Augustina walked into the lavishly decorated living room.

Her soaked canvas shoes left a trail of muddy, wet footprints across the priceless Persian rug.

Her eldest brother, Preston, sat on a French tufted sofa. He lowered his copy of the Wall Street Journal, his eyes narrowing in disgust at the mud on the floor.

Felton sat in the oversized leather armchair at the head of the room. He held a crystal glass of whiskey. His face was dark as a thundercloud.

The moment Cindy stepped into the room, she started shrieking.

"Felton! You won't believe the attitude on her in the car!" Cindy pointed a shaking finger at Augustina. "She refused to apologize!"

Kayleigh squeezed her eyes shut, forcing a few tears to spill over her lashes. She shrank back against the wall, playing the terrified victim flawlessly.

Dustin slammed his hands down on a side table and shot up to his feet.

"Get on your knees right now and apologize to Mom!" Dustin roared, his face turning purple.

Augustina didn't look at him. She walked straight past the sofas, heading directly for the crystal wet bar in the center of the room.

She picked up a heavy Baccarat crystal tumbler and filled it to the brim with ice cubes and cold water.

Preston scoffed. "Look at her. No manners at all. She doesn't even answer when spoken to."

Augustina turned around, holding the freezing glass.

She walked slowly toward the sofa where Kayleigh was pretending to cry.

Everyone watched her, assuming she was just thirsty.

Augustina stopped right in front of Kayleigh. Without a single change in her facial expression, she flipped her wrist.

The entire glass of ice water poured directly over Kayleigh's perfectly styled hair.

Kayleigh let out a blood-curdling scream. The freezing water ruined her makeup, sending black mascara running down her cheeks. The ice cubes bounced off her shoulders and scattered across the rug.

Cindy screamed in horror, covering her mouth with both hands.

Felton slammed his whiskey glass down on the coffee table so hard the liquor splashed out.

"You bitch!" Dustin bellowed.

He charged at Augustina like an enraged bull, pulling his fist back to strike her face.

Augustina's eyes hardened. Her body reacted with the pure, violent instinct she had honed in the slums of The Warrens.

She swiftly pivoted her hips and sidestepped to the left.

Dustin swung at empty air. His momentum carried him forward, and he stumbled, slamming his chest hard against the marble bar. He gasped, the wind knocked out of him, collapsing to the floor in a heap of humiliated rage rather than agony.

Preston jumped up, ready to intervene, but he froze in his tracks.

Augustina had casually picked up a silver letter opener from the bar. She flipped it between her fingers.

The sharp, pointed blade caught the light of the crystal chandelier, gleaming with a cold, lethal threat.

The room fell into a dead, heavy silence. The only sounds were Kayleigh's sobbing and Dustin's pained gasps.

Augustina looked down at them from her position by the bar.

"Don't pretend you care about me," Augustina said, her voice slicing through the room like ice. "I know the maids put moldy food in my room. I know you only brought me back to maintain your pathetic philanthropist image for the board."

Felton's face turned a dangerous shade of red. He realized, in that exact moment, that this girl was completely out of his control.

He stood up, his chest heaving.

"If you want to act like a wild animal," Felton threatened, his voice shaking with rage, "I will cut off your trust fund. I will throw you out on the street tonight."

The corner of Augustina's mouth twitched upward into a mocking smile.

She slammed the silver letter opener down.

Thwack.

The blade sank deep into the expensive mahogany coffee table, vibrating from the force.

Cindy flinched violently, pressing herself into the sofa cushions.

Augustina stared dead into Felton's eyes.

"Exactly what I want," she said, emphasizing every syllable.

She leaned forward. "Draft the papers. I want to sever all legal ties. I don't want to carry the Hogan name for another second."

Felton narrowed his eyes. He stared at her defiant face. Slowly, a dark, malicious smirk spread across his lips.

Felton turned on his heel and walked toward the grand staircase. He jerked his head, signaling Augustina to follow.

Augustina pulled the letter opener from the wood and tossed it aside. She followed him up to the second-floor mahogany study.

The heavy oak doors clicked shut behind them, instantly cutting off the chaotic noise from the living room below.

Felton walked over to his humidor. He pulled out a Cuban cigar and clipped the end, but he didn't light it.

He turned around and looked at Augustina. His eyes scanned her cheap, wet hoodie like he was appraising a piece of damaged livestock.

"The Hogan pharmaceutical company is facing bankruptcy," Felton stated bluntly, dropping the facade of a caring father. "The supply chain is broken. We need a hundred million dollars in capital to complete a merger."

He tossed the cigar onto his desk.

"The investor is the master of Blackwood Manor. The condition for the cash injection is a marriage. He wants a daughter from the Hogan family."

Felton walked closer, his tone dripping with cruelty. "The man was caught in a fire. He's disfigured. He's confined to a wheelchair. Rumor has it his temper is so violent he tortures his staff. He is a monster."

Felton sneered. "I am absolutely not sending Kayleigh into that hellhole. She is meant for better things."

He leaned his hands on the desk. "You want out? Fine. You take Kayleigh's place. You marry him, and I will sign the severance papers."

Augustina stood perfectly still.

When she heard the name Blackwood Manor, her heart slammed violently against her ribs.

Charles Moses.

The man who had kissed her dead forehead. The tyrant who had buried her murderers alive.

She dug her fingernails into her palms to stop her hands from shaking. She forced her face to remain completely blank.

She pretended to hesitate, narrowing her eyes. "I want more."

"I want a public statement in the Times," Augustina demanded. "Declaring that we have severed all adoptive and biological ties. And I want the original, untampered copy of the DNA report Felton Hogan used to identify me. And the fifty dollars cash I had in my pocket when your men dragged me out of The Warrens."

Felton let out a sharp, mocking laugh. He thought she was making a desperate, pathetic attempt to salvage her pride.

"Done," he said.

Felton picked up the phone on his desk and dialed his private lawyer. He ordered the documents drafted immediately.

Thirty minutes later, a sweating lawyer rushed into the study, clutching a leather briefcase. He pulled out the freshly printed contracts.

Augustina picked up a heavy Montblanc pen. She read every single line of the liability waiver and the severance agreement.

Satisfied, she pressed the nib to the paper and signed her name with aggressive, sharp strokes.

Felton signed his portion. He opened a drawer, pulled out a thick manila folder containing the falsified DNA documents along with a crisp fifty-dollar bill, and tossed them onto the desk like garbage.

Augustina snatched the file and the money. She squeezed the paper in her fist. The sharp edges of the folder dug into her palm, the slight pain grounding her in reality.

"If this merger fails because you piss off that monster," Felton warned, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, "you will die a very ugly death."

Augustina folded her copy of the contract and shoved it into her hoodie pocket. She turned and walked out without another word.

She went straight to her cramped attic room. She pulled a battered black duffel bag from under the narrow bed.

She didn't pack a single item bought by the Hogan family. She only threw in a few worn-out shirts and jeans she had bought herself.

Ten minutes later, she walked down the grand staircase, the duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

Cindy and Kayleigh stood in the foyer. They watched her leave, their faces twisted into identical, triumphant smiles.

Augustina pushed open the heavy front doors. She stepped out into the freezing Los Angeles rain, not looking back once.

Early the next morning, a black Mercedes G63 with no license plates idled on the side of the road.

Augustina climbed into the back seat.

The driver, Gus, had been ordered to take her to the marriage exchange. He kept glancing at her through the rearview mirror, his eyes full of contempt.

"You really threw your life away," Gus sneered, tapping the steering wheel. "Going to serve a crippled freak. Hope you enjoy pushing a wheelchair for the rest of your miserable life."

Augustina leaned her head against the cold window. She watched the thick fog rolling in from the hills, treating Gus like he didn't exist.

The G63 drove out of the sunny city limits and entered the deepest, heavily forested private sectors of Beverly Hills.

The GPS screen on the dashboard suddenly flickered and turned to static. The signal was completely jammed.

Towering, century-old redwoods lined the narrow road, blocking out the sun. The temperature inside the car dropped noticeably.

Gus stopped talking. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. The eerie silence of the woods was suffocating.

The SUV finally stopped in front of massive black wrought-iron gates. The metal was forged into the shape of thorns and black ravens.

There were no security guards in sight. Only military-grade cameras with blinking red lenses tracking the vehicle's movements.

With a heavy, grinding screech of metal, the gates slowly slid open on their own.

Gus swallowed hard. He put the car in park, absolutely refusing to drive onto the property.

"Get out," Gus muttered, his voice shaking. "I'm not going in there."

Augustina grabbed her battered duffel bag. She pushed the door open and hopped down onto the gravel.

The second her feet hit the ground, Gus slammed his foot on the gas. The G63 spun its tires and sped away like it was fleeing a war zone.

Augustina stood alone in the thick fog. She adjusted the strap of her bag and started walking up the long, black gravel driveway.

Ten minutes later, the fog parted.

A massive, imposing structure loomed before her. It was a blend of gothic architecture and a modern fortress.

The exterior walls were a cold, unforgiving charcoal gray. Every window was tinted black, giving the mansion an aura of absolute, suffocating silence.

An elderly man in a pristine black tailcoat stood at the top of the stone steps.

It was Mr. Albright, the British butler. He wore white gloves and stood with flawless, rigid posture.

Albright offered a shallow bow. His voice was crisp and devoid of warmth.

"Welcome, Miss Osborne."

Augustina's eyes flickered. He called her Osborne. The surname she used in the slums, not Hogan. Charles's intelligence network had already stripped away her fake identity. He didn't recognize her as a Hogan.

She nodded calmly and handed her cheap bag to a waiting footman.

Albright led her through the massive, vaulted foyer. Her footsteps echoed loudly against the marble floors.

The walls were lined with dark, abstract oil paintings. The air smelled strongly of cold cedarwood and old paper.

She was led to a guest room at the far end of the second-floor hallway. Not the master suite.

"The Master is currently handling overseas affairs," Albright informed her, standing in the doorway. "He will not be receiving you for a few days."

Albright's eyes hardened slightly. "You are permitted in your room and the first-floor dining hall. The West Wing and the basement are strictly forbidden. Do not wander."

Without waiting for a response, Albright turned and pulled the heavy door shut.

Augustina looked around the room. It was ten times the size of her attic at the Hogan estate, but it felt like an icebox.

She walked over to the window. Down in the courtyard, men in black tactical gear were patrolling with massive Dobermans.

A slow, determined smile touched her lips. She was exactly where she needed to be.