The nurse pulled the thick needle out of Danielle's arm. She slapped a piece of medical tape over the puncture wound, pressing down hard enough to bruise.

Danielle pressed her thumb over the cotton ball. She pushed herself up from the chair, letting her knees buckle slightly. She swayed and bumped her shoulder heavily against the cold wall.

Agnes did not reach out to catch her. The housekeeper simply turned on her heel. "Follow me."

Danielle kept her chin glued to her chest. She dragged her feet, following Agnes out of the medical wing and into the main house. They walked down a long, dimly lit corridor lined with thick wool carpets that swallowed the sound of their footsteps.

Danielle's eyes darted left and right beneath her messy bangs. She counted the classic oil paintings on the walls. She memorized the exact angles of the security cameras tucked into the ceiling corners.

Agnes stopped at the end of the hall in front of a pair of heavy, carved wooden doors. She pushed them open and stepped aside.

Danielle hesitated. She poked her head into the room, her shoulders hunched up to her ears.

Agnes shoved her squarely in the back. Danielle stumbled forward onto the plush carpet. The heavy doors slammed shut behind her. The lock clicked into place with a sharp snap.

The master bedroom was massive. The only light came from a few dim wall sconces. The rhythmic beeping of medical monitors filled the silence.

Danielle backed up until her spine hit the solid wood of the door. She dragged in a deep breath, holding it as she scanned the shadows. No nurses. No bodyguards. Just her and the man in the bed.

She dropped her hands from her ribs. The terrified slump of her shoulders vanished. She stood up straight, her eyes narrowing with sharp, predatory focus.

She walked silently toward the center of the room, her sneakers making no sound on the rug.

Deforest Stuart lay in the center of a massive four-poster bed. His skin was pale, his eyes shut tight.

Danielle stood over him, staring down at the man known as the ruthless tyrant of Wall Street.

She noticed his chest. Despite being bedridden, his muscles were firm and defined under the thin fabric of his pajamas. He didn't look like a man wasting away.

The heart monitor beside the bed beeped stronger now, fueled by the fresh blood she had just given him.

Danielle reached out. She pressed two fingers against the side of his neck, right over his carotid artery. His pulse beat steadily against her fingertips.

Deforest's brow furrowed slightly in his deep sleep. A muscle in his jaw twitched, as if his body physically rejected the contact even in a coma.

Danielle snatched her hand back immediately. She took a half-step away from the bed, her eyes fixed on his eyelids. They didn't flutter. He was still under.

She turned her attention to the nightstand. A thick medical file sat next to a water pitcher. She picked it up, flipping through the pages quickly.

The reports were filled with complex medical jargon. Genetic defect. Periodic systemic failure. She quickly flipped the page, her sharp eyes scanning a psychological evaluation. Her finger paused over a line highlighted in red: 'Severe tactile defensiveness and mysophobia-extreme fear of physical contact.'

Heavy footsteps suddenly echoed in the hallway outside. They were moving fast, heading straight for the door.

Danielle shoved the file back onto the nightstand, aligning it exactly as she had found it.

She kicked off her sneakers, leaving them in a messy pile. She scrambled onto the massive bed, crawling under the heavy duvet next to Deforest.

She pulled her knees tightly to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. She buried her face in her knees, making her body as small as possible.

The lock turned. Agnes walked in, followed by a young maid pushing a stainless steel serving cart.

Agnes looked at the bed. Seeing Danielle cowering in the corner like a frightened animal, the housekeeper's upper lip curled in disgust.

The maid placed a glass of tap water and three dry crackers on the small table near the door.

"Do not touch any of the machines," Agnes ordered, her voice cold. "If anything beeps, you will answer to Mr. Stuart's father."

Agnes and the maid left. The door locked again.

Danielle slowly lifted her head. She crawled to the edge of the bed, grabbed a dry cracker, and shoved it into her mouth. She chewed the tasteless food with a blank expression.

She swallowed hard, the dry crumbs scratching her throat. She turned her head, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the pitch-black sky, counting down the days until she could tear this family apart.

At 2:00 AM, the lock on the master bedroom door clicked again.

Danielle's eyes snapped open in the dark. She instantly buried her face back into her knees, forcing her shoulders to tremble as if she were having a nightmare.

Agnes marched into the room. She carried a metal basin filled with warm water and a white towel.

The housekeeper threw the towel directly at Danielle's face. The damp fabric hit her cheek with a wet slap.

"Wipe him down," Agnes commanded. "The doctors said he needs physical stimulation to prevent muscle atrophy. Do your job."

Danielle pulled the towel off her face. Her fingers dug into the terrycloth. She gripped it so hard her knuckles ached. She stared at Agnes's shoes, fighting the overwhelming urge to wrap the towel around the woman's neck.

Agnes scoffed and walked out, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Danielle sat on the bed, holding the warm towel. She looked at Deforest's pale face. An image of Carson flashed in her mind-Carson lying in a hospital bed, tubes shoved down her throat, her life ruined by Elliott Stuart and his entire, rotten family. Her anger needed an outlet, and the man in the bed-Elliott's brother-was the closest target. Danielle shoved the warm towel roughly against Deforest's bare chest. She dragged it down his skin with zero gentleness, pressing hard enough to leave red streaks.

The sharp clack of high heels hitting the marble hallway broke the silence.

The bedroom door swung wide open. Tierney Stuart walked in, wearing a custom trench coat over a designer dress. She looked down her nose at the scene.

Tierney saw Danielle aggressively scrubbing Deforest's chest. Disgust flashed in her eyes, quickly followed by a dark, calculating gleam.

Tierney marched over and snatched the towel out of Danielle's hands. She threw it into the water basin. Water splashed onto the carpet.

Tierney's face instantly shifted into a mask of exaggerated pity. She spoke in a high, soothing voice, like she was talking to a stray dog.

"Oh, you poor thing," Tierney cooed. "Agnes is a monster for making you do this. Come with me. I'll take you somewhere safe to sleep."

Danielle caught the malicious glint in Tierney's eyes. Her stomach tightened. This was a trap.

But staying in this room meant staying under the cameras. Danielle needed to get out. She forced tears into her eyes and nodded frantically.

She reached out and grabbed the sleeve of Tierney's expensive trench coat, clutching it like a lifeline.

Tierney's jaw clenched. She visibly restrained herself from slapping Danielle's hand away. "Let's go. Quickly."

Tierney led her out of the room. They bypassed the main staircase, taking the narrow servant stairs down to the back exit of the manor.

A bright red Porsche sat idling under the trees in the freezing rain.

Tierney opened the passenger door and shoved Danielle inside. She slid into the driver's seat and hit the central locking button. The doors locked with a heavy clunk. In the dim light of the car's interior, Danielle quietly reached up, twisting her messy hair into a tight bun. She secured it with a silver cloud hairpin, the only piece of her true identity she had kept hidden during her performance.

Tierney slammed on the gas. The Porsche roared to life, tearing down the driveway and out into the dark, rainy night.

The inside of the car smelled overwhelmingly of heavy, floral perfume. It made Danielle's throat close up. She twisted her fingers together in her lap, keeping her head down.

Tierney reached into the center console. She pulled out a bottle of Fiji water, already uncapped, and shoved it toward Danielle. "Drink this. It will calm your nerves."

Danielle took the bottle with shaking hands. As they passed under a streetlamp, the yellow light illuminated the water. Danielle's sharp eyes caught tiny, undissolved white particles floating near the bottom.

She brought the bottle to her lips. She tilted her head back, pretending to take a massive gulp. Instead, she pressed her tongue against the opening and let the water spill down her chin, directly into the wide, loose sleeve of her oversized sweater.

Tierney watched her in the rearview mirror. Seeing Danielle's throat bob, a cruel, satisfied smile spread across Tierney's face.

Danielle lowered the bottle. She let her head loll to the side, resting her cheek against the cold glass of the window. She closed her eyes, letting her breathing slow down until she appeared completely unconscious.

The Porsche sped through the rain, heading straight for the Grande Hotel in Manhattan.

The life support monitors in the Stuart master bedroom suddenly emitted a rapid, high-pitched alarm.

The steady green line of the heart monitor spiked violently.

Deforest's eyes snapped open. His pupils were blown wide, the whites of his eyes heavily bloodshot. Pure, unadulterated rage radiated from his rigid posture.

He reached up and ripped the oxygen mask off his face, tossing it onto the floor. He sucked in a massive breath of air, his chest heaving.

Dr. Kline, who had been dozing in the observation room, sprinted into the bedroom. He reached out, trying to push Deforest back down by the shoulders. "Mr. Stuart, you need to-"

Deforest's arm shot out. He grabbed the doctor's wrist, twisted it violently, and shoved him backward. Dr. Kline crashed into the medical cart, sending metal trays clattering to the floor.

Deforest grabbed the IV line taped to the back of his hand. He ripped it out in one brutal motion. Blood instantly welled up, dripping down his knuckles and staining the pristine white sheets.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed. His bare feet hit the carpet. "Who put that blood in me?" he demanded, his voice a raw, gravelly rasp.

Dr. Kline scrambled up, clutching his wrist. "Your father, sir. He arranged a medical marriage. The girl-"

Deforest didn't let him finish. He slammed his bloody fist into the glass water pitcher on the nightstand. The glass shattered, sending shards flying across the room.

"Get out," Deforest snarled. He ignored the blood dripping from his hand. He marched into the massive walk-in closet, grabbed a black dress shirt, and shoved his arms into the sleeves. He stormed out of the bedroom, slamming the heavy doors behind him so hard the walls shook.

Miles away, in the underground VIP parking garage of the Grande Hotel, Tierney slammed the brakes of the Porsche.

She got out, popped the trunk, and pulled out a wide-brimmed black sun hat. She opened the passenger door and shoved the hat roughly onto Danielle's head, pulling it low over her face.

Tierney grabbed Danielle by the arm, dragging her limp body toward the private VIP elevator. They rode in silence up to the penthouse level.

The elevator doors chimed open. Tierney pulled Danielle down the quiet, heavily carpeted hallway. She stopped at suite 1802 and swiped a keycard.

Tierney dragged Danielle inside and shoved her hard. Danielle collapsed onto the velvet sofa in the living room, keeping her eyes shut and her body completely loose.

Tierney pulled out her phone. She typed a quick text to Warren, the sleazy investor. Room 1802. She's ready.

Tierney looked around the luxurious room, sneered at Danielle's motionless body, and walked out. She pulled the door shut but deliberately left it unlatched, leaving a small crack open.

The sound of Tierney's high heels faded down the hall.

Danielle's eyes snapped open. The dullness was gone, replaced by ice-cold clarity.

She ripped the hat off her head. She moved quickly to the door and looked through the peephole. The hallway was empty.

She saw the crack in the door. She pushed the door shut until it clicked, then immediately hit the deadbolt and flipped the heavy metal security latch.

Danielle walked into the marble bathroom. She turned on the cold water and splashed it over her face, scrubbing her skin to get rid of the faint chemical smell clinging to her sleeve.

She looked in the mirror. She checked the silver cloud hairpin already securing her tight bun, making sure the signature piece was still firmly in place after the rough car ride.

She reached under the hem of her skirt and pulled out a tiny, flat electronic jammer. She stood on the edge of the bathtub and stuck it directly over the bathroom's smoke detector.

Suddenly, heavy, uncoordinated footsteps echoed in the hallway outside the suite.

Danielle froze. She reached over and killed the bathroom lights. She pressed her back flat against the bathroom door, holding her breath.

A deep, male voice mumbled something slurred outside. Another man's voice answered, trying to soothe him.

The door handle to suite 1802 was violently shoved downward. A heavy thud hit the wood as someone threw their weight against the locked door.