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.

The estate was dead silent. It was 2:00 AM.

Arletta stood over Josue's bed. She had just finished a grueling three-hour session of deep cranial nerve stimulation. Her muscles ached, and her wrists felt like they were filled with lead.

She pulled the final silver needle from his scalp and dropped it into the sterilization fluid.

Josue looked different. The grayish pallor of his skin was gone, replaced by a faint, healthy flush. His chest rose and fell in deep, rhythmic breaths.

Arletta stumbled to the bathroom. She turned on the cold tap and splashed water on her face, trying to shock her brain awake.

She walked back to the bed and pulled a heavy wooden chair close to the mattress. She grabbed her pen to log his heart rate.

But her body had reached its limit. Her vision blurred. Her head bobbed forward, heavy and uncontrollable.

Arletta gave up. She folded her arms on the edge of the mattress and rested her forehead against her sleeves. Within seconds, she was in a deep, dreamless sleep.

Her right hand rested limply on the white sheets, just a few inches away from Josue's fingers.

At 3:00 AM, the brainwave monitor next to the bed spiked. The jagged green lines danced wildly across the black screen.

Deep in the dark abyss of his coma, Josue's subconscious was fighting. He was drowning, reaching out for an anchor.

His right index finger twitched. Then his middle finger.

Slowly, agonizingly, his hand slid across the sheets. Inch by inch, he moved toward the warmth radiating from Arletta's skin.

His large, calloused palm slid over the back of her hand.

The moment he felt her, his fingers clamped down. He gripped her hand with the terrifying, desperate strength of a drowning man grabbing a lifeline.

The morning sun broke through the curtains, casting a golden glow over their joined hands.

The door clicked open. Evelyn walked in, balancing a silver breakfast tray on one hand.

She saw Arletta asleep on the bed and opened her mouth to scold her for being lazy.

Then Evelyn's eyes dropped to their hands.

Her breath hitched. The silver tray slipped from her fingers. It hit the floor with a deafening crash. The porcelain coffee cup shattered, sending hot brown liquid splashing across the rug.

The noise jolted Arletta awake. She gasped, her head snapping up. She was disoriented, her eyes wide.

She tried to pull her hand back to rub her eyes, but she couldn't move. Her right hand was locked in a vice grip.

Arletta looked down. Her heart skipped a beat. Josue's fingers were wrapped around hers, his knuckles white from the force of his grip.

Evelyn spun around and ran out of the room. "He moved! He grabbed her!" she screamed down the hallway, her strict composure completely shattered.

Less than five minutes later, Cornelius rushed into the room. He was leaning heavily on his cane, his chest heaving. Three private concierge doctors trailed right behind him.

Cornelius stared at their hands. His hands shook so badly his cane rattled against the floorboards.

"Check him!" Cornelius ordered.

One of the doctors stepped forward. He grabbed Josue's wrist and tried to pry his fingers off Arletta's hand.

The second the doctor applied pressure, the heart monitor began to beep rapidly. Josue's grip tightened even more, crushing Arletta's bones.

"Stop!" Cornelius roared. "You're distressing him! Leave them alone!"

The doctor backed away, his hands raised in surrender.

Cornelius looked at Arletta. The disgust and pity he usually held for her were gone. He looked at her like she was the most valuable asset in his empire.

Arletta stayed bent over the bed, her hand trapped in Josue's. She kept her face perfectly blank, but inside, she let out a long exhale. Phase one was complete.