Aubree sat on the edge of the bed. She stared at the discarded ring. A sudden, violent shiver ripped up her spine and hit the base of her skull.

She pulled the collar of her silk pajamas tighter. The room wasn't cold. The freezing sensation was coming from inside her bones.

She reached down and pressed her hand against her left side. Beneath the silk, a long, faded surgical scar stretched across her skin.

A dull, throbbing ache radiated from the scar. The pain pulled her mind backward.

Three years ago. A massive blizzard shut down the streets of Manhattan.

Aubree was driving the car. Eli sat in the passenger seat. He had just lost a massive Wall Street merger. He was screaming. He punched the dashboard. He threw his phone against the windshield.

He turned his rage on her. He yelled at her to pull over. He told her that looking at her plain face made him sick.

Aubree tried to tell him the roads were too dangerous. The snow was blinding.

Eli reached over and shoved her door open. He pushed her hard.

She fell out of the car. Her knees hit the snow-covered curb. Eli slid into the driver's seat, slammed the door, and sped away, leaving her in the storm.

She walked for three blocks in negative-degree weather. The freezing wind whipped against her side. Her surgical wound, barely three months old, felt like it was splitting open.

Eli never knew. He never knew that three months before that blizzard, Aubree had utilized a labyrinth of offshore shell companies and a secret charitable foundation to facilitate an anonymous directed donation. She posed as a low-level foundation liaison during the medical screenings, hiding behind an ironclad non-disclosure agreement and a proxy legal team so impenetrable that the name 'Aubree Pratt' was legally and entirely erased from the donor registry.

Aubree's eyes snapped open. She gasped for air. A thick layer of cold sweat coated her forehead.

She tried to stand up to get the fever reducers from the bathroom drawer. Her legs gave out. She crashed to her knees on the thick carpet.

The freezing pool water and the trauma to her throat had destroyed her weakened immune system.

Her vision blurred. The edges of the room turned black. Her breathing sounded like a broken accordion.

She dragged her body across the floor toward the nightstand. She reached up and grabbed her phone from the charging cable.

Her fingers shook violently. She swiped the screen, trying to find her best friend Jax Keller's contact to call an ambulance.

A massive wave of dizziness hit her brain. Her hand went limp. The phone slipped from her fingers and fell onto the carpet.

Aubree collapsed onto her side. The fever spiked, pulling her into a dark, delirious state.

In her mind, she was back in the freezing operating room. She heard the steady beep of the heart monitor.

"Eli," she whispered to the empty room. Her voice was a dry rasp.

Outside the window, Manhattan was alive. Inside the massive penthouse, it was a tomb. No one heard her.

Her body temperature skyrocketed. Her lips cracked and bled. Her cheeks burned with a dark, unnatural red flush.

Hours passed. The pain burned away the last of her love for him. She realized her sacrifice meant absolutely nothing.

The morning sun sliced through the blinds and hit her face. She did not wake up.

Her chest barely moved. Her breaths were shallow and weak.

Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside her bedroom. Angry voices pierced the silence.

The brass doorknob rattled violently.

The door was locked. A second later, a heavy boot kicked the wood.

A sharp, electronic beep echoed through the room. The heavy solid wood door didn't splinter; instead, the high-security smart lock glowed green as Eleonora used her master biometric override. The door swung open smoothly, a chilling contrast to the violence of the two massive bodyguards in black suits who stormed into the bedroom.

Eleonora and Camilla walked in right behind them. They looked down at Aubree's motionless body on the floor with deep disgust.

Camilla stepped forward. She raised her pointed stiletto and kicked Aubree hard in the shoulder. "Stop playing dead," Camilla sneered.

Aubree didn't move.

Eleonora looked at one of the guards. "Go to the bathroom. Get a bowl of cold water. Wake her up."

The guard walked into the bathroom and came back with a glass bowl filled with tap water. He dumped it directly onto Aubree's burning face.

The violent shock of the freezing water made Aubree gasp. Her eyes flew open. She sucked in a jagged breath, waking up from the deep unconsciousness.

Her vision was blurry. She saw dark, twisted shapes standing over her.

Camilla squatted down. She grabbed a fistful of Aubree's wet hair and yanked her head back.

"You cheap murderer," Camilla spat. "You almost killed Dayna's baby."

Aubree's throat was swollen shut. She tried to speak, but only a dry, hissing sound came out.

Eleonora threw a pile of black fabric onto the floor next to Aubree. It looked like a mourning dress. "Put that on," Eleonora commanded. "Eli wants you at the hospital. You are going to kneel by Dayna's bed and beg for forgiveness."

Hearing Eli's name sent a jolt of pure hatred through Aubree's chest. She gathered the last ounce of her strength and shoved Camilla's arm away.

Camilla stumbled backward. Her face twisted with rage. She swung her arm and slapped Aubree across the face. The smack echoed in the room.

The metallic taste of blood filled Aubree's mouth. Her head spun.

Eleonora checked her watch. She sighed, annoyed. "Just grab her."

The two bodyguards stepped forward. They grabbed Aubree by the arms and hauled her up. Her legs were dead weight.

They dragged her out of the bedroom. Her bare feet dragged across the expensive Persian rugs. She didn't even have shoes on.

They shoved her into the private elevator. The sudden drop of the elevator made Aubree's stomach heave. She gagged, fighting the urge to vomit.

In the underground garage, the guards threw her into the back seat of a black Cadillac SUV.

Her forehead slammed against the tinted window. A purple bruise instantly formed. She curled into a tight ball on the leather seat, shivering uncontrollably.

Camilla sat in the front passenger seat. She turned around, lifted her phone, and snapped a photo of Aubree's pathetic state. She typed a message to Dayna.

The SUV sped out of the garage and merged into the Manhattan morning traffic.

The air conditioning in the car was blasting. Aubree was still in her thin, damp silk pajamas. Her teeth chattered.

Thirty minutes later, the SUV slammed on the brakes at the VIP rear entrance of Mount Sinai Hospital.

The guard ripped the door open and dragged Aubree out by her arm.

In the bushes near the entrance, three paparazzi hired by Camilla jumped out. Camera flashes exploded in Aubree's face. Camilla had specifically orchestrated this to capture the narrative of a hysterical, remorseful wife. The guard didn't strike her; instead, he shoved her hard by the shoulders, forcing her to her knees on the rough pavement.

"Look at the camera and show some remorse for what you did to the baby!" Camilla yelled loudly, ensuring the microphones picked up her fabricated outrage. Aubree knelt in the dirt, looking like a broken, deranged woman begging for forgiveness, exactly as Camilla intended.

Eleonora walked up behind her and shoved her forward. Aubree stumbled into the harsh, sterile-smelling hospital corridor.

The bodyguard shoved the double doors open. He pushed Aubree hard from behind.

She stumbled into the massive, brightly lit VIP suite. Her knees gave out. She crashed onto the cold ceramic floor tiles.

Dayna sat in the hospital bed. She wore a designer silk gown. Her face was pale, but her eyes gleamed with victory.

Eli sat in a chair next to the bed. He held a plastic cup with a straw, gently holding it to Dayna's lips.

He heard the thud and turned his head. He saw Aubree sprawled on the floor. His eyes instantly turned to ice.

Eleonora and Camilla walked into the room. They stood behind Eli, crossing their arms.

Aubree gritted her teeth. Her knees screamed in pain. Her head spun from the fever. She pressed her palms against the floor and tried to push herself up.

Eleonora stepped forward and kicked Aubree hard in the back of the knee.

Aubree let out a muffled groan. Both of her knees slammed back onto the hard floor. She was forced into a kneeling position.

Eli watched his mother kick her. He didn't blink. He didn't tell his mother to stop. He set the plastic cup down on the tray table.

He stood up and walked over to Aubree. He looked down at her like she was a disease.

"Apologize to Dayna," Eli's voice was a low, dangerous rumble. "Apologize to the child you tried to kill."

Aubree lifted her head. Her wet hair stuck to her pale, bruised cheeks. Her eyes burned with defiance.

"I didn't push her," Aubree forced the words through her swollen throat. "She threw herself backward."

Dayna covered her face with her hands. She let out a loud, dramatic sob. "It's okay, Eli," Dayna cried. "Don't yell at her. Maybe I just slipped."

Dayna's tears acted like gasoline on Eli's rage. He bent down, grabbed the collar of Aubree's silk pajamas, and hauled her up to her feet.

He pulled her face inches from his. "You planned it perfectly," he roared. "Right in the camera blind spot."

Aubree stared into his eyes. This was the man she gave her kidney to. He looked like a complete stranger.

She didn't fight his grip. Instead, the corners of her bloody lips twitched. She let out a broken, mocking smile. "Are you blind, Eli?"

The mockery in her eyes snapped his control. He raised his right hand, pulling it back to strike her.

Aubree didn't flinch. She didn't close her eyes. She leaned her face forward, waiting for the hit that would end everything.

Eli's hand stopped in mid-air. He stared at her flushed, sickly face and the dark finger marks on her neck-marks his own hand had made just hours before. A sudden, violent wave of self-disgust, sharp and unexpected, hit his stomach. He was horrified by the physical evidence of his own monstrous loss of control. He shoved her backward, not out of revulsion for her, but for the unfamiliar, terrifying lack of discipline he felt in himself.

He pulled a white linen handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his right hand, as if touching her had infected him.

"Your lies mean nothing," Eli said coldly. "My lawyers will make sure you rot in Rikers Island."

Camilla held her phone up, recording the entire exchange.

Aubree slumped against the wall. Her body shook with fever, but she forced her spine straight.

She looked past Eli, straight at Dayna. "Karma will come for you," Aubree said. Her voice was dead and flat.

Dayna gasped and pulled the blanket up to her chin. Eli immediately stepped in front of the bed, shielding Dayna with his body.

He turned his back to Aubree. "Sign the confession and the agreement," he ordered. "And get out of New York."