The morning sun was a cruel interrogation lamp. Elena woke up in Sierra's guest room (Penthouse B), a headache splitting her skull in two.

For a moment, she lay still, hoping the night had been a nightmare. Then the memories crashed in. The Pierre. Quinn. The wrong room. Sebastian's bare chest.

She groaned and pulled the pillow over her face.

Sierra walked in with a tray of coffee and aspirin. "You okay? You vanished last night. I found you in the hallway looking like a ghost."

"I got lost," Elena lied, sitting up and swallowing the pills dry. "I fell asleep in the stairwell. It was pathetic."

Sierra looked skeptical but didn't push. "We need to get you a lawyer."

"I know."

Elena showered, scrubbing her skin until it was raw, trying to wash off the phantom sensation of Sebastian's weight on top of her. She dressed in borrowed clothes and took a cab back to the Sterling townhouse.

She expected a fight. She expected Julian to be apologetic, or at least defensive.

She didn't expect him to be sitting in the living room, drinking espresso, reading the Wall Street Journal as if the world hadn't ended.

Elena walked in and threw a manila envelope onto the coffee table. She had printed the draft divorce papers from the internet at Sierra's.

"Sign it," she said. Her voice was steady, cold.

Julian glanced at the papers. He didn't pick them up. He chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "You're dramatic in the morning."

"I'm done, Julian. I saw you. I saw her. It's over."

Julian folded the newspaper meticulously. He stood up and walked over to her. He looked impeccable in his navy suit. "You want a divorce? Fine. Leave. Walk out that door. But know this: you leave with nothing. The pre-nup is ironclad. You get zero."

"I don't care about your money," Elena spat. "I have my own..."

"You have nothing," Julian interrupted. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a number. He put it on speaker.

"Dr. Aris," Julian said cheerfully. "How is Arthur doing today?"

Elena froze. Her father.

The doctor's voice filled the room. "Stable, Mr. Sterling. But the ECMO machine and the experimental neural therapy are costly. We need the next installment of two hundred thousand by Monday to continue the treatment."

"Of course," Julian said, his eyes locking onto Elena's. "We wouldn't want to... have the Trust revoke the grant for his experimental protocol, would we?"

"Julian, no!" Elena lunged for the phone.

Julian caught her wrist effortlessly. "Thank you, Doctor. I'll handle it." He hung up.

He pulled her close, his breath hot on her ear. "Your father's insurance maxed out six months ago, Elena. I've been paying for everything. The lawyers, the machines that keep his heart beating. If you divorce me, the payments stop. Today."

Elena felt the blood drain from her face. Her knees buckled. She would have fallen if he hadn't been holding her up.

Her father. He was in a coma, fighting for his life after the company collapse. He was all she had left.

"You're a monster," she whispered.

"I'm a pragmatic man," Julian corrected. He released her, and she stumbled back. "We have a charity gala tonight. The Children's Hospital Benefit. You will wear the red dress. You will smile. You will be the perfect, adoring wife."

He checked his watch. "I have to go to work. Don't be late."

He walked out the front door, whistling.

Elena collapsed onto the Persian rug-Julian's favorite rug. She stared up at the crystal chandelier. It looked like a cage of diamonds.

She reached for her phone to call her old family lawyer. Service Suspended.

She checked her bank app. Account Frozen.

He had boxed her in. He had anticipated every move. She wasn't a wife; she was a hostage.

A maid walked into the room with a vacuum cleaner. She looked at Elena sitting on the floor with cold indifference. "Ma'am, please move. I need to clean the rug."

Elena stood up. She walked to the bathroom. She turned on the shower, letting the water run scalding hot. She stepped in, fully clothed.

She sat under the spray, letting the water soak her borrowed jeans. She didn't cry. She had no tears left.

Instead, a cold, hard knot formed in her chest.

He thinks he has won, she thought. He thinks I am weak.

She looked at her hand. She flexed her fingers.

I will not just leave, she vowed. I will burn this house down with him inside it.

The bathroom was filled with steam, thick and suffocating. Elena stood before the mirror, her skin scrubbed raw and pink. She had been in there for an hour, trying to scour the feeling of helplessness from her pores.

She wrapped a plush towel around herself and stepped into the bedroom.

Julian was there.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a long, black velvet box. When he saw her, his face softened into a look of practiced contrition.

"Elena," he said, standing up. "I'm sorry about earlier. I was stressed. The merger... it's getting to me."

He walked toward her. Elena backed away until her hips hit the vanity table. "Stay away from me."

"Don't be like that," Julian chided gently. He opened the box. Inside lay a diamond necklace, a river of ice that must have cost half a million dollars. "I bought this for you. For tonight. To say I'm sorry."

Elena looked at the diamonds. They didn't look like jewelry. They looked like a collar. A very expensive dog collar.

"I don't want your gifts," she said, her voice shaking. "I want my life back."

Julian sighed, snapping the box shut. The sound was like a pistol hammer cocking. "You're being difficult. I'm trying to make this work."

He tossed the box onto the duvet. He began to loosen his tie, his eyes raking over her towel-clad form. The look in his eyes changed. It became heavy, dark. He watched her with a predatory calm. She was slipping away, he realized. He could see it in her eyes. He needed something stronger than money to keep her. Something permanent.

"Since you're staying," he said, taking a step closer, "we should work on our marriage. Properly."

Elena clutched the towel tighter. "No."

"You're my wife, Elena. You have duties." He reached for her.

Panic flared. Elena grabbed a heavy silver hairbrush from the vanity. "I said no!"

Julian laughed. "What are you going to do with that? Brush me to death?"

He lunged. He grabbed her arm, twisting it until she dropped the brush. He pushed her backward onto the bed.

Elena kicked out, her heel connecting with his shin. Julian grunted in pain. He backhanded her.

Smack.

It wasn't a closed fist, but it was hard enough to snap her head to the side. Her lip split against her teeth. The taste of copper filled her mouth.

Julian froze. He looked at his hand, then at the blood on her lip.

"Look what you made me do," he hissed. "We have a gala in two hours! You can't have a bruise!"

He stood up, adjusting his suit, annoyed rather than remorseful. "Clean yourself up. Use concealer."

He walked to the door, then stopped. He turned back, a cruel smile playing on his lips.

"By the way," he said casually. "I've made an appointment with the fertility specialist next week. The Family Trust stipulates that the full inheritance is only released upon the birth of an heir. A baby will secure our future, Elena. And it will give you a reason to stay."

He walked out.

Elena lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

A baby.

The thought made her bile rise. A child with him? A child to lock her into this hell forever? To be used as a pawn like she was being used?

Never.

She scrambled off the bed and ran to the bathroom. She opened a hidden compartment in her makeup bag. Inside was a bottle of Vitamin C gummies. But mixed in with the orange bears were small, round white pills. Birth control.

She dry-swallowed one. Then another, just to be sure.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her lip was swelling. Her eyes were hollow.

She picked up a color-correcting green primer to neutralize the red. She applied a layer of high-coverage theatrical foundation, dabbed it with a sponge, and set it with powder. It wasn't perfect, but it was a mask.

She picked up the red lipstick-Russian Red. She applied it like war paint.

When she stepped back, the victim was gone. In the mirror stood Mrs. Julian Sterling. Perfect. Cold. Dangerous.

Elena descended the spiral staircase. The red dress fit her like a second skin. It was backless, plunging dangerously low, a weapon of mass distraction.

Julian was waiting in the foyer. He looked up, and for a second, his breath hitched. Lust and possession warred in his eyes.

He stepped forward to take her arm. Elena sidestepped him smoothly.

"Don't touch me," she whispered. "Not unless there are cameras."

Julian's jaw tightened. "Remember the ventilator, Elena. One phone call."

The threat worked. Elena went rigid. She let him take her arm, her skin crawling where his fingers dug in.

They walked out to the waiting stretch limousine. The driver, a stoic man named Frank, held the door open, his eyes trained strictly on the horizon.

Inside the limo, the air was recycled and cold. As soon as the door clicked shut, Julian poured himself a scotch.

"I meant what I said about the baby," he said, settling back into the leather. "The Trust Fund is specific. No heir, no control over the board. I need that control, Elena."

Elena stared out the tinted window. "I will not carry your child."

"You don't have a choice," Julian said calmly. "It's in the pre-nup. Clause 14b. 'Production of an heir within five years.' If you refuse, you breach the contract. You lose the house, the allowance... and your father loses his funding."

Elena turned to him. "I would rather die."

Julian slammed his glass down. "Stop being dramatic! You act like I'm asking you to cut off a limb. I'm offering you the future of the Sterling empire!"

He lunged across the seat, grabbing her face. "You will do this. You will be a mother. And you will be happy about it."

Elena clawed at his hand. "Get off!"

He squeezed her cheeks, his thumb pressing into the fresh bruise beneath the makeup. Pain shot through her jaw.

"Frank!" Julian yelled at the partition. "Turn up the music!"

The privacy glass was already up. Classical music flooded the cabin, drowning out her muffled cry.

Julian released her, shoving her back against the door. "Fix your face. We're here."

The limo slowed. Through the window, Elena could see the blinding flash of paparazzi cameras. The red carpet of the Met was a river of blood and velvet.

"Smile," Julian commanded. "If you look unhappy, I'll have the doctors pull the plug on the funding tonight."

Elena gasped. The cruelty was bottomless.

She reached into her clutch. She pulled out her compact. She checked the concealer. It held.

She took a deep breath. She pictured her father's face. For him. Just for him.

The door opened. The noise of the crowd roared in-shouts of "Julian! Elena! Over here!"

Elena stepped out. She hooked her arm through Julian's. She tilted her head back and flashed a dazzling, million-watt smile. It was the best performance of her life.

But as they walked down the carpet, amidst the screaming photographers, she felt a gaze burning into her.

She looked up. Standing at the top of the stairs, watching them with an unreadable expression, was Sebastian Sterling.

He wasn't looking at her dress. He wasn't looking at Julian.

He was looking at the corner of her mouth, noticing the way her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, and the unnatural stiffness in her jaw when she turned her head.