Camelia slid the last slice of avocado onto the toasted gluten-free bread. She reached out and twisted the stove dial, killing the blue flame.

A sharp, electronic chime echoed from the entryway. The doorbell.

Camelia wiped her damp hands on her apron. She walked out of the kitchen and down the wide corridor toward the front door.

She grabbed the heavy brass handle and pulled the solid wood door open.

Christabel Barron stood on the welcome mat. She was wearing a pristine white Chanel tweed suit. A victorious, mocking smile stretched across her pale face.

Without waiting for an invitation, Christabel pushed her shoulder past Camelia and stepped into the penthouse.

Christabel's eyes dragged up and down Camelia's flour-dusted apron. "Look at you," Christabel sneered. "You look exactly like a cheap nanny."

Camelia kept her face completely blank. She turned her back on Christabel and started walking toward the living room. She didn't have the energy to waste breath on her.

Christabel's high heels clicked sharply against the floorboards, following right behind Camelia.

They reached the edge of the sunken living room. Three deep marble steps led down to the plush white rug by the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Christabel stepped closer. She lowered her voice into a breathy, intimate whisper.

"He was so gentle last night," Christabel murmured. "His hands were all over me in that hospital bed. He couldn't get enough."

Camelia stopped dead in her tracks. She turned her head. Her eyes locked onto Christabel's. "Shut your mouth," Camelia warned, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

Down the hall, the master bedroom door clicked open. Heavy footsteps started moving toward them. Duke was coming.

A flash of dark calculation sparked in Christabel's eyes.

Christabel lunged forward. Her hand shot out and clamped down hard on Camelia's wrist. Her fingernails dug into Camelia's skin.

Christabel opened her mouth and let out a blood-curdling scream.

Before Camelia could react, Christabel threw her own body weight backward.

Christabel tumbled down the three marble steps, dragging Camelia with her.

The sudden, violent pull threw Camelia entirely off balance. She pitched forward into the empty air.

Camelia's right knee slammed into the sharp edge of the second marble step. A sickening crunch echoed in her ears.

Her right ankle twisted violently outward as she hit the bottom floor. A blinding spike of pain shot up her leg. Camelia collapsed onto the rug, gasping for air.

Duke sprinted out of the hallway. His dress shirt was half-buttoned. He stopped at the top of the stairs, taking in the scene.

He didn't even glance at Camelia. He leaped down the steps, bypassing her completely.

Duke dropped to one knee beside Christabel. His hands hovered over her, frantic and trembling. "Christabel. Where does it hurt?"

Christabel buried her face in Duke's chest. She began to sob hysterically. "She pushed me, Duke! She was so jealous, she just shoved me down the stairs!"

Camelia gritted her teeth against the throbbing agony in her ankle. She pressed her palms flat against the rug, trying to push herself up. "Duke, I didn't-"

Duke's head snapped toward her. His eyes were blazing with pure, unadulterated hatred.

"You vicious bitch," Duke roared. The veins in his neck bulged. "She is a sick patient! How could you put your hands on her?"

Duke slid his arms under Christabel's knees and back. He lifted her effortlessly against his chest. He turned and marched toward the front door.

The heavy door slammed shut behind them. The sound vibrated through the floorboards. The penthouse fell into a dead, ringing silence.

Camelia grabbed the edge of the marble step. She dragged her body up, putting all her weight on her left leg.

She limped back to the kitchen island, dragging her swollen right foot behind her. She picked up a silver fork. She stared straight ahead at the blank wall, mechanically chewing a bite of the cold, rubbery fried egg.

Camelia sat on the tall leather barstool in the kitchen. She pressed a blue gel ice pack hard against her swollen right ankle. The skin was already turning a dark, angry purple.

The screen of her phone, resting on the marble counter, lit up. A loud ringtone shattered the quiet room.

Camelia glanced at the caller ID. It was Joy Jacobs. She tapped the green accept button and put it on speakerphone.

"Hey," Camelia said. She sucked in a sharp breath as the ice hit a tender spot.

"What was that noise?" Joy demanded instantly, her voice sharp through the speaker. "Are you hurt?"

Camelia kept her voice flat. She stared at her bruised skin. She recounted the entire incident at the sunken stairs, word for word.

A loud, piercing shriek of pure rage exploded from the phone speaker.

"That blind bastard!" Joy screamed. "I swear to God, Camelia, I am going to castrate him!"

Joy didn't stop to take a breath. "He is legally blind! He treats you like garbage because he actually believes you're just a gold-digger after the Morrow family money! He is a pathetic, arrogant piece of shit!"

The front door of the penthouse clicked open.

Duke walked in. He had left his confidential files in the study and came back to retrieve them.

His leather shoes stopped dead at the edge of the hallway.

Joy's voice continued to blast through the kitchen, echoing off the high ceilings. Every insult, every curse word, rang crystal clear.

The muscles in Duke's jaw locked. His face turned the color of thunder.

He marched into the kitchen area. The air around him felt like a physical weight.

Duke lunged forward. His large hand snatched the phone right off the marble counter.

His thumb slammed down on the red end-call button. Joy's voice cut off instantly.

Duke threw the phone back down onto the hard stone counter. The glass screen protector cracked with a sharp snap.

He stood over Camelia, his chest heaving. "Not only are you malicious," Duke spat, "but you also sit around badmouthing your husband to outsiders."

Camelia lowered the ice pack. She looked straight up into his furious eyes. "She is my best friend. And she is telling the truth."

"Get dressed," Duke snapped, cutting her off. "You are going to the hospital."

He pointed a long finger at her face. "You are going to stand beside Christabel's bed, and you are going to apologize for pushing her."

"No," Camelia said. Her voice was ice-cold. "I am not going anywhere."

She enunciated every single word. "I did not push anyone."

Duke slammed his open palm down on the marble island. The water glasses rattled violently.

"Her kidneys are failing!" Duke yelled, his teeth bared. "She is too weak to stand, let alone throw herself down a flight of stairs just to frame you!"

A short, harsh laugh scraped its way out of Camelia's throat. It was a sound of pure mockery.

The sound of her laughter snapped the last thread of Duke's control. He reached across the counter and grabbed her uninjured left arm.

His fingers dug brutally into her bicep. "Do not test my patience, Camelia."

Camelia ignored the burning pain in her arm. She tilted her chin up, her eyes maintaining a flat, impenetrable calm. "If my presence is so offensive, Duke," she said, her voice dropping to a quiet, passive murmur, "perhaps you should consider how to end this arrangement sooner rather than later."

Duke's entire body went rigid. His grip on her arm loosened for a fraction of a second.

Then, a cruel sneer twisted his lips. He shoved her arm away. "Nice try. You won't get a single dime of alimony early."

He turned on his heel. He stormed into the study, grabbed a manila folder off the desk, and marched out of the apartment.

The front door slammed shut again. Camelia sat alone in the kitchen, slowly rubbing the red, finger-shaped marks blooming on her left arm.

Camelia's phone buzzed on the counter. It was a text from Sloane Bishop, Duke's executive assistant.

The car is waiting downstairs.

Camelia knew fighting Duke's logistics was useless. She slid her swollen right foot into a soft, flat loafer. She limped heavily out of the apartment and into the elevator.

The elevator dropped to the lobby. Camelia walked out the glass doors and climbed into the back of the black Morrow family SUV.

The ride was a blur of city traffic. The heavy vehicle finally pulled up to the VIP entrance of Mount Sinai Hospital.

Camelia pushed the heavy car door open. She gritted her teeth against the sharp pain in her ankle and walked into the sterile, quiet VIP corridor.

As she approached the central nursing station, she heard two nurses whispering.

"VIP Room 1 is driving me crazy," Nurse Brenda muttered, organizing a stack of charts. "Her vitals are perfectly normal, but she keeps hitting the call button demanding Dilaudid."

Camelia slowed her steps. She filed that piece of information away in her mind.

Brenda looked up and saw Camelia. The nurse's eyes widened. She quickly turned her back and pretended to read a clipboard.

Camelia kept walking. She reached the heavy, soundproof door of VIP Room 1 and pushed it open.

Christabel was propped up against a mountain of fluffy pillows. She was casually popping imported Shine Muscat grapes into her mouth.

The moment Christabel saw Camelia enter alone, the frail, sickly act vanished. A wicked, triumphant smile spread across her face.

Christabel reached down and yanked up the hem of her hospital gown. She exposed a thick, ugly surgical scar on her lower back.

"Take a good look," Christabel gloated. "As long as this scar exists, Duke will do whatever I say. Forever."

Camelia stared at her with dead eyes. "You are a pathetic, D-list actress who only survives by playing the victim."

The smile fell off Christabel's face. Her eyes turned dark and venomous.

Out in the hallway, the deep, unmistakable rumble of Duke's voice echoed. He was talking to the attending physician, and the footsteps were getting closer.

Christabel's eyes darted toward the door. She reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a sharp silver fruit knife from the fruit platter.

Without a second of hesitation, Christabel dragged the sharp blade across her own left forearm.

A thick line of bright red blood instantly welled up and dripped down her pale skin onto the pristine white bedsheets.

Christabel opened her mouth and let out a high-pitched, terrified scream.

She tossed the bloody fruit knife onto the linoleum floor. It clattered to a stop right next to Camelia's shoes.

The heavy hospital door burst open. Duke rushed into the room, his chest heaving.

His eyes locked onto the blood soaking the sheets. Then, his gaze dropped to the bloody knife at Camelia's feet.

The last shred of Duke's sanity snapped. He charged toward the hospital bed like a rabid animal protecting its young.

As he rushed past Camelia, he roughly shoved her aside to clear his path to the bed. It wasn't a calculated strike, but the sheer, reckless momentum of his large frame was enough. Camelia's bad ankle buckled under the sudden, jarring force. She stumbled backward, unable to catch her balance.

Her spine slammed violently into the sharp wooden corner of the bedside table. A sickening thud echoed in the room. A choked gasp tore from her throat as the wind was knocked out of her.

Duke grabbed a white towel and pressed it hard against Christabel's bleeding arm. He whipped his head around and glared at Camelia.

"Are you out of your fucking mind? !" Duke roared, his voice shaking the walls.

Camelia clutched her throbbing back. She looked up at his murderous eyes, and a cold certainty settled deeper into her heart. It wasn't a new revelation, just a harsh reminder of her current reality. To him, she wasn't a wife to be protected, but a convenient enemy to be crushed whenever Christabel needed a victim.