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.

Out in the hallway, Deforest yanked aggressively at the collar of his black shirt, popping the top two buttons. His skin was flushed, radiating an unnatural heat.

Zane, his business partner, gripped Deforest's bicep, trying to keep him upright. "You just woke from a coma, Deforest. Chugging half a bottle of whiskey at the club was a terrible idea."

The alcohol was reacting violently with the heavy sedatives still lingering in Deforest's bloodstream. His vision blurred, the edges of the hallway doubling and overlapping. His head pounded with a vicious, rhythmic ache.

Deforest shoved Zane's hand away. He dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a sleek, metal hotel black card.

He slapped the card against the sensor of room 1802.

The card reader flashed green. A long, high-pitched beep sounded. A heavy clunk sounded from the door as the master override electronically retracted the deadbolt. Deforest shoved his heavy shoulder violently against the wood, his brute force snapping the secondary security latch right off its hinges.

Deforest pushed the heavy wooden door open. He stumbled over the threshold into the pitch-black suite.

"Just sleep it off, man," Zane called out from the hallway, pulling the door shut behind Deforest.

The heavy door clicked shut. The suite plunged into total, suffocating darkness.

Behind the bathroom door, Danielle's heart hammered against her ribs. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a sharp, metal eyebrow razor. She gripped it tightly, the cold metal biting into her palm.

In the living room, Deforest took a heavy step forward. His foot caught the edge of a heavy armchair. He let out a low, painful grunt, his knee buckling slightly.

He navigated purely by instinct, moving toward the bedroom. The heavy scent of expensive whiskey rolled off him in waves, filling the stagnant air of the suite.

Danielle peeked through the crack in the bathroom door. The ambient light from the city outside cast a faint glow. The man stumbling through the room was massive. Broad shoulders, towering height. This was absolutely not Warren, the short, overweight investor.

Danielle held her breath, her muscles coiled tight.

Deforest felt his blood boiling. The drug interaction was frying his nervous system. He couldn't think. He couldn't see straight.

He grabbed the hem of his shirt and ripped it over his head, throwing it blindly into the dark. He crashed onto the edge of the massive king-sized bed, groaning as he fell back against the mattress.

Danielle waited a full minute. The man on the bed didn't move. His breathing was heavy and ragged.

She pushed the bathroom door open an inch at a time. She stepped out barefoot, her toes sinking into the thick carpet. She moved silently toward the front door, keeping her eyes locked on the bed.

As she passed the nightstand, the fabric of her loose sweater caught the edge of a tall glass vase.

The vase tipped over. It hit the floor with a sharp, shattering crash.

The man on the bed moved with terrifying speed. Deforest lunged through the dark like a predator. His large hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around Danielle's ankle like a steel vice.

Danielle gasped, losing her balance. She pitched forward, crashing hard onto the soft mattress.

Before she could scramble away, Deforest flipped her over. He pinned her down, his heavy, burning chest pressing flush against her back.

Danielle thrashed wildly. She twisted her wrist, bringing the sharp eyebrow razor up to slash at him.

Deforest felt the movement. He caught her wrist mid-air. He squeezed her bones until she gasped in pain, easily prying the razor from her fingers and tossing it across the room.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck to hold her down. As he inhaled, the faint, sweet scent of vanilla filled his lungs.

The scent triggered a massive hallucination in his drug-addled brain. He pressed his nose against her neck, inhaling deeply. "Anya... you smell just like Anya," he muttered against her skin, his voice thick with a desperate, sick obsession, tying her vanilla scent to a ghost from his past.

Danielle froze. The deep, gravelly vibration of his voice sent a shockwave of pure terror down her spine. She knew that voice. It was her husband. The man who was supposed to be in a coma.

The shock paralyzed her. Her muscles went completely slack.

Deforest took her stillness for surrender. His mouth crashed down on her neck, his teeth scraping against her collarbone.

The alcohol and the drugs completely stripped away his control. In the pitch-black room, the two of them tangled together in the sheets, driven by chaos and a terrifying, unstoppable force.