gina a danger to herself.

Gina stared at the rusted metal wall of the shower.

The blank, empty look in her eyes vanished.

Her pupils dilated.

Her jaw locked so tight her teeth ground together.

The water running down her face felt like ice.

She turned off the shower.

She dried off with a thin, scratchy towel.

She picked up the clothes the butler left.

It was an old, faded maid.

The sleeves were two inches too short.

The fabric pulled tight across her shoulders.

The butler returned and led her back up the stairs.

He took her to the second floor.

They walked past the massive, double-door master suites.

They stopped at the very end of the hallway.

The butler opened the door to the smallest guest room.

The room was freezing.

The radiator was completely silent.

A cold draft blew in through the poorly sealed window, carrying the bitter chill of the New York autumn.

Gina walked in and sat on the edge of the hard mattress.

The springs groaned under her weight.

The bedroom door violently kicked open.

The wood splintered around the lock.

Gustaf stormed into the room.

His face was red.

The veins in his neck bulged against his tight shirt collar.

He held a thick stack of legal documents in his right hand.

He threw the papers directly at Gina.

The heavy pages hit her cheek and scattered across the cheap carpet.

"Sign the prenuptial agreement."

Gustaf stood over her.

His chest heaved.

"You will not touch a single penny of the Brooks family money. Every asset you acquire belongs to the Rollins family."

Gina looked at the papers on the floor.

She did not move.

She did not reach for the pen that rolled near her shoe.

She just sat there, staring at the blank wall opposite the bed.

Gustaf.

His hands balled into fists.

"You ungrateful psycho."

He took a massive step forward.

He reached out his large, heavy hand.

His fingers spread wide, aiming straight for the hair at the back of Gina.

He wanted to grab her and slam her face into the mattress.

His fingertips brushed the ends of her hair.

Gina moved.

Her body twisted to the left with terrifying speed.

She slipped entirely out of Gustaf.

Before his brain could process the empty air, Gina.

Her left hand shot up.

Her fingers clamped down on Gustaf.

She found the exact location of the radial styloid process.

She pressed her thumb directly into the ulnar nerve.

Gustaf gasped.

A sharp, electric shock of pain shot up his arm.

Gina used his forward momentum.

She twisted her hips.

She pulled his trapped arm down and across her body.

The leverage was flawless.

Gustaf.

He crashed face-first into the solid oak desk next to the bed.

The impact sounded like a baseball bat hitting a tree trunk.

Blood instantly pooled in his mouth.

He let out a guttural scream.

Gina did not stop.

She drove her right knee directly into the center of Gustaf.

She pinned him to the desk.

Her body weight pressed down on his central nervous system.

Gustaf tried to thrash his legs.

He tried to push himself up with his free hand.

He could not move a single inch.

The pressure on his spine paralyzed his motor functions.

The grip on his wrist felt like a steel vice crushing his bones.

Gina leaned down.

Her face was inches from his ear.

Her breathing was slow, steady, and completely calm.

"If you ever try to touch me again."

Her voice was a hollow whisper.

"I will turn the bones in this hand into dust."

She applied a fraction of an inch more pressure to his wrist.

Gustaf screamed again, his voice cracking in pure agony.

Gina let go.

She stepped back.

In less than a second, her shoulders slumped.

She wrapped her arms around her stomach and began to tremble violently.

She backed into the corner of the room, looking like a terrified animal.

Gustaf scrambled away from the desk.

He clutched his right wrist against his chest.

His chest heaved as he gasped for air.

He looked at the trembling girl in the corner.

The pain radiating up his arm was real.

The cold sweat dripping down his back was real.

For the first time in his life, Gustaf looked at his sister and felt absolute, paralyzing fear.

The morning light barely pierced the heavy velvet curtains of the first-floor study.

The butler knocked once on Gina.

He pushed the door open and coldly told her to go downstairs.

Gina walked into the study.

The room smelled of old paper and expensive leather.

Arthur Rollins sat behind a massive red oak desk.

His face was a mask of cold, hard stone.

Gustaf stood near the window.

A thick blue ice pack was strapped tightly around his right wrist.

Whenever he looked at Gina, his eyes darted away, filled with a toxic mix of hatred and fear.

Hailie sat on the leather sofa, her arm linked with Edwina.

Hailie wore a soft pink cashmere sweater.

She leaned her head on Edwina.

Arthur did not say good morning.

He pushed a silver iPad Pro across the smooth surface of the desk.

The metal scraped against the wood.

The iPad stopped at the edge, the screen facing Gina.

Arthur pressed his thick finger against the play button.

A video started playing.

The lighting in the video was dark and flashing with neon colors.

It showed a girl who looked exactly like Gina.

The girl was sitting on the lap of a heavily tattooed man at a filthy underground party.

The girl in the video leaned forward and snorted a line of white powder off a glass table.

The camera zoomed in.

The thick, jagged scar on the girl.

It was identical to the one Gina had.

"If you do not smile and play the perfect bride at the press conference tomorrow."

Arthur.

"I will send this video to the New York Times."

Hailie let out a soft, theatrical sigh.

She covered her mouth with her hand.

"It is so sad what those hospitals do to people. She is completely ruined."

Gina stared at the glowing screen.

Her eyes tracked the pixels.

Her brain, trained in the deepest sectors of the dark web, dissected the footage in milliseconds.

The rendering was sloppy.

She did not tremble.

She did not cry.

She reached out and grabbed the heavy leather chair in front of the desk.

She pulled it back.

The wooden legs screeched against the floorboards.

Gina sat down.

She crossed her legs.

She rested her hands on her lap.

Arthur.

His hands slammed down on the desk.

The coffee cups rattled.

"How dare you sit."

Gina ignored his outburst.

She looked directly into Arthur.

"The ambient lighting on the collarbone in frame 402 does not match the strobe effect of the background."

Her voice was flat and steady.

"The facial mapping glitches around the jawline when the subject turns her head past forty-five degrees."

She tilted her head slightly.

"And the shadow under the nose is cast from a light source that does not exist in that room."

The study went dead silent.

Arthur.

His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.

He stared at the girl in the faded maid.

He could not comprehend how a heavily medicated mental patient knew the technical flaws of a Deepfake video.

Gina leaned forward.

"But the public does not care about rendering flaws."

She tapped her finger against the edge of the desk.

"They only believe the scandals they want to believe."

She sat back.

"I will attend your press conference. I will be the perfect, obedient Rollins daughter."

Arthur.

"But I will not wear this trash."

Gina pinched the cheap fabric of her sleeve.

"I want a custom haute couture gown from Maison Étoile. The current season."

Hailie let out a sharp, high-pitched laugh.

She jumped up from the sofa.

"Are you insane?"

Hailie pointed at Gina.

"Maison Étoile does not sell to just anyone. A-list Hollywood actresses wait six months for a fitting."

Edwina stood up, her face flushed with anger.

"You greedy little rat. You do not deserve a single thread from that brand."

Gina stood up.

She slowly smoothed out the wrinkles on her faded jacket.

She looked at Arthur.

"If I do not have a Maison Étoile gown by tomorrow morning."

Gina smiled. It was a cold, dead smile.

"I will walk onto that stage wearing this exact hospital uniform."

She placed her hands on the desk and leaned closer to Arthur.

"Imagine the headlines. The Rollins family forces their beggar daughter to marry into the Brooks empire."

Gina lowered her voice.

"How many millions will your stock price drop in the first hour?"

Arthur.

His jaw clenched so tight his teeth ground audibly.

He was a man who worshipped money.

He calculated the cost of the PR disaster in his head.

The numbers terrified him.

He glared at Gina with pure venom.

"Alistair."

Arthur barked at his assistant standing by the door.

"Call the Maison Étoile flagship store in Manhattan. Pay whatever rush fee they want. Get the damn dress."

Hailie stomped her foot.

Her face twisted in ugly jealousy.

Arthur shot her a look so vicious it froze her in place.

She turned around.

Before walking away, Gina intentionally let her hand drag across the massive red oak desk. Her fingers brushed the edge, moving with blinding, practiced speed. In a fraction of a second, perfectly shielded by her own body and the distraction of their anger, she swept Arthur's spare smartphone off the corner and into her sleeve.

She walked toward the heavy oak doors.

She did not look back at the angry, defeated faces of her family.

As she reached the door, the cold smile returned to her lips.

She knew something they did not.

She was the absolute, sole owner of Maison Étoile.

As she walked down the carpeted hallway, she slipped her hand into her pocket.

Her fingers wrapped around the spare smartphone she had just stolen from the corner of Arthur.

Without looking at the screen, her thumb rapidly tapped out a heavily encrypted text message.

The heavy doors of the study remained closed.

Alistair, Arthur.

He paced back and forth across the thick rug in the living room.

He held his phone tight against his ear.

Sweat dripped down his forehead.

He nodded rapidly, muttering frantic agreements into the receiver.

He hung up the phone.

He wiped his forehead with a silk handkerchief and walked into the living room.

Arthur, Edwina, and Hailie looked up at him.

Alistair cleared his throat.

His voice shook slightly.

"They agreed."

Alistair looked at Arthur in disbelief.

"Maison Étoile agreed to the rush order. And they waived the emergency fee."

Arthur.

His thick eyebrows shot up toward his hairline.

He leaned back in his leather chair.

That brand was notorious for its extreme arrogance.

They never bent their rules for anyone, not even billionaires.

Edwina clapped her hands together.

She stood up, her face glowing with sudden pride.

"You see?"

Edwina looked at Arthur.

"It is the Rollins name. They know our status in New York. They respect us."

Hailie touched her collarbone.

She bit her lower lip, forcing a shy, sweet smile onto her face.

"Actually, Mother."

Hailie lowered her voice to make it sound modest.

"I played a cello solo at the Lincoln Center last week."

She smoothed the skirt of her Chanel dress.

"The head designer of Maison Étoile liked my photos on Instagram. I think they are doing this for me."

Edwina gasped in delight.

She rushed over and grabbed Hailie.

"Of course. My beautiful, talented girl."

Edwina kissed Hailie.

"When the dress arrives, you must try it on first. We need to take pictures for your social media."

Hailie lifted her chin.

Her chest swelled with vanity.

She imagined Gina standing in the corner, watching her wear the most expensive dress in the world.

At exactly three o'clock, the heavy iron gates of the Rollins estate swung open.

Three massive, black Mercedes-Benz Sprinter vans drove up the private driveway.

The tires crunched loudly against the gravel.

The maids and butlers stopped washing the windows and sweeping the steps.

They stared at the vehicles.

The side doors of the vans slid open simultaneously.

Six assistants stepped out.

They wore immaculate black tailored suits and spotless white cotton gloves.

The last person to step out of the lead van was Adrianne Vega.

She was the Director of North American Operations for Maison Étoile.

She wore a sharp, dark navy smoking suit.

Her black stilettos clicked sharply against the pavement.

Two assistants carefully rolled out a massive, heavy-duty clothing rack.

A thick, black velvet dust cover completely hid the garment hanging on it.

Arthur led his family out onto the grand portico.

He stretched his lips into a wide, fake, corporate smile.

He walked down the steps and extended his right hand toward Adrianne.

Adrianne stopped walking.

She slowly took off her dark sunglasses.

Her eyes swept over Arthur.

She looked at his extended hand.

She did not raise her own.

Arthur.

He awkwardly pulled his hand back and shoved it into his trouser pocket.

He let out a loud, forced laugh.

"Artists. Always so temperamental."

Hailie pushed past her father.

She stepped right in front of Adrianne.

She plastered her sweetest, most innocent smile on her face.

"Ms. Vega, it is such an honor."

Hailie clasped her hands under her chin.

"I am a huge fan of your work. Thank you so much for coming for me."

Adrianne looked down at Hailie.

A microscopic twitch of absolute disgust pulled at the corner of Adrianne.

Adrianne gave a single, robotic nod.

"We require your largest, best-lit fitting room. Immediately."

Adrianne.

Edwina snapped her fingers at the head butler.

"Take them to Hailie."

The assistants pushed the heavy rack up the grand staircase.

They rolled it into the massive, mirror-lined closet on the second floor.

Four tailoring assistants immediately began adjusting the overhead spotlights.

Hailie bounced on her toes.

She followed the rack into the center of the room.

She reached out her hand.

Her fingers moved to grab the heavy brass zipper of the black velvet cover.

An assistant stepped directly into Hailie.

The assistant raised a white-gloved hand, physically blocking Hailie.

"Do not touch the fabric."

The assistant.

"This piece features extremely fragile French embroidery. Only the client may handle it."

Hailie.

The blood rushed to her cheeks, turning them a splotchy, angry red.

She forced a tight smile.

"I am the client. I am here to try it on."

Hailie turned to Adrianne.

Her voice grew sharp and commanding.

"Take it out. Now."

Adrianne opened a thick, gold-embossed leather binder.

She did not look at Hailie.

She looked past the angry girl.

Her eyes locked onto the dark shadows at the far end of the hallway outside the closet.

Adrianne raised her voice.

Her tone shifted from icy professionalism to absolute, unwavering respect.

"Could someone please tell me."

Adrianne.

"Which one of you is Miss Gina Rollins?"