The only light in the room came from a small floor lamp in the corner. It cast long, distorted shadows across the walls.

Arletta held her breath. She pinched the longest silver needle between her fingers and slowly pushed it into the base of Josue's cervical spine.

A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead and stung her eye. This kind of high-precision nerve block release drained every ounce of her physical energy. One millimeter off, and she could paralyze him forever.

She felt the tissue yield. The blockage was clear. Arletta quickly pulled the needle out and stared at Josue's chest.

The heart monitor beeped. The green line jumped from a sluggish sixty beats per minute to a strong, steady eighty-five.

Arletta dropped the needle onto the sterile tray. She grabbed Josue's large, cold hand and pressed her thumb against his wrist to feel his pulse.

Right then, Josue's stiff index finger twitched. It was a microscopic movement, but the rough pad of his finger scraped against the center of her palm.

Arletta's heart slammed against her ribs. Her pupils dilated. It was the undeniable proof of neural pathway reconstruction.

She grabbed her notebook to write down the time, but a wave of dizziness hit her. The room spun. She gripped the edge of the mattress, her knees shaking from exhaustion.

She couldn't keep her eyes open. She dragged herself over to the small, single sofa in the corner of the room. She collapsed onto the cushions, pulling a thin fleece blanket up to her chin. Within seconds, the exhaustion pulled her under.

It was past midnight when a faint scratching sound broke the dead silence of the estate.

The brass doorknob of the hospital room turned. The metal ground together with a slow, agonizing squeak.

Arletta snapped awake. Her eyes opened in the pitch black. Her muscles locked tight, instantly shifting into the hyper-aware state of a hunted animal.

The door cracked open. The heavy, sour stench of bourbon flooded the room. Kyler squeezed through the gap, his body swaying heavily.

He had lost face during the day. Now, fueled by liquid courage, he was back to take his anger out on the helpless country girl.

He stumbled blindly toward the sofa, his breathing loud and wet.

Arletta kept her eyes shut. She didn't move her body, but her right hand slid silently under the blanket. Her fingers wrapped around a specialized, ultra-thin nerve-blocking needle in her kit-the one used for deep tissue anesthesia.

Kyler lunged. He threw his heavy body onto the sofa, his hands clawing wildly at the collar of her shirt.

Arletta let out a piercing, terrified scream. She twisted her hips and slid out from under him like water.

Kyler grabbed empty air. His momentum carried him forward, and his chest slammed hard into the wooden armrest of the sofa. He grunted in pain, his lower back completely exposed.

In the split second they crossed paths, Arletta swiftly inserted the needle into a key pressure point in his lower back, causing immediate but temporary paralysis. She yanked it out before he could even register the prick.

Kyler's lower half died instantly.

His legs turned to jelly. He slid off the sofa and collapsed onto the rug in a heavy, useless heap. He couldn't move a single muscle below his waist.

Arletta scrambled across the floor on her hands and knees. She slammed her palm against the red panic button on the wall.

A deafening siren ripped through the east wing. The estate's security system flared to life, bathing the room in flashing strobe lights.

Kyler realized his legs were gone. Panic seized his throat. He thought he was paralyzed for life. He opened his mouth and let out a high-pitched, hysterical wail like a slaughtered pig.

The door burst open. Two armed security guards and Evelyn charged into the room.

The overhead lights flicked on, blindingly bright.

They saw Kyler, a sobbing, paralyzed mess on the floor. And in the corner, Arletta was curled into a tight ball, her clothes rumpled, her hands covering her face as she shook uncontrollably.

"He-he was drunk!" Arletta wailed, her voice cracking. "He broke in! He said he was going to kill me!"

The guards looked at each other, completely bewildered. They grabbed Kyler by the arms and dragged his dead weight out of the room.

Evelyn stood in the doorway, her face pale and tight. She knew this couldn't be covered up. The old man was going to hear about this.

The morning sun poured through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the dining room, but the air inside felt like a freezer.

Arletta sat at the very end of the long mahogany table. Her head hung low. Her fingers nervously picked at the linen napkin in her lap. Her eyes were swollen red, puffy from crying.

Dori Patton, Josue's stepmother, sat to the right of the head chair. She held a bone china coffee cup, glaring daggers at Arletta over the rim.

The heavy, rhythmic thud of a wooden cane echoed from the hallway. Cornelius, the patriarch of the Mcconnell family, walked into the room. His face was carved from stone.

Everyone at the table stood up instantly. No one breathed until Cornelius lowered himself into the head chair.

Cornelius's sharp, hawk-like eyes swept the room. He picked up his solid silver butter knife and slammed it flat against the table. The crack made everyone jump.

"Explain the alarms in the east wing," Cornelius demanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Why is my estate being run like a cheap downtown nightclub?"

Dori slammed her cup down. "It's this uneducated girl, Cornelius," she spat, pointing a manicured finger at Arletta. "She has no idea how to behave. Kyler was sleepwalking, and she panicked like a lunatic and triggered the alarms."

Arletta violently flinched. Her hand jerked, knocking her silver fork off the table. It hit her bone china plate with a loud, piercing clatter that cut Dori off completely.

Arletta looked up at Cornelius like a terrified deer caught in headlights. Tears instantly spilled over her lower lashes, tracking down her pale cheeks.

"M-Mr. Kyler smelled like liquor, sir," Arletta stammered, her voice thick with tears. "He fell on me in the dark. He said he was going to throw me out the window."

She kept her eyes wide and innocent. She purposely changed Kyler's sexual assault into a threat of physical violence, playing the part of a naive girl who didn't even understand what a man in her bed meant.

Cornelius's eyebrows pulled together. He knew exactly what kind of degenerate Kyler was. Arletta's terrified, confused explanation fit perfectly.

Dori's face turned red. "He was drunk and walked into the wrong room! That's all!"

Cornelius let out a harsh, barking laugh. "He walked into the wrong room, and he was so intoxicated his legs gave out and he couldn't stand up? Is that what you're telling me?"

Dori opened her mouth, but no words came out. She ground her teeth together, swallowing her rage.

Cornelius turned his piercing gaze to Arletta. He stared at her, trying to find a crack in her story.

Arletta didn't look away. She stared back at him, her eyes swimming with pure, unadulterated fear and a desperate need for his protection.

Cornelius looked away. He decided she was exactly what she appeared to be: a harmless, pathetic shield for his grandson. His disgust for Kyler deepened.

"Kyler's trust fund allocations are suspended for three months," Cornelius announced to the room. "He is grounded to the west wing for a week."

Dori's knuckles turned stark white as she gripped her napkin. She looked like she wanted to murder someone, but she bowed her head. "Yes, Cornelius."

Cornelius stood up. He looked at Evelyn. "Assign two personal maids to Arletta. They will stand guard outside the room at night."

It sounded like protection, but Arletta knew it was Cornelius officially recognizing her place in the house.

The meeting dismissed. As Dori walked past Arletta's chair, she leaned down. "You're going to pay for this, you little rat," she hissed.

Arletta shrank back into her chair, trembling until the room was completely empty.

Once the doors closed, Arletta stopped shaking. She picked up her napkin and elegantly dabbed the tears from her eyes. Her gaze turned ice-cold.

She had tested the waters. Cornelius cared about order. Dori wanted the money.

She stood up, smoothed out her cheap shirt, and walked toward the stairs. She needed to wake Josue up.

As she turned the corner, she didn't see Fernanda standing in the shadows of the second-floor landing, staring at her back with pure, toxic hatred.

The afternoon sun warmed the hospital room. Arletta stood by the bed, holding a basin of warm water. She gently wiped Josue's long fingers with a damp washcloth, stimulating the blood flow.

Without warning, the door flew open. Fernanda stomped into the room, her red-soled heels clicking aggressively against the floor.

She held a large Hermes thermos in her hand. Steam curled from the slightly unscrewed lid. Her eyes locked onto Arletta, burning with malice.

Arletta immediately dropped the washcloth into the basin. She stood up, wiping her wet hands nervously on her apron. She lowered her head. "Miss Fernanda."

Fernanda marched to the bed. She looked at the washcloth floating in the water and sneered. "That water is filthy. Go get fresh water. Now."

Arletta nodded obediently. She turned her back to Fernanda and walked toward the attached bathroom. The second her face was out of sight, her nervous expression vanished, replaced by a deadly calm.

Fernanda watched Arletta's back. A vicious smirk crossed her face. She twisted the cap of the thermos completely loose.

As Arletta turned around, carrying the heavy basin of water, Fernanda pretended to trip. She spun around, throwing her elbow hard toward Arletta's chest.

The thermos tipped. Boiling hot water shot through the air, aimed directly at Arletta's face.

In a fraction of a second, Arletta let out a panicked gasp. She purposely let her left foot slip on the smooth floor. Her body tilted sharply to the side in a clumsy, awkward fall.

The boiling water missed her face by an inch. The entire scalding contents splashed directly onto the skirt of Fernanda's expensive silk dress.

Fernanda let out a blood-curdling shriek. The boiling water soaked through the thin fabric, scalding her thighs. She jumped back, screaming in agony.

As Arletta fell, she let go of the basin. The heavy plastic bowl flipped through the air. A gallon of lukewarm water crashed directly onto Fernanda's head.

Fernanda's perfect blowout flattened against her skull. Her waterproof mascara ran down her cheeks in thick black lines. She looked like a drowned rat.

Arletta hit the floor hard. She covered her face with her hands and started sobbing hysterically. "I'm sorry! I slipped! I didn't mean to!"

Fernanda was shaking with rage. She raised her hand, ready to slap Arletta across the face.

"What is the meaning of this? !"

A booming voice shattered the chaos. Cornelius stood in the doorway, leaning heavily on his cane, the head housekeeper right behind him.

Cornelius stared at the puddle of water, the dropped thermos, and Fernanda standing over Arletta with her hand raised. His face turned purple with anger.

Fernanda dropped her hand. She immediately started crying. "Grandpa! She threw boiling water on me on purpose!"

Arletta stayed on the floor, trembling violently. She pointed a shaking finger at the Hermes thermos rolling on the floor. "M-Miss Fernanda's water was too hot... I slipped and dropped my basin..."

Cornelius looked at the steaming thermos. Then he looked at Arletta's completely unburned face. He wasn't an idiot.

He knew Fernanda was obsessed with Josue. He knew exactly what this was: a jealous, petty attempt to disfigure the new bride.

"You are a disgrace," Cornelius barked at Fernanda. "Acting like a street thug in my house! You have no class!"

He turned to the housekeeper. "Take her to her room. Lock the door. She is forbidden from entering the east wing without my permission."

Fernanda's eyes widened in horror. Humiliation burned her chest, but she didn't dare talk back to the patriarch.

The housekeeper grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the room. Fernanda stared at Arletta over her shoulder, her eyes promising murder.

Cornelius sighed. He told the maids to clean up the mess and told Arletta to rest. Then he left.

The room fell silent.

Arletta stood up. She dusted off her jeans and walked to the window, watching Fernanda being dragged across the courtyard.

A dark, mocking smile touched Arletta's lips. These rich people thought they were so clever. To someone who had survived the underground medical black market, this was child's play.