Little Arthur froze. The heavy perfume bottle hovered in the air. The sheer, freezing intensity in his mother's eyes made his breath hitch.

But his hesitation only lasted a second. He was used to ruling this house. He puffed out his chest and screamed.

"Make my breakfast or I will smash this on the rug!"

Jenna didn't flinch. She didn't drop to her knees to coax him like she used to. Her hand shot out like a striking snake. She clamped her fingers around his raised wrist with a crushing grip.

Arthur's eyes went wide. He had never been physically stopped before.

He immediately let out an ear-piercing shriek. He thrashed his body, trying to pull away. When that failed, he lifted his leather shoe and kicked Jenna hard in the shin.

The sharp pain radiated up her leg.

That sudden jolt of physical pain acted like a spark in a powder keg. It instantly ignited the towering hatred she felt when the adult Arthur had pulled her ventilator plug. Her last shred of restraint snapped.

Her free hand snatched the perfume bottle from his grip. She slammed it down onto the marble nightstand. The heavy glass hit the stone with a deafening thud.

Arthur shrieked at the noise. "You stupid, cheap woman!" he spat.

Jenna's eyes narrowed. She grabbed him by the collar of his tailored suit, dragged him forward, and forced him face-down over her knee. She raised her hand high and brought it down hard on his backside.

A sharp, explosive smack echoed through the massive bedroom. The air in the room instantly froze.

On the sofa, Clio stopped rolling. She scrambled backward, pressing her small body into the corner of the cushions, letting out a terrified whimper.

Arthur lay over Jenna's knee, completely stunned for three full seconds. Then, he erupted into a hysterical, throat-tearing wail.

The bedroom door, which had been left ajar, pushed open. Maria, the head nanny, rushed in with a panicked look on her face.

When Maria saw the usually submissive, timid Mrs. Knight actually striking the young master, she gasped loudly and slapped both hands over her mouth.

Jenna released her grip. She shoved the red-faced, sobbing Arthur toward the nanny.

"Get out," Jenna said. The words were quiet, but they cut through the crying like a razor blade.

The murderous aura radiating from Jenna made Maria shudder. The nanny didn't dare ask a single question. She scooped Arthur up, grabbed Clio by the hand, and practically ran out of the room.

The bedroom fell into a dead silence. Jenna looked down at her own palm. It was stinging and red. She took a deep, slow breath, forcing her heart rate to steady.

She walked out of the bathroom and back into the main bedroom. She crossed the room to the bedside nightstand—a different one, in the bedroom itself—where the lamp glowed softly. Her latest model smartphone, the one she used for daily communication, lay right beside it. She picked it up and pulled up the number burned into her memory—her husband, Alonzo Knight. She pressed call.

It rang three times before the line connected. Alonzo's deep, cold, and heavily irritated voice came through the speaker.

"What kind of tantrum are you throwing this early in the morning?" Alonzo demanded.

In the background, barely muffled by the phone's microphone, Jenna heard the soft, breathy laugh of a woman.

That laugh pierced her eardrum. It was Audra. In her past life, Jenna had been stupid enough to believe they were just business partners.

Jenna felt no anger. Her voice was as flat and still as a stagnant pool of water. She spoke directly into the receiver.

"We are getting a divorce."

The line went completely silent for a moment. Then, Alonzo let out a short, mocking scoff.

"Did you forget to take your antidepressants again?" Alonzo sneered. "Don't use these cheap, pathetic tactics to get my attention, Jenna. It's embarrassing."

Jenna didn't bother defending herself. She didn't raise her voice.

"My lawyer will contact you," she stated coldly.

Before Alonzo could say another word, Jenna pulled the phone away from her ear and pressed the red button. The call died.

She tossed the phone onto the unmade bed. She turned her back to it and walked straight toward the massive walk-in closet.

She bypassed the rows of designer dresses. She walked to the very back, crouched down, and pulled out an old, scuffed black suitcase from the bottom shelf. She dragged it out and threw it heavily onto the hardwood floor.

Jenna unzipped the black suitcase. She opened the closet drawers and completely ignored the velvet boxes filled with diamonds and the silk designer gowns.

She grabbed a few pairs of faded jeans and plain cotton shirts she had bought before she married Alonzo. She threw them into the suitcase. She dug into a hidden compartment in her jewelry box and pulled out her passport and birth certificate, tossing them on top of the clothes.

Just as she reached for the zipper to close the bag, the aggressive roar of a sports car engine tore through the quiet estate. The screech of tires braking hard echoed outside her window.

Jenna walked to the window. She pulled back the edge of the heavy velvet curtain. Alonzo's black Aston Martin was parked diagonally across the pristine driveway.

Downstairs, the massive front doors slammed open with a violent crash. Heavy, rapid footsteps pounded up the solid oak staircase. The sheer force of the steps radiated pure rage.

Jenna dropped the curtain. She walked briskly to the bedroom door and pressed the brass lock button on the knob. It clicked into place.

A second later, the brass handle twisted violently from the outside. The metal rattled hard against the frame.

Realizing the door was locked, Alonzo slammed his fist against the heavy wood.

"Open this door right now!" Alonzo roared.

Jenna stood on the inside of the room. She took a slow breath, letting the air fill her lungs. She reached out, twisted the lock, and yanked the door open.

Alonzo stormed into the room, bringing a wave of cold outside air with him. His custom-tailored suit jacket was unbuttoned, and his silk tie was pulled loose. His dark eyes were lethal.

His gaze immediately dropped to the floor. He saw the cheap black suitcase sitting on the expensive Persian rug. A highly mocking, cruel sneer twisted his lips.

He stepped directly into Jenna's personal space. His towering frame cast a dark shadow over her.

"What kind of sick game are you playing?" he demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

Jenna took a half-step back, avoiding the smell of his expensive cologne. She looked him dead in the eye.

"I want a divorce. Immediately," she repeated.

Alonzo looked at her as if she had just told the funniest joke in the world. He reached out his hand, aiming to pinch her chin between his fingers like she was a disobedient pet.

Jenna turned her head in disgust. She brought her arm up and slapped his hand away. The smack of skin against skin was loud and sharp.

Alonzo's hand froze in mid-air. The color drained from his face, replaced by a dark, furious red. His submissive, fragile wife had never physically fought back before.

He slowly lowered his hand. He adjusted his suit cuff, a habitual gesture he used when asserting absolute dominance. He deployed his usual psychological warfare.

"Look at yourself," Alonzo said, his tone dripping with venom. "You have a high school diploma. You have zero work experience. Without the Knight family trust fund, you don't even have enough money to rent a rat-infested room in the slums. You are nothing without me."

Jenna stared at him. In her past life, those exact words used to crush her chest and make her feel utterly worthless. Now, they just made her stomach churn with nausea.

"I would rather sleep under a bridge than spend another second in this sickening house with you," Jenna fired back, her voice laced with pure disgust.

That sentence pierced straight through Alonzo's massive, fragile ego. The veins in his neck bulged. The anger in his eyes ignited into a violent fire.

He lunged forward and grabbed the handle of the black suitcase. He swung it with all his strength and hurled it across the room. The suitcase smashed into the far wall. The zipper busted open, and her cheap clothes scattered across the floor.

Jenna didn't scream. She didn't flinch. She just stood there, watching him lose his mind with the cold, detached eyes of a stranger.

That absolute, uncontrollable indifference sent a spike of unknown panic into Alonzo's chest. He convinced himself she had suffered a complete mental breakdown.

He pointed a long finger right at her face. "Until your brain starts working properly again, you are not taking a single step out of this room."

He turned on his heel and marched out of the bedroom.

Jenna realized what he was doing. She lunged toward the doorway, trying to slip out before he could close it.

Alonzo grabbed the edge of the heavy solid wood door and pulled it shut with brutal force. The edge of the wood barely missed crushing Jenna's fingers.

The heavy metal deadbolt clicked loudly from the outside.

Jenna grabbed the handle and twisted it with both hands. The door didn't budge an inch. She was locked inside her own bedroom.

From the hallway, she heard Alonzo's voice, low and cold, giving orders to Hector. His footsteps faded down the corridor. A moment later, there was a soft scraping sound near the baseboard—the telephone jack panel being opened from the hallway side, followed by a quiet, final snip.

Jenna slammed her open palms against the thick wooden door. The impact sent a painful shockwave up her arms, but the heavy wood absorbed the sound completely. No one answered.

She took two steps back. Her chest heaved. She forced herself to inhale deeply through her nose and exhale through her mouth, pushing down the rising tide of panic in her throat.

Through the thick door, she heard Alonzo's deep, authoritative voice echoing in the hallway. He was calling for Hector Finch, the estate's head butler.

Rapid, precise footsteps approached. Hector's voice murmured a respectful greeting to his employer.

Jenna pressed her ear against the narrow crack between the door and the frame. She held her breath.

"My wife's mental state is extremely unstable," Alonzo ordered, his tone devoid of any emotion. "She is exhibiting violent tendencies."

He paused, then continued. "Confiscate all her car keys. Freeze every supplementary credit card under her name. Instruct the entire staff that no one is allowed to speak to her."

Hector hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Sir, should I call the family physician to examine her?"

"No," Alonzo snapped impatiently. "She is just throwing a hysterical tantrum. Starve her for a few meals. She'll figure out reality soon enough."

A moment later, the sound of little Arthur and Clio running up the stairs echoed in the hall.

Alonzo's voice instantly shifted, becoming sickeningly gentle. "Pack your things, kids. Mommy is sick. She needs absolute quiet to rest."

"Mommy is a crazy witch!" little Arthur complained loudly, his childish voice laced with pure malice. "She hit me so hard!"

"Mommy is just very sick in her head right now. She didn't mean it," Alonzo soothed, his voice dripping with calculated, hypocritical warmth. "We are going to stay at the penthouse in the city for a few days so she can get the help she needs. Remember, we are the normal ones. We are a family."

The footsteps moved down the hall and faded away. Minutes later, the heavy thud of the front doors closing echoed through the house, followed by the low rumble of the Aston Martin driving away.

The massive estate fell into a suffocating, dead silence. Jenna was completely isolated.

She turned away from the door. Her eyes swept the room and found her smartphone still lying on the rumpled bed where she had tossed it earlier. She walked over, picked it up, and pressed it into her pocket. At least she had this.

Then her gaze fell on the scattered clothes near the busted suitcase. She crossed the room, knelt, and pulled a pair of her own faded jeans from the pile. She stepped into them, buttoned the waist, and smoothed the rough denim against her thighs. The old cotton shirt she was already wearing would do. If she was going to fight her way out, she needed proper clothes.

She then walked to the nightstand and picked up the landline phone receiver. She pressed it to her ear. There was no dial tone. Just dead air. She traced the plastic cord down to the wall. The wire had been cleanly snipped right at the jack—just as she'd heard from the hallway.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her smartphone. She tapped the screen. In the top right corner, the signal bars were completely empty. It read: No Service.

Alonzo had activated the estate's internal signal jammers. He had severed her last remaining lifeline to the outside world.

Jenna walked over to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. She grabbed the brass handles and pushed. They were locked tight. She tapped her knuckles against the glass. It was thick, reinforced bulletproof glass.

She looked down. The second-floor balcony was nearly twenty feet above the stone patio below. Jumping straight down would shatter her legs.

She turned around and looked at her clothes scattered across the floor. A heavy, crushing weight pressed down on her chest.

But then, the memory of lying on the hospital bed, gasping for air while the monitor flatlined, flashed violently in her mind.

She ground her teeth together. A fierce, predatory light sparked in her eyes. She refused to sit here and wait to die again.

She walked over to her vanity table and yanked the drawers open. She dug through the makeup brushes and velvet pouches, searching for anything that could be used as a tool.

Her fingers brushed against cold metal. She pulled out a pair of stainless steel eyebrow scissors. They were small, but the blades were razor-sharp.

She slipped the scissors into the tight front pocket of her jeans. It was a pathetic weapon, but it was all she had.

Time dragged on. The natural light outside the window slowly faded into a deep, bruising purple, and then finally into pitch black.

Jenna didn't turn on the lamps. She sat on the edge of the mattress in the dark, her posture rigid, waiting like a cornered animal.

Suddenly, the faint sound of leather shoes stepping softly on the carpeted hallway approached. The footsteps stopped right outside her door.