Allie sprinted to the edge of the street outside the main gates of Parsons, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. She scanned the busy avenue frantically, but the black Cadillac SUV was already gone.

She slapped a hand against her forehead. Her stomach twisted into a painful knot. That tablet didn't just have her competition sketches; it held a hidden folder containing her mother's real medical logs. If anyone in the Deleon household found it, she was dead.

She turned toward a nearby bench, reaching into her bag for her phone to call the driver.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in."

The shrill, venomous voice sliced through the air behind her.

Allie's spine went rigid. She slowly turned around.

Brittanie Copeland, her older half-sister, stood there draped in a seasonal Chanel haute couture jacket, flanked by three sneering girls from wealthy families.

Brittanie stepped right up to Allie, intentionally raising her voice so the passing students would hear.

"Look at you, dressed like a homeless person," Brittanie mocked, her eyes flashing with malice. "You're embarrassing the Copeland family, and you're definitely embarrassing the Deleons. Is the cripple not giving you an allowance?"

Several design students stopped on the sidewalk, pointing and whispering. Everyone knew the rumors about the brutal prenup and the gold-digging bride.

Allie felt the heat of humiliation creeping up her neck, but she refused to give Brittanie the satisfaction.

"My life is none of your business, Brittanie," Allie said coldly. She turned on her heel, trying to walk around the group.

Brittanie shot a look at one of her minions. The girl immediately stepped sideways, physically blocking Allie's path.

Before Allie could demand they move, a male voice called out from the edge of the crowd.

"Allie!"

Jerald Burke pushed his way through the whispering students. He was wearing a casual designer suit, his face etched with deep concern.

Jerald was a former suitor from her past. He was wealthy, healthy, and completely oblivious to the fact that Brittanie had anonymously texted him Allie's location just to use him as a weapon.

He rushed up to Allie, his eyes full of pain. "Why did you do it, Allie? Why did you sell yourself to a paralyzed tyrant for money? I would have given you anything!"

Allie's face drained of color.

"Shut up, Jerald," she hissed, her voice trembling with panic. "You don't know what you're talking about. Leave me alone. You are going to ruin me."

Her cold rejection triggered Jerald's bruised ego. His emotions spiraled out of control.

He lunged forward and grabbed Allie's wrist with a crushing grip, trying to physically drag her away from the crowd. "I'm getting you out of here!"

"Let go of me!" Allie screamed, thrashing wildly. Her cheap heels slipped on the cobblestone pavement. The pain in her wrist was blinding.

Standing a few feet away, Brittanie's lips curled into a wicked smile. She smoothly pulled her phone from her purse, aimed the high-definition camera at them, and held down the burst-capture button.

Seeing Allie resist so fiercely, Jerald yanked her arm hard.

Using his weight advantage, he pulled the off-balance Allie directly into his chest. For a split second, she was plastered against him.

From the angle of the bystanders, it looked exactly like a desperate, passionate embrace between two star-crossed lovers.

Brittanie's phone silently snapped dozens of perfect, highly deceptive photos.

Half a second later, Allie's survival instinct kicked in. She shoved both hands against Jerald's chest with every ounce of strength she had. Her fingernails dug in so hard they tore through the fabric of his expensive shirt.

She broke free, stumbling backward, her chest heaving.

"If you ever touch me again, I will call campus security!" she screamed, pointing a shaking finger directly at his face.

Jerald froze, stunned by the sheer violence of her rejection. He took a step back, looking hurt and betrayed. "You've changed," he muttered, before turning and walking away.

The surrounding crowd of rich kids erupted into cruel laughter. Someone yelled, "Mr. Deleon's head is glowing green!"

A wave of intense nausea hit Allie. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Brittanie lowering her phone.

The realization hit her like a freight train. It was a setup.

"Give me that phone! Delete those pictures!" Allie lunged at Brittanie.

Before she could reach her, two of Brittanie's minions shoved Allie hard in the chest.

Allie flew backward and crashed onto the rough pavement. The skin on her palms tore open, bleeding instantly, but she didn't feel the pain. She only felt a suffocating, paralyzing terror of what was coming.

Brittanie stood over her, looking down with pure triumph. She mouthed the words, You are dead, before turning and strutting away with her entourage.

The crowd slowly dispersed, leaving Allie sitting alone on the cold ground.

Her hands shook violently as she pulled out her phone to call Vance. She had to explain. She had to warn them.

She pressed the power button. The screen flashed the low battery icon and instantly went black. It was dead.

A low, vibrating hum of a massive engine echoed from the end of the street.

Allie slowly lifted her head. Her blood ran ice cold.

Parked in the shadows directly across the street, idling like a mechanical beast waiting to strike, was the familiar, terrifying shape of the armored Maybach.

Three minutes earlier.

The armored Maybach rolled silently down the street bordering the Parsons campus. Curtis sat in the cavernous back seat, the battered tablet resting on his paralyzed thighs.

He had come here driven by an intense, unfamiliar curiosity. The design sketch had shocked him. He wanted to hand the tablet back to her himself, to look into her eyes and figure out who the hell he had actually married.

Through the heavily tinted, bulletproof glass, Curtis's eyes locked onto the plaza steps. He spotted Allie immediately.

And he spotted the man walking toward her. Jerald Burke.

Because of the distance and the thick glass, Curtis couldn't hear a single word being spoken. He was entirely dependent on visual input.

He watched Jerald rush up to her. He saw Allie stepping back, but to his paranoid mind, she wasn't running away. She wasn't screaming for help.

Then, the fatal moment occurred.

Jerald lunged forward and yanked Allie hard against his chest.

From Curtis's physical vantage point across the street, Allie's back completely blocked her hands pushing against Jerald's chest. All Curtis saw was his wife melting into the arms of a healthy, able-bodied man. It looked like a desperate, passionate embrace.

The thin thread of rationality in Curtis's brain snapped. He could not reconcile the brilliant, explosive talent he had just witnessed on the tablet with the cheap, cheating woman throwing herself at another man right in front of his eyes. That massive, sickening contradiction twisted his fury into something far darker. Every ounce of trauma, every sneer he had endured since the accident, every deep-seated insecurity about his useless legs erupted into a volcanic, blinding rage. He looked at Jerald's strong, standing legs. The humiliation burned through his veins like acid.

Curtis's hand clamped down on the edge of the tablet. He squeezed.

A sickening crack echoed in the silent cabin. The glass screen of the tablet splintered into a massive spiderweb under the crushing pressure of his thumb.

In the front seat, Vance heard the noise. He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Curtis's face. It was the face of a demon. Vance instantly held his breath, terrified to make a sound.

Curtis stared out the window. He watched Allie push Jerald away and fall to the ground. To him, it looked like the tragic parting of two lovers tearing themselves away from each other.

"Bring that suicidal bitch back to the car," Curtis commanded. His voice wasn't loud. It was a dead, hollow whisper that sounded like it came straight from hell. "Now."

The Maybach jerked to a halt across the street.

The doors flew open. Two massive private security guards, built like brick walls, marched across the asphalt.

Allie was still sitting on the ground, staring in absolute horror at the Maybach. She tried to push herself up, her bleeding palms leaving red smears on the stone.

The guards reached her. They didn't speak. They simply grabbed her by the upper arms, one on each side, and hauled her up like a ragdoll.

Allie gasped in pain as their iron grips crushed her already bruised wrists. She didn't dare fight back.

The remaining students watched in shock as the Deleon security team dragged a woman through the street in broad daylight.

Allie's heels dragged across the asphalt. Her dignity was completely shredded, left behind on the pavement.

The rear door of the Maybach was yanked open. The guards shoved her inside with brutal force. Allie tumbled into the dark cabin, slamming hard against the leather seats.

The door slammed shut, sealing her in a tomb.

Allie scrambled to sit up, her chest heaving. She turned her head and met Curtis's eyes.

They were bloodshot, completely devoid of humanity, radiating a pure, murderous intent. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Curtis, please, you have to listen to me," she cried, her voice trembling violently. "It was a setup! Brittanie-"

Curtis didn't let her finish. He picked up the shattered tablet and hurled it violently at her feet. It bounced off her shin with a heavy thud.

Before she could react, his massive hand shot out and clamped around her throat.

He pinned her back against the bulletproof window.

"Do you think I'm a joke?" he roared, the sound vibrating in the small space. "Do you think because I sit in this chair, you can play me for a fool right in front of my face?!"

Allie's face turned a deep shade of red as her oxygen supply was cut off. She clawed weakly at his thick forearm, her lungs burning. Hot tears spilled over her cheeks, landing on his knuckles.

Curtis stared at her tears. They disgusted him. He saw nothing but the fake crying of a cheating whore.

He released her throat with a violent shove. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his fingers, as if touching her skin had contaminated him.

"Cancel all her privileges," Curtis ordered Vance through the intercom, his voice dripping with ice. "Confiscate her phone. We are going back to the penthouse."

The Maybach's engine roared like a beast. The car shot forward, tearing away from the Parsons campus.

Allie slumped into the corner of the seat, clutching her bruised throat and coughing violently. She stared at the floor. The tiny sliver of freedom she had just tasted was gone, replaced by a nightmare far worse than anything she had imagined.

The Maybach slammed on its brakes in the underground garage of the penthouse. The tires shrieked against the polished concrete, the sound echoing like a scream.

The cabin was freezing.

The door was ripped open. The security guards didn't wait for Allie to move. They reached in, grabbed her arms, and dragged her out. Her legs gave out, and she crashed hard onto the concrete floor.

Curtis descended via the hydraulic lift. He sat in his wheelchair, looking down at her scraped knees and bleeding palms with absolute zero empathy. He didn't issue a command to stop.

Allie ignored the stinging pain in her legs. She scrambled to her knees, looking up at him desperately.

"Curtis, please! The hug was forced! He grabbed me!" she pleaded, her voice cracking.

Curtis turned his wheelchair around, presenting his broad back to her.

"Throw her in the top-floor panic room," he ordered the guards. "No one goes in without my explicit command."

The guards hauled Allie up by her armpits. They dragged her toward the private elevator.

"Curtis! No! Please!" Allie screamed, thrashing against the guards.

The elevator doors slid shut, cutting off her cries.

The elevator shot up to the top floor. The guards dragged her down the long corridor to the very end, stopping in front of a heavy steel door designed to withstand a bomb blast.

They shoved her inside. The room was completely empty except for a single cot. The walls were lined with thick, gray acoustic foam. The silence inside was immediate and suffocating.

Vance stepped into the doorway. His face was a mask of cold professionalism.

"Hand over all communication devices," Vance demanded.

Allie clutched her dead phone to her chest. "No, please, Vance. It's dead anyway. I need it. I have to wait for a call from the hospital. My mother's ventilator-"

Vance's eyes flickered with a hint of disdain. He didn't care about her lies. He reached out, grabbed her wrists, and physically pried her fingers apart, snatching the phone away.

"Wait!" Allie lunged for it.

Vance stepped back into the hallway. The massive steel door swung shut.

Clank. Clank. Clank.

The electronic deadbolts locked into place. She was completely sealed off from the world.

Allie threw herself against the steel door, pounding her bloody palms against the metal. "Is anyone there?! Please!"

The acoustic foam swallowed her screams whole.

Suddenly, the lights overhead cut out.

The room plunged into absolute, pitch-black darkness. It was a darkness so thick it felt like a physical weight pressing against her eyeballs. Allie's breath hitched. A wave of claustrophobia crashed over her.

She slid down the cold steel door, pulling her knees to her chest. Her stomach cramped violently from hunger and sheer terror. In the dark, her mind began projecting horrific images of Richard pulling the plug on her mother's life support.

Hours bled into one another. The temperature in the unheated panic room began to drop. Allie crawled blindly across the floor until she found the cot. She wrapped herself tightly in the thin blanket, her teeth chattering uncontrollably as she slipped into a shivering semi-consciousness.

Downstairs in the study, Curtis sat by the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out at the glittering Manhattan skyline. His knuckles were white as he gripped a glass of whiskey.

Vance knocked and entered. "Sir, she is secured. Food and water have been withheld. She appears physically weak. Should I arrange for a doctor to standby?"

Curtis's jaw ticked. A brief flash of conflict crossed his eyes, but it was quickly devoured by the memory of her in Jerald's arms.

"Let her learn her lesson," Curtis snarled. "She won't starve to death."

The next day, around noon, the electronic lock on the panic room door finally clicked.

The heavy door swung open. The harsh hallway light flooded in, stabbing Allie's dilated pupils. She groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes.

Vance walked in carrying a plastic cup of water and a single slice of plain bread.

Allie didn't look at the food. She scrambled off the cot, her legs shaking so badly she almost fell, and grabbed Vance's sleeve.

"My phone. Please. Just for one minute," she begged, her voice a dry, raspy croak.

Vance set the food on the floor. He pulled a piece of paper from his jacket.

"Mr. Deleon's orders," Vance said coldly. "Sign this confession admitting your infidelity and promising to never see Jerald Burke again. If you sign, you get your phone back."

A wave of absurd, hysterical grief washed over Allie. She had done nothing wrong. But she had no choice. Her mother's life was ticking away.

"Give me the pen," she whispered.

With a violently trembling hand, she signed her name on the dotted line. A tear slipped down her cheek, blurring the ink.

Vance took the paper. He tossed her fully charged phone onto the cot and walked out. The door shut again, but this time, the deadbolts didn't engage.

Allie dove for the phone. She powered it on.

The screen instantly lit up with fifteen missed calls. All from her stepmother, Glendora.

A new text message popped up. It was a photo.

Glendora was standing in the private facility room. Her hand was gripping the power cord of Danae's ventilator, right at the wall socket.

The text below read: Get to the Upper East Side private clinic in thirty minutes. Brittanie had an episode and needs a blood transfusion. If you are one minute late, I pull the plug.

Allie stared at the screen, her blood turning to ice. She had just survived the dark room, only to be thrown into a far deadlier trap.