The first harsh ray of morning sunlight pierced through the gap in the heavy blackout curtains, hitting Danielle right in the eyes.

She woke up with a sharp gasp. Her entire body ached, a deep, bruised feeling settling in her bones. She tried to move, but a heavy, muscular arm was clamped tightly around her waist, pinning her to the mattress.

Danielle turned her head slowly. In the morning light, she saw Deforest's face resting inches from hers. His sharp jawline was relaxed in sleep, but his brow was still slightly furrowed.

The memories of the dark, chaotic night crashed into her brain. Her stomach churned with nausea. She bit down on her lower lip so hard she tasted fresh blood.

She placed her trembling fingers on his thick forearm. Holding her breath, she pushed his arm up, millimeter by millimeter.

Deforest shifted. He let out a low, irritated groan, his hand flexing against the sheets.

Danielle froze instantly. She didn't dare exhale. She watched his chest rise and fall until the rhythm smoothed out again.

She slid out from under his arm and slipped off the edge of the bed. Her bare feet hit the cold floor.

She scrambled around the room on her hands and knees, frantically gathering her torn sweater, her skirt, and her undergarments. She pulled them on quickly, her hands shaking so badly she could barely manage the buttons.

She stood up and caught her reflection in the full-length mirror. Her skin paled. Dark, angry red and purple bruises covered her neck and collarbone.

She reached up to fix her messy hair. Her fingers brushed empty air. The silver cloud hairpin was gone.

Panic flared in her chest. She dropped to her knees, sweeping her hands under the bed and between the sofa cushions. Nothing.

On the bed, Deforest rolled onto his back. The duvet slipped down to his waist, exposing the angry red scratch marks Danielle had left on his shoulders.

Danielle knew if he woke up now, her entire revenge plan would be destroyed. She couldn't risk staying another second.

She abandoned the search. She grabbed the black sun hat from the floor, jammed it onto her head, and pulled the brim down low.

She took one last look at the man in the bed, her eyes cold and calculating. Then, she slipped out the door, pulling it shut with a soft click.

She bypassed the elevators entirely, sprinting down the concrete stairs of the fire exit. Her lungs burned by the time she reached the ground floor.

She pushed the heavy metal door open, stepping out into the damp, cold air of the hotel's back alley.

A blinding white flash exploded in her face.

Danielle threw her hands up to shield her eyes.

Tierney stood blocking the alley exit. Two massive bodyguards flanked her, and three paparazzi with massive cameras were snapping photos frantically.

Tierney looked at Danielle's disheveled clothes and messy hair. A look of absolute triumph lit up Tierney's face.

Tierney lunged forward and slapped the hat off Danielle's head. She grabbed the collar of Danielle's sweater and yanked it down.

The camera flashes went off like strobe lights, capturing the dark hickeys covering Danielle's neck.

"Look at this," Tierney sneered, her voice dripping with venom. "Grab this filthy whore. We are taking her back to the manor to face the family."

Back in suite 1802, Deforest slowly opened his eyes. A vicious headache pounded behind his temples.

He reached his hand out across the mattress. The sheets were cold and empty.

He sat up abruptly, his muscles tense. He looked around the empty room. The faint, sweet scent of vanilla still hung in the air.

His eyes dropped to the pillow next to him.

Resting on the white cotton was a delicate, silver cloud hairpin.

Deforest picked it up. He rubbed his rough thumb over the smooth metal edges. His eyes darkened, a dangerous, obsessive fire igniting in his pupils.

The two bodyguards shoved Danielle through the massive front doors of the Stuart manor.

Danielle stumbled forward. Her sneakers caught on the edge of the marble step, and she crashed hard onto her knees on the cold, polished floor. Pain shot up her legs, but she kept her head down, her shoulders shaking violently.

Constance Stuart, the matriarch of the family, sat on a velvet sofa in the center of the grand hall. She held a porcelain teacup, her posture rigid and aristocratic.

Tierney marched past Danielle, her heels clicking sharply against the marble. "Grandmother, look at what the Roy family sent us. She spent her wedding night in a hotel with a disgusting old man."

Constance slowly lowered her teacup. Her cold, gray eyes locked onto Danielle.

Tierney leaned down and violently ripped the collar of Danielle's sweater sideways.

Under the harsh, bright light of the crystal chandelier, the dark, angry hickeys on Danielle's neck and collarbone were fully exposed.

The maids and butlers standing around the perimeter of the hall gasped, exchanging shocked whispers.

Constance's face turned purple with rage. Her hands gripped the armrests of the sofa. "The Roy family sent us a shameless tramp," she spat. "She has violated the morality clause of the prenuptial agreement. Throw her out into the street immediately."

Danielle kept her head bowed. She bit her lower lip, letting her tears fall onto the marble floor. But beneath the curtain of her hair, her brain was running complex calculations. She needed to stay in this house.

The two bodyguards stepped forward, grabbing her arms to drag her out.

Danielle suddenly exploded into motion. She let out a raw, guttural wail from the back of her throat. She thrashed wildly, twisting her body with surprising strength.

She broke free from their grip and scrambled across the floor on her hands and knees. She threw her arms around the base of a massive marble pillar near the hallway leading to the medical wing. She locked her fingers together, refusing to let go.

"Grab that lunatic!" Tierney shrieked.

Danielle clung to the pillar. She raised one trembling hand and pointed frantically down the hallway toward the medical wing.

Constance frowned, her anger momentarily replaced by confusion. "What is the mute trying to say?"

Danielle, seeing they didn't understand, let out a frantic, silent scream. She lunged forward, her fingers desperately grabbing the hem of Constance's expensive skirt. She dipped her trembling fingers into the tears streaming down her own cheeks and frantically drew the shape of a massive bed on the polished marble floor. She pointed at the drawing, then raised her hands above her head, mimicking a very tall, broad-shouldered man. Then, she pointed violently at the hickeys on her own neck, and pointed back to the medical wing.

The entire grand hall fell dead silent. You could hear a pin drop.

Tierney let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Are you insane? Are you trying to blame this on my brother? He's in a coma!"

Danielle shook her head violently. Huge tears rolled down her cheeks. She pointed at the medical wing again, her finger jabbing the air.

Constance's heart skipped a beat. A wild, impossible thought crossed her mind. What if Deforest had woken up?

Constance stood up so fast her teacup rattled. "Bring her," she ordered, her voice trembling slightly. She walked quickly toward the medical wing.

The bodyguards peeled Danielle off the pillar. They dragged her by the arms, following Constance and Tierney down the long corridor.

Danielle let her feet drag on the carpet. She kept her head down, but a cold, calculated gleam flashed in her eyes. Step one was complete.

They stopped in front of the heavy wooden doors of the master bedroom. The truth was waiting inside.

Several hours before the household stirred, Deforest had returned. His drive back from the city had been cold and precise, the cloud hairpin a sharp weight in his pocket. He bypassed the main gates, using a service entrance known only to the groundskeepers, and entered the medical wing like a ghost. Dr. Kline, still nursing his bruised wrist and the memory of Deforest's threat, was easy to coerce into silence and cooperation. Under Deforest's icy supervision, the doctor reattached the discarded monitors and procured a fresh oxygen mask, terror ensuring his efficiency. Once the stage was set, Deforest lay back on the bed, his body still, but his mind a predator's, patiently waiting. He would play the coma patient, observe the family's machinations, and find the woman who carried the scent of vanilla.

Constance gestured sharply to the bodyguards. "Open it."

The bodyguards pushed the heavy double doors open.

The master bedroom was dim, lit only by the blinking lights of the medical equipment. The room smelled strongly of bleach and sterile cotton.

Everyone crowded into the doorway, holding their breath as they looked at the massive bed.

Deforest lay perfectly still under the covers. The oxygen mask was strapped securely over his nose and mouth. His chest rose and fell in a slow, mechanical rhythm.

The heart monitor beeped steadily. Beep. Beep. Beep. Nothing had changed.

Tierney let out a loud, triumphant sneer. "See? I told you. She's a lying, cheating whore trying to cover her tracks."

Constance's face darkened with absolute fury. She felt humiliated for believing a mute's pantomime. She turned to the bodyguards. "Throw her out. Now."

The bodyguards reached for Danielle's shoulders.

Danielle stared at the bed. She noticed the slight tension in Deforest's jaw. She noticed his hands, hidden under the blanket, were clenched into fists. He was faking it. He hated the family's control, and he was playing possum to avoid them.

Right as the bodyguard's fingers brushed her sweater, Danielle ripped herself away.

She launched herself forward like a missile. She sprinted across the room so fast no one had time to react.

She threw her entire body onto the bed. She landed hard on top of Deforest, her hands gripping his broad shoulders like a vice. She pressed her face right up against his oxygen mask, her weight fully crushing his chest.

Underneath her, Deforest felt the sudden, heavy impact. The smell of cheap hotel soap and rain assaulted his nose.

Deforest had extreme mysophobia. He violently despised being touched by anyone, let alone a stranger crushing him.

His control snapped. The veins in his forehead bulged against his skin.

His eyes flew open, burning with raw, murderous rage.

Deforest ripped his arm out from under the blanket. He struck out, his heavy forearm slamming into Danielle's chest.

He threw her off him with terrifying force.

Danielle flew backward. She crashed hard onto the thick carpet, letting out a sharp gasp as the wind was knocked out of her lungs. She curled into a tight ball, clutching her ribs.

The entire room froze in absolute shock.

Deforest ripped the oxygen mask off his face and threw it at the wall. He sat up, his chest heaving, his eyes glaring at the crowd in the doorway.

Constance slapped both hands over her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes. "Deforest... you're awake."

Tierney took a step back, her face pale. She stared at her brother's massive, tense muscles. He didn't look sick. He looked like a monster.

Deforest ignored his family. His furious gaze locked onto Danielle, who was shivering on the floor.

He brushed his hands aggressively over his pajama shirt, as if trying to scrub away a disease she had infected him with.

"Get this disgusting freak out of my sight," Deforest snarled, his voice vibrating with disgust.

Danielle kept her face buried in her knees, trembling violently. She played the role of the terrified, abused wife perfectly.

But hidden in the shadows of her arms, the corners of her mouth twitched. She had won. The crisis was averted.

Constance rushed to the bed, completely forgetting about the hickeys and the hotel.

The bodyguards grabbed Danielle by the arms, hauling her up from the floor, preparing to drag her away.