The words stunned everyone.

The bodyguards stared at Audrey’s rising chest. They released Dakota, hands shaking as they shoved the taser back into its holster. The hostility in their eyes vanished. Replaced by awe.

The doctor dropped to his knees beside the monitor. He stared at the strong, rhythmic green lines. He looked at the gold needle buried in Audrey’s chest. His jaw dropped.

“The Lazarus Protocol,” he whispered. His voice trembled. “I read about this in a classified medical journal. It’s real.”

The bodyguards exchanged shocked glances. Even they knew the rumors of the mythical acupuncture technique that could restart a dead heart.

Tiffany stood frozen. The blood drained from her face. She’d just insulted a master physician. And she’d lost the bet.

Tiffany took a slow step backward, turning her body toward the open door of the Maybach.

Dakota caught the movement. She kicked the toe of her boot against the asphalt, popping a small, jagged rock into the air. She kicked it forward.

The rock shot across the road and slammed into the back of Tiffany’s knee.

Tiffany screamed. Her leg buckled. She crashed face-first against the side of the Maybach.

Dakota walked slowly toward the car. She stopped behind Tiffany and held out her open palm.

Tiffany rubbed her bruised cheek and glared at Dakota. She opened her mouth to scream for the guards.

A weak, raspy voice came from the ground.

“Tiffany.”

Tiffany froze and slowly turned her head.

Audrey sat up, supported by the lead bodyguard. She was weak, but her eyes burned with absolute authority. She’d been paralyzed, but she’d heard every word spoken while she was trapped in her own body.

“Give the girl what you promised,” Audrey commanded. Her voice was quiet but carried the weight of the Wilder empire.

Tiffany trembled. She didn’t dare disobey. She reached up and fumbled with the clasp of the diamond necklace. She pulled the heavy jewels off and dropped them into Dakota’s waiting hand. The diamonds felt cold.

“The rest of it,” Dakota said, staring down at her.

Tiffany’s face burned bright red. She stepped away from the car and bent at the waist, bowing deeply toward the girl in the faded jacket.

“I’m sorry,” Tiffany forced the words through clenched teeth. Humiliation shook her shoulders.

Dakota let out a short breath. “Your apology is pathetic, but I accept it.”

Audrey pushed herself up with the bodyguard’s help. She walked slowly toward Dakota and shoved the doctor out of her way.

Audrey snapped her fingers. An assistant rushed forward with a leather checkbook and a pen. Audrey scribbled across the paper and tore it out.

She held the check out with both hands. It was written for one million dollars.

“Thank you for saving my life,” Audrey said. “Please, give me your contact information. The Wilder family owes you a great debt.”

Dakota took the check. She folded it once and shoved it into her pocket without looking at the zeros. She recited her personal, encrypted number. Only a very select few people had it.

Dakota walked back to Audrey. Her hands moved in a blur, pulling the silver and gold needles from the woman’s chest and head. She slid them back into the hairpin and clipped it into her hair.

“The poison is only suppressed,” Dakota said. “Get to a hospital and get your blood filtered immediately.”

She turned her back on the billionaires, picked up her canvas backpack from the hood of the ruined Ford, and started walking down the highway.

Audrey watched the girl walk away. She turned to her assistant.

“Find out everything about her,” she ordered.

Dakota walked back to the spot where the Ford had died. She dropped her backpack onto the thick roots of the oak tree and sat down.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the heavy diamond necklace. The stones caught the afternoon sun, throwing sharp rainbows across the dirt. She let the necklace dangle from her fingers, entirely unimpressed by the fortune she held.

A deep, rhythmic vibration hummed through the soles of her boots.

Dakota looked up. Down the long stretch of highway, a massive vehicle approached. It didn’t bounce or rattle. It moved down the road, smooth and silent.

A brand-new Rolls-Royce Cullinan pulled to a stop right in front of her. The paint was a flawless obsidian black. The chrome grill gleamed aggressively. The sheer size and luxury of the SUV made the smoking Ford behind it look like a piece of garbage.

The driver’s side door opened. Gus stepped out.

He still wore his cheap, wrinkled clothes. Sweat still coated his forehead. But he held a heavy, silver key fob in his hand. A massive grin split his face.

Gus walked quickly to the rear passenger door. He pulled a pair of pristine white cotton gloves from his pocket and slipped them on. He grabbed the heavy chrome handle and pulled the door open.

Gus bowed deeply from the waist.

“Your car is ready, Miss Dakota,” he said. His voice swelled with pride.

Dakota stared at the plastic protective film still clinging to the edge of the leather seat. She finally understood what Gus meant when he said he was going to “buy a car.” He hadn’t meant a cheap replacement.

She didn’t ask questions. She shoved the diamond necklace back into her pocket, grabbed her faded backpack, and climbed into the cabin.

Gus shut the heavy door. The highway noise vanished instantly. The cabin was dead silent, smelling intensely of rich leather and fresh wood polish.

Gus climbed into the driver’s seat and shifted the gear. The Cullinan surged forward smoothly, leaving the broken Ford behind in the dust.

Dakota sank back into the plush leather. She watched the scenery change outside the tinted windows. The empty trees gave way to concrete buildings.

The SUV drove onto a massive bridge. The skyline of Manhattan rose in the distance, a jagged wall of glass and steel.

Dakota watched the city approach. Her heart beat at a steady, calm pace.

Gus checked the rearview mirror. He expected the girl to be staring in open-mouthed wonder at the luxury around her. Instead, Dakota looked completely bored. Gus gripped the steering wheel tighter, his respect for her growing.

The Cullinan drove deep into the city. The chaotic traffic of Midtown faded as they entered the Upper East Side. Modern glass towers gave way to historic limestone townhouses.

The vehicle slowed. It approached a massive property surrounded by a ten-foot-tall wrought-iron fence. It took up an entire city block.

Two giant stone lions sat on massive pedestals on either side of the gate. A solid brass plaque was bolted to the iron bars. A single word was engraved in deep, elegant letters: SU.

The heavy iron gates slid open silently.

Gus drove onto the property. A massive circular driveway wrapped around a towering stone fountain. Beyond the water, a mansion that looked like a European palace dominated the landscape. It was ten times the size of the Walton estate.

Dakota looked at the massive stone columns and the rows of perfectly symmetrical windows. A tiny flicker of surprise touched her eyes. This was not the slum the Waltons had promised.

The SUV glided to a stop at the base of the wide marble steps leading to the front doors. A line of staff in crisp uniforms stood waiting.

Gus scrambled out of the car. He opened Dakota’s door and bowed his head.

Dakota stepped out. Her worn boots hit the flawless marble driveway. She gripped her cheap canvas bag and looked up at the towering doors of her true home.

Dakota walked up the wide marble steps. Her boots made soft, dull sounds against the stone. She didn’t rush. She kept her chin level, her eyes scanning the massive facade of the Su mansion.

A line of maids and footmen stood on either side of the heavy carved doors. As Dakota passed them, she felt the weight of their stares.

The maids looked at her faded denim jacket. They looked at the scuffed toes of her boots. They looked at the cheap canvas bag slung over her shoulder. Several of them exchanged quick, sideways glances. Their lips tightened. Hidden disgust. To them, she was a peasant tracking dirt into a palace.

The massive double doors swung inward.

An older man stood in the grand foyer. He wore a perfectly tailored black tailcoat. His silver hair was slicked back. Ingram Ruiz, the head butler. His face was smooth and unreadable.

Ingram bowed. The angle of his spine was exact, but his eyes remained cold and distant.

“Welcome home, Eighth Miss,” he said. His voice was smooth, professional, and completely devoid of warmth.

Dakota caught the subtle sneer hiding in the corners of his eyes. She didn’t react. She gave him a slow, shallow nod and stepped past him.

The foyer was cavernous. A massive crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, throwing fractured light across the polished floors.

Before Dakota could take in the room, frantic footsteps echoed from the grand curving staircase.

A woman in an elegant silk dress ran down the stairs. Francine Su gripped the wooden banister tightly. Her eyes were red and swollen. Tears streamed down her face. She stared at Dakota like she was looking at a ghost.

A tall, broad-shouldered man hurried down behind her. Algot Su radiated the terrifying aura of a corporate titan, but right now his jaw trembled. His eyes were bright with unshed tears.

Francine hit the bottom of the stairs and stopped. She gasped for air, her hands hovering in the space between them.

“My daughter,” she sobbed. The sound tore from deep inside her chest.

Francine lunged forward and threw her arms around Dakota, pulling her into a crushing embrace. She buried her face in Dakota’s neck, her tears soaking the collar of the faded jacket.

Dakota’s body went completely rigid. The sudden, overwhelming contact shocked her system. Every instinct screamed at her to pull away. But the woman’s desperate, heartbroken sobs bypassed her defenses. She felt the desperate heat of Francine’s body. The soft scent of iris perfume filled her nose.

Algot stepped up beside them. He reached out with a massive, shaking hand and placed his palm gently on the top of Dakota’s head.

“You’re home,” he said. His deep voice cracked. “You’re finally home.”

Something tight in Dakota’s chest loosened. Her throat ached. Slowly, hesitantly, she raised her arms and wrapped them around Francine’s back.

“Mother,” Dakota whispered.

Francine let out a loud wail of pure joy. She squeezed Dakota tighter, her fingers digging into the cheap fabric like she would never let go.

Ingram Ruiz cleared his throat. The sound was sharp in the emotional room.

“Sir, Madam,” he said smoothly. “Perhaps we should move to the sitting room. The young miss must be tired.”

Francine pulled back, wiping her wet face. She grabbed Dakota’s hand and pulled her toward the living area.

Two maids stepped forward to take Dakota’s bag. One reached for the canvas strap. Her nose wrinkled slightly. She pinched the fabric between two fingers, treating it like garbage.

Dakota saw the micro-expression. She twisted her shoulder, pulling the bag out of reach.

“I’ll carry it,” she said flatly.

Algot’s eyes narrowed. He caught the maid’s look of disgust. A terrifying darkness washed over his face. He glared at the two women. They instantly dropped their heads, terrified.

Francine pulled Dakota down onto a plush velvet sofa. Ingram snapped his fingers.

A line of maids hurried in, carrying silver trays loaded with steaming black tea and delicate French pastries.

One maid leaned over to place a teacup on the table. Her hand jerked. A single drop of hot tea splashed onto the floor, landing inches from Dakota’s scuffed boot.

Dakota stared at the dark liquid sinking into the expensive rug. She didn’t say a word. She knew exactly what kind of battlefield she’d just walked into.