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.

The ballroom was a kaleidoscope of wealth. Crystal chandeliers the size of small cars hung from the ceiling, casting prisms of light over the cream of New York society.

Elena moved through the crowd like a robot. Wave. Smile. "Yes, the dress is Versace." "No, we haven't been to St. Barts this year."

Julian kept a tight grip on her waist. His thumb rubbed circles into her hip bone-a gesture that looked affectionate to outsiders but felt like a threat to her.

"Ah, the Sterlings!" A reporter from Vanity Fair cornered them near the champagne tower. "You two look radiant. Any truth to the rumors of a nursery being renovated?"

Julian beamed. "We are certainly hoping for good news soon. Family is everything to us."

Elena felt nausea roll in her stomach. She nodded stiffly, unable to speak.

"Excuse us," Julian said. "I see the Senator."

He dragged her toward a group of politicians. As soon as he was engaged in conversation, his grip loosened. He was distracted by power.

Elena seized the moment. "I'm going to get a drink."

Julian didn't even look at her. "Don't wander."

Elena slipped away. She didn't go to the bar. She scanned the room until she found a grey-haired man in a tuxedo. Robert Vance. Her father's cousin and former lawyer.

She approached him carefully, waiting until he was near a large fern in the corner. "Robert."

He turned, smiling, but the smile faltered when he saw the desperation in her eyes. "Elena. You look... lovely."

"I need help," she whispered, keeping her voice low, her back to the room. "I need a lawyer. A shark. I want to leave Julian."

Robert looked around nervously. He took a step back. "Elena... honey... I can't."

"Why not? You're family."

"I work for a firm that represents Sterling Corp now," Robert hissed. "Conflict of interest. And besides... Julian has retained the top three divorce firms in the city just for 'consultation.' You won't find anyone decent to take the case."

"What about dad?" Elena pleaded. "He's threatening to stop the payments."

Robert sighed, looking at his shoes. "Elena, it's worse than that. The SEC investigation into your father's company... it's currently 'paused' because Sterling legal is holding back certain documents. If you leave Julian, those documents get released. Your father won't just die; he'll die a convicted felon in a prison hospital."

Elena felt the room spin. It wasn't just money. It was her father's legacy. His name.

"I'm sorry," Robert said, patting her shoulder with a clammy hand. He hurried away, afraid to be seen with her too long.

Elena stood alone in the middle of the crowded room. She felt naked. Defenseless.

She needed air. She walked toward the terrace doors. They were slightly ajar.

She was about to push them open when she heard voices. High, tittering laughter.

"Did you see her dress?" It was Vanessa Lloyd. Julian's childhood friend, a woman who had wanted to be Mrs. Sterling for a decade. "Trying way too hard."

"She looks tired," another voice chimed in.

"She looks like what she is," Vanessa sneered. "A broke charity case. Julian told me he's only keeping her around for the breeding stock. Once she pops out an heir, she'll be shipped off to a sanitarium. Poor thing is unstable, you know."

The women laughed.

Elena froze. Her hand hovered over the door handle. Breeding stock. Sanitarium.

Tears pricked her eyes. Not of sadness, but of humiliation. They all knew. They were all laughing.

She turned blindly, wanting to run, and collided hard with a solid wall of black wool.

Strong hands gripped her shoulders to steady her.

She looked up.

Sebastian.

He was standing right behind her. He had heard everything.

His face was a mask of stone, but his eyes were blazing. He looked down at her, his gaze dropping to her trembling lips, then to the bruise she had tried so hard to hide.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice a low rumble in his chest.