Warren knelt on the shattered porcelain. Blood from the cuts on his knees seeped through his tailored pants, staining the white marble beneath him. The silence in the foyer was absolute—no one dared to breathe, let alone speak.

Then Donovan spoke again.

"Since that hand likes to throw things," Donovan stated, his tone flat and absolute. "I will take the hand as payment."

The bloody implication in his words made the temperature in the room drop below zero.

Dock screamed. The sound was raw, animalistic—a boy who had never faced a single consequence in his spoiled life suddenly staring at the very real possibility of mutilation. He scrambled backward on his hands and knees, his expensive sneakers squeaking against the marble. "No! No, please! Dad! Mom! Do something!"

Elvie shrieked. She threw herself up the stairs on her hands and knees, her Chanel skirt ripping at the seam, her carefully styled hair coming undone. She reached Dock and wrapped her body around him like a human shield, sobbing hysterically.

"Please! Take my hand instead! He's just a boy! He didn't know who you were!"

Donovan didn't even glance at her. His eyes remained fixed on Warren, who was still on his knees, his forehead pressed against the cold floor. "Your wife is making a scene, Warren. Control her, or I will."

Warren's head snapped up. "Elvie!" he roared, his voice cracking with desperation. "Shut your mouth! Shut it right now, or I swear to God I will shut it for you!"

Elvie's sobs caught in her throat. She stared at her husband—the man who had promised her a life of luxury and status—with naked terror. He wasn't looking at her. He wasn't looking at Dock. He was looking at Donovan Suarez with the eyes of a man watching his entire world collapse.

And he was doing nothing to stop it.

Celina stood behind Donovan. She watched the people who had tortured her in her past life—Dock, who had broken her legs with a golf club; Elvie, who had watched and done nothing; Warren, who had orchestrated it all—crumbling like sand castles before a tidal wave.

But it wasn't enough. Watching them fall wasn't enough. She wanted them to know. She wanted them to understand, even if only for a moment, exactly who was standing over their broken bodies.

She stepped forward.

She reached out her hand. Her small, pale fingers pinched the fabric of Donovan's custom-tailored suit jacket. She gave it a tiny, almost imperceptible tug.

The entire room seemed to stop breathing.

Preston's eyes widened in horror. The bodyguards at the door stiffened. Even Warren lifted his head, his face contorted with disbelief.

Donovan stopped mid-step. He slowly turned his head. His dark, dangerous eyes dropped down to her fingers gripping his jacket.

Celina tilted her head up. Her clear, freezing eyes locked onto his.

"Let it go," Celina said. Her voice was calm, quiet, and completely steady.

The silence that followed was deafening. No one—not his business rivals, not his family, not even Preston—had ever told Donovan Suarez to "let it go" and lived to tell about it.

Donovan stared at her. She stared back. It was a battle of wills conducted entirely in silence, and Celina did not blink. Did not flinch. Did not look away.

A low, dark chuckle vibrated in Donovan's chest.

"You have a strange way of asking for favors," Donovan murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "Most people beg. You tug."

"I don't beg," Celina replied, equally quiet. "And this isn't a favor. It's a strategic suggestion. You've already won. Taking his hand turns you into the villain. Leaving him intact but broken turns you into the legend they'll whisper about for years."

Donovan's eyes flickered. Something unreadable passed through them. Then he smiled—a real smile, sharp and hungry. "Strategic. I like it."

He raised his voice so the entire foyer could hear.

"Since she asked," Donovan said, his voice dripping with absolute authority. "He keeps the hand."

Warren let out a sob of relief so violent it sounded like a death rattle. Elvie collapsed against the stairs, her body going limp.

But Donovan wasn't finished.

"Bring him down here," Donovan commanded, pointing a finger at the stairs. "He apologizes to her. On his knees. Until she is satisfied."

The emphasis on "knees" was unmistakable. Dock would kneel to the girl he had tried to blind. In his own home. In front of the servants who had watched him grow up.

Warren scrambled up the stairs. He grabbed Dock by the collar—his own son, his pride and joy—and dragged him down the steps like a sack of garbage. Dock thrashed and screamed, but Warren was fueled by pure, desperate terror.

"Daddy, no! Please! She's nobody! She's trash!"

The slap came out of nowhere. Warren's palm connected with Dock's cheek with a crack that echoed off the marble. Dock's head snapped to the side, his lip splitting, blood trickling down his chin.

"You will apologize," Warren hissed, his voice shaking with rage and fear. "You will apologize, or I will let them take your hand myself."

Dock stared at his father. The man who had never raised a hand to him in his life. The betrayal in his eyes was absolute.

Warren kicked Dock hard in the back of the knees. Dock crashed to the marble floor, landing directly at Celina's feet.

He was a wreck. Snot and tears and blood smeared across his face. His chest heaved with panicked sobs.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Dock choked out. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry..."

Celina looked down at him. This was the boy who had broken her legs with a golf club in her past life, laughing as she screamed. Now he was a blubbering mess at her feet, begging for mercy from the girl he'd called garbage.

She let the silence stretch. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. Each one a hammer blow to what remained of his ego.

Finally, she crouched down. She brought her face level with his. Her voice was a whisper only he could hear.

"Remember this," Celina said. "Every time you think about throwing something at someone weaker than you—remember this moment. Because next time, I won't stop him."

She stood up. Looked at Warren. Looked at Elvie. Looked at Karrie, who was pressed against the wall, her face the color of old paper.

"I think we're done here," Celina said.

Donovan watched her with an expression of pure, predatory satisfaction. He reached over and pressed the scratched Patek Philippe into her palm.

"Keep the watch safe," Donovan murmured. "Consider it insurance. If anyone in this house forgets what happened today, you can remind them who you belong to."

The possessive words should have angered her. Instead, Celina felt a dark thrill run down her spine. In this house of enemies, belonging to Donovan Suarez was the most powerful protection she could have.

He turned and walked out. The Maybach's engine roared to life and faded down the driveway.

The Hayes family lay in ruins on the marble floor.

Celina adjusted her backpack and walked toward her room without a backward glance.

Elvie's hysterical screams echoed off the high ceilings of the foyer. She clung to the wooden banister, her makeup running down her face in dark streaks.

"Please! He's just a boy! Take my hand instead!" Elvie wailed, looking down at Donovan.

Warren remained frozen on his knees, his forehead pressed against the cold marble floor. He knew begging was useless. If Donovan Suarez wanted a hand, his men would take it, and the NYPD wouldn't even blink.

Donovan's face remained completely impassive. He looked at the crying mother and the terrified son with the same emotion he would look at dirt on his shoe. He turned his body, ready to walk out the door and let his men handle the butchery.

Preston raised his hand, signaling the two massive bodyguards waiting outside to come in.

Suddenly, Celina stepped forward.

She reached out her hand. Her small, pale fingers pinched the fabric of Donovan's custom-tailored suit jacket. She gave it a tiny, almost imperceptible tug.

The entire room seemed to stop breathing.

Preston's eyes widened in horror. He thought the girl had a death wish. No one touched Donovan Suarez.

Donovan stopped mid-step. He slowly turned his head. His dark, dangerous eyes dropped down to her fingers gripping his jacket.

Celina tilted her head up. Her clear, freezing eyes locked onto his.

"Let it go," Celina said. Her voice was calm, quiet, and completely steady.

She wasn't pleading for Dock's life. She didn't care if Dock bled out on the floor. But she didn't want the police swarming the house on her first day back. She had her own plans, her own secrets, and she absolutely refused to owe this terrifying man a debt she couldn't pay.

Donovan stared into her eyes. He saw the stubborn pride burning in them.

The violent, dark rage swirling in his chest instantly dissolved. The physical contact of her hand on his jacket sent a wave of calm straight into his nervous system.

A low, dark chuckle vibrated in Donovan's chest.

The sound was rich and smooth, but it terrified Warren even more than the screaming.

Donovan reached over and wrapped his large, warm hand around Celina's wrist. He gently pulled her hand away from his jacket. Then, he flipped her palm open and pressed the ten-million-dollar, scratched Patek Philippe into her hand.

He didn't look at her. He looked down at Warren.

"Since she asked," Donovan said, his voice dripping with absolute authority. "He keeps the hand."

Warren let out a loud gasp of air, sobbing in relief. Elvie collapsed against the stairs, thanking God.

But Donovan wasn't finished.

"Bring him down here," Donovan commanded, pointing a finger at the stairs. "He apologizes to her. Until she is satisfied."

He made it clear. The apology wasn't for him. It was for Celina. He was handing her the absolute power over her abuser.

Warren didn't hesitate for a second. He scrambled up the stairs, grabbed Dock by the collar of his shirt, and dragged him down the steps like a sack of garbage.

Warren kicked Dock hard in the back of the knees.

Dock crashed to the marble floor, landing directly at Celina's feet.

Dock's face was covered in snot and tears. He was shaking so hard his teeth chattered. He looked up at Celina, the girl he had called trash just minutes ago.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Dock choked out, his voice cracking with humiliation.

Celina looked down at him. She didn't say it was okay. She didn't accept the apology. She just stared at him with dead, cold eyes, letting the silence stretch out and crush his ego into dust.

A full minute passed. The silence was agonizing.

Finally, Celina looked away.

Donovan watched her reaction. A look of deep satisfaction crossed his face. He looked at Celina one last time.

"Keep the watch safe," Donovan murmured, his voice low and fiercely possessive, cementing the invisible chain he had just wrapped around her.

He turned around and walked out the front doors, Preston trailing right behind him.

The heavy doors shut. The engine of the Maybach roared to life and faded down the driveway.

The crushing pressure in the room finally lifted. Warren collapsed onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Elvie ran down the stairs to hug Dock. Karrie stared at the watch in Celina's hand, her eyes burning with toxic jealousy.

Celina gripped the heavy metal watch. It was still warm from Donovan's skin.

She knew this wasn't a gift. It was a chain. He had just tied himself to her.

Without looking at her pathetic family, Celina adjusted her backpack and walked down the hallway toward the small guest room in the back of the house.

Celina pushed open the door to the small guest room at the end of the first-floor hallway. She stepped inside and immediately pushed the lock button on the doorknob, shutting out the sound of Elvie's crying from the foyer.

The room was tiny. It had a single twin bed, a cheap wooden desk, and a small window. It looked like a servant's quarters compared to the gold and marble of the rest of the house.

Celina tossed her flat backpack onto the mattress. She walked over to the window and stared out at the darkening sky.

She slowly opened her right hand.

The Patek Philippe sat heavy in her palm. The deep scratch across the glass caught the dim light from the window. She stared at it, her mind flashing back to the intense, possessive look in Donovan Suarez's eyes.

A dull ache throbbed in her temples. She had come back to this life to destroy the Hayes family on her own terms. She did not want to be dragged into the dark, dangerous orbit of New York's most powerful predator.

Celina walked over to the small desk, pulled open the top drawer, and tossed the ten-million-dollar watch inside like it was a piece of junk. She slammed the drawer shut.

Meanwhile, miles away, the Maybach cruised smoothly toward a massive penthouse in Manhattan.

The air inside the car was quiet.

Preston gripped the steering wheel, glancing at the rearview mirror. He couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Donovan," Preston started cautiously. "Why did you leave the watch with her? That was your grandfather's. She's just some angry kid from the Rust Belt."

Donovan leaned his head against the leather seat. His eyes were closed. His long fingers slowly rubbed the fabric of his jacket, right where Celina had tugged it.

"She is interesting, isn't she?" Donovan murmured softly.

Preston felt a chill run down his spine. He had known Donovan for twenty years. Whenever Donovan called someone "interesting," it meant he had locked onto them. He would never let them go.

"Dig into her," Donovan ordered, his eyes snapping open. "I want to know everything about Celina Brewer. Why the Hayes family brought her back. Everything."

Back at the Hayes estate, dinnertime arrived.

No one came to knock on Celina's door. It was Elvie's petty revenge, trying to starve her into submission.

Celina couldn't care less. She reached into the deep pocket of her oversized, damp jacket, pulled out a dry protein bar she had snatched from the diner counter yesterday, and took a bite.

She sat on the edge of the bed and picked up her battered AP Physics book. She flipped to the back cover and carefully peeled away a false layer of cardboard.

She pulled out a sleek, matte-black smartphone. It was heavily modified.

Celina pressed her thumb to the screen, typed in a complex alphanumeric passcode, and then scanned her iris.

The screen unlocked.

Instantly, dozens of encrypted messages flooded the screen. They were all from the dark web and the underground street racing circuits.

She tapped on a message from the boss of the Brooklyn docks drift racing ring.

Boss: Shadow, when are you coming to NY? We need you on the track. The pot is huge.

Celina's fingers flew across the keyboard. She typed a single, cold word.

Shadow: Soon.

She hit send.

Suddenly, she heard the soft padding of footsteps outside her door.

"Sister?" Karrie's sickeningly sweet voice drifted through the wood. She knocked lightly. "Are you hungry? Mom is really mad, but I brought you some snacks."

Celina's eyes turned to ice. She quickly slid the phone back into the hidden compartment of the book.

She walked to the door, unlocked it, and yanked it open.

Karrie jumped back, startled. She held a small plate with a single dry cracker on it. Her eyes immediately darted past Celina, trying to look into the room.

"Sister, are you really keeping that watch in here?" Karrie asked, her voice dripping with a sickly-sweet, fabricated concern. "It must be so incredibly stressful to hold onto something so valuable. Dad said he could put it in the main estate safe for you, just so you don't have to worry about losing it or someone breaking in."

Celina leaned her shoulder against the doorframe. She looked at Karrie with a mocking smirk.

"Looking to steal it?" Celina asked bluntly. "The door is on your left. Get lost."

Karrie's face turned bright red. Her hands shook, rattling the plate. She gritted her teeth, spun around, and stomped down the hallway.

Celina slammed the door shut and locked it again.

Tomorrow was her first day at Columbia Prep.