Chrissy sat on the dusty floorboards of the attic, her fingers buried in Greyson's fur. The dog's steady heartbeat against her palm was the only thing keeping her grounded.

She pulled a battered canvas duffel bag from under her narrow cot.

She didn't have much. She packed three pairs of faded jeans, a few plain t-shirts, and her entire collection of professional baking tools.

She picked up a yellowed, dog-eared French pastry recipe book. As she went to slide it into the bag, the attic door was kicked open.

Bang.

Chrissy didn't flinch. She just kept packing.

Arleen Vega stood in the doorway. She was wearing a silk Chanel nightgown that cost more than Chrissy made in six months at the bakery. Her arms were crossed over her chest.

Arleen looked around the cramped, dimly lit room and clicked her tongue.

"What a pathetic little beggar's nest," Arleen mocked, her voice dripping with venom.

Chrissy ignored her. She zipped up the duffel bag and reached for Greyson's leash.

Arleen's eyes narrowed. She hated being ignored. She stepped into the room in her fluffy slippers and deliberately kicked Greyson's plastic water bowl.

Water splashed across the floorboards, soaking the toe of Chrissy's worn-out sneaker.

Chrissy slowly lifted her head. She stared at Arleen, her jaw tight.

"What?" Arleen sneered. "You've been Mrs. Rush for two hours and you suddenly think you're too good to speak to your own sister?"

Chrissy stood up. She pulled Greyson behind her legs to protect him.

"Move out of my way, Arleen," Chrissy said. "I'm leaving."

Arleen took a step forward, blocking the door. Her eyes were wide with a toxic mix of jealousy and superiority.

"Do you really think you've hit the jackpot?" Arleen laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Everyone in Los Angeles knows Arch Rush is a violent, twisted cripple."

Arleen leaned in closer. "He's not even a real man anymore. You didn't marry a billionaire. You just signed up to be a glorified, unpaid nurse."

Chrissy didn't back down.

"If it's such a terrible fate," Chrissy shot back, her voice deadly calm, "then why did you cry and beg Dad on your knees to let you back out of the engagement?"

The words hit Arleen perfectly.

Arleen had originally agreed to the arranged marriage because she wanted the Rush family billions. But the moment she heard the rumors that Arch's car accident had left him permanently impotent and prone to violent rages, she had panicked and forced her parents to use Chrissy as the sacrificial lamb.

Arleen's face flushed a dark, ugly red.

"You little midwestern hick!" Arleen shrieked. "How dare you talk to me like that!"

Arleen raised her right hand. Her long, sharp acrylic nails flashed in the dim light as she swung her arm down, aiming a vicious slap directly at Chrissy's face.

In the past, Chrissy would have squeezed her eyes shut and taken the hit to keep the peace.

But not today. She was done.

Chrissy's left hand shot up.

She caught Arleen's wrist mid-air. Chrissy spent eight hours a day kneading heavy dough. Her grip was like iron.

Arleen gasped in pain. "Let go of me, you bitch!"

Arleen thrashed, raising her other hand to grab a fistful of Chrissy's hair.

Chrissy's eyes went cold.

Without a second of hesitation, Chrissy lifted her right foot and kicked Arleen squarely in the shin.

"Ah!" Arleen screamed.

Her legs buckled. She lost her balance and crashed backward, landing hard on the wet floorboards right in the puddle of spilled dog water.

The expensive Chanel silk instantly soaked up the dirty water, clinging to her skin. Arleen sat there, staring at Chrissy with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"You hit me!" Arleen shrieked, her voice echoing down the stairs. "I'm going to tell Dad! I'm going to have you thrown out on the street!"

Chrissy stood over her, looking down with absolute disgust.

"You're confused about how things work now, Arleen," Chrissy said quietly.

"The Vega family isn't doing me a favor by letting me stay here. The Vega family is currently surviving on the fifty million dollars I sold my body for."

Chrissy leaned down slightly. "Push me again, and I will gladly whisper in Mr. Rush's ear tonight. I will ask him to freeze your accounts. Let's see how long you survive without my money."

Arleen's mouth opened and closed like a dying fish. She was completely paralyzed by the threat.

Heavy, frantic footsteps pounded on the wooden stairs outside.

Hank and Sherry had heard the screaming. They were rushing up to the attic.

Hank and Sherry burst through the attic door.

They froze, staring at the scene in horror. Arleen was sitting in a puddle of dirty water, her expensive gown ruined, sobbing hysterically. Chrissy stood over her, holding a duffel bag and a dog leash.

"My baby!" Sherry screamed.

She threw herself onto the wet floor, wrapping her arms around Arleen. She snapped her head up, her face twisted into a mask of pure hatred.

"Are you insane?" Sherry shrieked at Chrissy. "You attacked your sister!"

Hank didn't waste time with words. His face turned purple with rage. He lunged forward, raising his heavy, calloused hand, aiming a brutal strike right at Chrissy's temple.

Chrissy instinctively squeezed her eyes shut. She tightened her grip on her bag and braced her body for the impact.

The Maybach had pulled away minutes ago, but the piercing sound of Arleen's shriek had cut through the quiet night. Arch, who had ordered Ray to circle the block while he reviewed a forgotten legal document, heard the scream through the cracked window. He tilted his head a fraction of an inch. Mitch didn't need a word; he was already moving.

It never came.

A deafening crash echoed through the house.

The flimsy wooden front door flew open under the force of four shoulders. The peeling frame splintered instantly, the cheap lock snapping as the door slammed against the interior wall.

Hank's hand stopped in mid-air.

Everyone in the attic froze, their eyes wide with terror, staring toward the open doorway.

The sound of heavy, synchronized combat boots thundered up the narrow, creaking wooden staircase. The footsteps carried a terrifying, suffocating weight.

Four massive men dressed in identical black suits flooded into the tiny attic. They moved with military precision, instantly shoving Hank and Sherry into the corner of the room, trapping them against the wall.

Then, Mitch Nowak appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath from carrying the chair up step by step.

He pulled the custom carbon-fiber wheelchair into the room.

Arch Rush III sat perfectly still in the chair. His tailored suit didn't have a single wrinkle. His dark eyes swept the room, radiating a cold, lethal energy that dropped the temperature in the attic by ten degrees.

Hank's knees visibly shook. He lowered his hand immediately.

Arch's gaze bypassed the terrified parents and locked onto Chrissy. He took in her pale face, her defensive posture, and the way she was clutching her bag like a shield.

"Mr. Vega," Arch said.

His voice wasn't loud, but it commanded the absolute obedience of a king addressing a peasant.

"It seems your family's idea of hospitality involves assaulting my wife."

Hank swallowed hard. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

"Mr. Rush!" Hank stammered, his voice cracking. "You misunderstand! It was just a silly argument between sisters! They were just playing around!"

"Playing around," Arch repeated softly.

He slowly turned his head. His dark eyes locked onto Arleen, who was trying to hide behind her mother's legs.

Arleen whimpered. The look in Arch's eyes made her feel like she was about to be executed.

Arch lifted his right hand. He tapped his index finger against the armrest twice.

Tap. Tap.

Mitch moved instantly.

The bodyguard stepped forward, reached down, and grabbed a fistful of Arleen's perfectly styled hair.

Arleen screamed like a slaughtered pig as Mitch violently dragged her across the floorboards and forced her to her knees directly in front of Chrissy's shoes.

Hank and Sherry watched in horror, but they didn't dare make a sound. They were terrified.

"Apologize," Arch ordered. One word. No emotion.

Arleen was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. She stared at Chrissy's worn-out sneakers, completely stripped of her dignity.

"I'm sorry," Arleen choked out, tears mixing with her makeup. "I'm sorry, Chrissy. I was wrong."

Arch didn't look at Arleen. He kept his eyes fixed on Chrissy.

"Are you satisfied, Mrs. Rush?" he asked.

Chrissy was too stunned to speak. Her brain couldn't process the violent, sudden shift in power. She just stared at Arch and gave a slow, numb nod.

"Good," Arch said, his tone turning brisk and impatient. "Grab your trash and let's go."

Chrissy didn't need to be told twice. She gripped her duffel bag and pulled Greyson's leash. The dog growled at Hank as they walked past.

Mitch turned the wheelchair around and began pushing Arch out the door.

As they passed Hank, Arch paused. He didn't look at the older man.

"This is the last time," Arch said, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper. "If I ever hear that you touched a single hair on her head, I will have the Vega Group erased from California by tomorrow morning."

Arch signaled Mitch. They moved down the stairs, leaving the Vega family trembling in the dark attic.

Chrissy practically jogged to keep up with the wheelchair as they exited the suffocating villa.

The cool evening breeze of Los Angeles hit her face. Her eyes burned. She blinked rapidly, forcing the tears of adrenaline and relief back down.

The black Maybach was idling at the curb. Ray had the rear door open. Mitch was already positioning the wheelchair on the hydraulic lift.

Chrissy stopped a few feet away from the car door.

She looked at Arch's profile.

"Thank you, Mr. Rush," she said softly. Her voice was genuine.

Arch turned his head. He looked at her from behind his dark sunglasses. His expression was completely unreadable.

"Don't flatter yourself," he said coldly.

He adjusted his cuffs. "I didn't come back to play your knight in shining armor. My grandfather called."

Chrissy blinked, confused.

"Cornelius takes this marriage very seriously," Arch continued, his tone strictly business. "He has arranged a welcome dinner at the estate tonight. If I showed up without you, I would never hear the end of it."

The small spark of warmth in Chrissy's chest instantly died.

Of course. He was a billionaire. He didn't care about her. He only cared about optics and keeping his family patriarch happy.

"I understand," Chrissy said quietly. "But regardless, thank you."

Arch ignored her. He pressed a button on his armrest, preparing to let Mitch load him into the car.

Woof!

Greyson suddenly barked, pulling hard on the leash. The dog sniffed the tires of the Maybach, his tail wagging.

Arch froze.

He slowly turned his head and stared at the golden mutt. His upper lip curled in profound disgust.

"Throw it away," Arch commanded.

Chrissy gasped. She immediately stepped in front of Greyson, shielding the dog with her legs.

"No," she said, her voice suddenly fierce.

"I do not allow shedding, foul-smelling creatures inside my vehicles," Arch stated, his voice rising in anger. "Get rid of it."

Chrissy gripped the leash tighter. She looked like a mother bear protecting her cub.

"He is my family," she argued, her chin jutting out. "I promised I would never abandon him. He goes where I go."

Arch scoffed. "You can barely afford to feed yourself, and you insist on dragging a parasite along?"

"Your estate is massive!" Chrissy fired back, her heart pounding. "I will keep him in the backyard. I will clean up after him. He will never set foot in the main house. But I am not leaving him here."

They stared at each other. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Arch's jaw clenched. He hated being defied.

Just then, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out. It was a text from his grandfather, demanding to know their ETA.

Arch let out a harsh breath. Arguing over a stray dog was a waste of his valuable time.

He glared at Chrissy.

"Put the beast in the trailing security SUV," Arch hissed through his teeth. "If I find a single flea on my property, I will have it skinned."

Chrissy let out a massive sigh of relief.

"Thank you," she breathed. She quickly handed the leash to a very confused-looking Mitch.

She clutched her duffel bag and scrambled into the back of the Maybach, pressing herself into the farthest corner of the leather seat.

The car pulled away from the curb.

The neon lights of the city blurred past the tinted windows. Chrissy stared at her own reflection in the glass. She had escaped her parents, but she knew she was heading into a much deeper, more dangerous trap.

Arch leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. His breathing was slow and even, as if she didn't even exist.

Thirty minutes later, the Maybach slowed down.

They turned off the main road and approached a massive, wrought-iron gate. The gates swung open silently, revealing a sprawling, perfectly manicured French-style garden.

The Rush family estate loomed in the darkness ahead. It looked less like a home and more like a heavily fortified castle.

Chrissy's stomach tied itself into a knot.