Brecken released her arm like he had grabbed a fistful of burning coals. He stared down at his own trembling palm. His chest heaved. He could not process the sudden, visceral spike of terror that had just paralyzed his nervous system.

Abbey pulled her gaze away from his face. The deadness returned to her features. She rubbed the red, finger-shaped welts forming on her thin bicep. She turned her back on him again and reached for the metal handrail of the Greyhound bus.

The bus driver leaned out of his window. He tapped his watch impatiently. The line of passengers waiting to board stared openly at Abbey. Their eyes darted between her ratty hoodie and the man in the bespoke suit standing frozen behind her.

Abbey's fingers brushed the freezing, rusted metal of the door frame.

The screech of ceramic brakes shattered the tense silence. A silver Porsche Panamera swerved violently into the loading zone, its tires smoking as it jerked to a halt directly behind Brecken's Escalade.

The driver's side door flew open before the car was fully parked.

A man stepped out. His tailored Brioni suit hugged his athletic frame perfectly. His leather oxfords clicked a frantic, urgent rhythm against the pavement as he sprinted toward the bus stop.

Abbey heard that specific cadence of footsteps. Her spine snapped rigid. The fingers resting on the bus handrail curled inward, gripping the metal so hard her knuckles turned a translucent white.

Jeffery Glass.

The man who had slipped an engagement ring onto her finger five years ago. The man who had stood in a courtroom and calmly handed the prosecutor the fabricated evidence that locked her in a cage.

He stopped a few feet away, panting slightly. His face was twisted into a mask of perfect, agonizing concern.

He ignored Brecken entirely. He stepped directly between Abbey and the open doors of the bus, physically blocking her escape route.

"Abbey. Thank God I made it in time. I couldn't let you take this kind of transport home," Jeffery breathed out. His voice was thick with practiced emotion, dripping with a sickeningly sweet sorrow.

A gust of wind blew past him. The heavy, woody scent of Tom Ford Oud Wood hit Abbey's face.

Her stomach violently contracted. A wave of pure, physiological nausea crashed over her. Acid burned the back of her throat. She clamped her jaw shut to keep from vomiting right onto his expensive shoes.

She took a clumsy step backward. Her bad leg dragged against the concrete. The look she gave Jeffery made the death glare she had given Brecken seem warm by comparison.

Jeffery did not seem to notice the absolute revulsion radiating from her pores. He maintained his sorrowful expression. He reached his hand out, aiming to gently take the frayed strap of her canvas bag.

"Don't touch me."

Abbey's voice sounded like crushed glass grinding against stone. It was a harsh, guttural rasp.

She swung her left arm. Her palm cracked against the back of Jeffery's hand with a sharp, echoing slap.

The sound rang out over the idling engine of the bus. Several passengers leaning out the windows gasped, pulling their phones out to record the drama.

A bright red patch instantly bloomed across Jeffery's manicured skin. His mask of deep concern slipped for a fraction of a second. His jaw ticked. Then, he forced a tight, patronizing smile onto his face.

"I know you still hate me, Abbey. But the evidence back then was too stacked against you. I told you to plead guilty so I could get you a reduced sentence. I was trying to save you," Jeffery lowered his voice, his tone shifting into the smooth, persuasive cadence of a defense attorney.

The words sliced through Abbey's eardrums like razor blades. Her chest tightened. The memory of standing in the defendant's box, watching the man she loved casually destroy her life to protect someone else, flashed behind her eyelids.

She let out a single, short laugh. It was a dry, hollow sound that held nothing but absolute, bottomless contempt.

Brecken finally stepped forward, shaking off his earlier shock. He glared at Jeffery.

"What the hell are you doing here, Glass? Does Emmie know you drove all the way up here to pick up a convict?" Brecken demanded.

Jeffery quickly adjusted his posture. He turned to Brecken, projecting the image of a reasonable, upstanding gentleman.

"Emmie has a kind heart. She was worried. She asked me to come make sure Abbey got home safely," Jeffery lied smoothly.

The sound of Emmie's name made Abbey's stomach spasm again. She bit down hard on her lower lip. The metallic taste of copper flooded her tongue.

She looked at the two men blocking her path. One had thrown her to the wolves to protect his family's stock portfolio. The other had sacrificed her to the wolves to win the heart of the family's golden child. Now, they were both standing in the dirt, competing over who could play the better savior.

The bus driver slammed his palm against the dashboard. The pneumatic doors hissed and slammed shut.

The bus lurched forward. A thick cloud of hot exhaust blasted directly into Abbey's face as the vehicle sped away.

Abbey bent double. A violent fit of coughing tore through her chest. Her lungs burned. She pressed her hand over her mouth, her thin frame shaking violently under the oversized hoodie.

Jeffery saw an opening. He took a step forward, raising his hand to rub comforting circles on her trembling back.

Abbey snapped upright. She stared at his hovering hand as if it were a rotting piece of meat crawling with maggots.

"Back off. Glass shard."

She used the old nickname she used to whisper against his neck when they were in love. Now, she spat it at him like a venomous curse.

Jeffery's face drained of color. His hand dropped to his side. He had driven up here expecting to find a broken, weeping girl he could easily manipulate back into submission.

Abbey turned her back on him. She dragged her dead right leg across the gravel. She did not hesitate. She walked straight toward Brecken's idling Escalade.

Breathing the same air as Jeffery Glass made her skin crawl. If she had to choose her poison, she would take the hostile, enclosed space of her brother's SUV over standing near the man who made her want to claw her own skin off.

Abbey reached the side of the Escalade. She grabbed the heavy chrome handle of the rear door and pulled. Her shoulder socket popped with the effort.

Brecken blinked, caught off guard by her sudden pivot. He had not expected her to willingly get into his car after the scene she just caused. He quickly recovered his composure, turning on his heel and marching toward the driver's side.

Jeffery stood frozen on the gravel shoulder. He watched Abbey's retreating back. A dark, ugly flash of wounded pride and irritation twisted his handsome features. He quickly smoothed his expression back into a mask of polite concern before anyone could notice.

Abbey gripped the edge of the leather seat. She leaned her upper body into the cabin. She reached down with both hands, grabbed her numb right thigh, and physically hauled her ruined leg over the threshold. A cold sweat broke out across her forehead from the sheer exertion.

She pulled the door shut. The heavy thud sealed the cabin, completely cutting off the sight of Jeffery's hypocritical face behind the tinted, bullet-resistant glass.

Brecken slid into the driver's seat. He pushed the ignition button. The engine roared to life. He adjusted the rearview mirror, his eyes locking onto Abbey's reflection.

"Glad to see you still have a shred of self-awareness left," Brecken mocked, throwing the car into drive.

Abbey did not react to the insult. She pressed her spine hard against the door panel, curling herself into the furthest, darkest corner of the spacious backseat. She looked like a cornered animal preparing for a strike.

The cabin was suffocatingly warm. The air conditioning blew a steady stream of expensive, custom-blended cedarwood and vanilla fragrance into her face.

Abbey's eyes darted across the luxurious interior. Her gaze snagged on a pile of items carelessly tossed onto the middle seat.

There was a silk Hermes scarf. Three heavy, textured Bvlgari shopping bags. A limited-edition Chanel lambskin purse sat precariously on top of the pile.

The name "Emmie Dudley" was written in elegant calligraphy on a gift tag attached to one of the bags. It was a glaring, neon sign screaming who the real princess of the family was.

Brecken noticed where she was looking. His jaw tightened.

"Don't touch Emmie's things. Your filthy hands will ruin the leather," he warned, his voice sharp and protective.

Abbey jerked her head away. She wasn't looking out of jealousy. The bright, vibrant colors of the designer bags physically hurt her eyes. For five years, her entire world had been concrete gray, rust brown, and blood red.

Her breathing suddenly hitched. The air in the cabin felt too thick to inhale. The soft leather seats felt like they were closing in on her.

A violent wave of claustrophobia slammed into her chest.

She squeezed her eyes shut. The smell of the cedarwood perfume vanished. It was instantly replaced by the sharp, stinging stench of industrial bleach and raw sewage.

She was no longer in a luxury SUV. She was back in the windowless laundry room of the prison during her first month. There were no security cameras.

She felt the rough, bleach-soaked towel being shoved brutally into her mouth, gagging her screams. She felt the heavy, cold weight of the iron pipe swinging through the damp air. She heard the wet, sickening crunch of her own femur snapping in half.

Abbey's body began to shake. It started as a fine tremor in her fingers and quickly escalated into violent, uncontrollable shivers. She bit down on the back of her hand, her teeth sinking into her own flesh to keep the phantom screams trapped in her throat.

Brecken glanced at the rearview mirror. He saw her convulsing in the corner. He let out a loud, exasperated sigh.

"What the hell is wrong with you now? Are you seriously putting on a show to get my sympathy?" Brecken sneered. "Save the acting. It didn't work in court, and it's not going to work now."

The sheer cruelty of his words acted like a bucket of ice water to her face.

The flashback shattered. Abbey gasped for air, her lungs expanding painfully. She slowly lowered her hand from her mouth. Deep, crescent-shaped teeth marks bled sluggishly into her skin.

She opened her eyes. The terror was gone. The chilling, dead emptiness returned, freezing over her pupils like a layer of winter ice.

In the hellscape of the prison, she had learned the absolute rule of survival. Tears, shaking, and weakness only invited the predators to hit you harder.

She forced her spine straight. She carefully lifted her right leg and tucked it behind her left ankle, hiding the deformity from Brecken's view. She crossed her arms over her chest, staring at the back of his head with absolute, lethal guard.

Brecken caught her stare in the mirror. The intensity of her defense made his skin prickle. He felt a sudden, irrational urge to justify himself, which only made him angrier.

"I'm warning you right now," Brecken growled, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. "The family is throwing a welcome-home dinner for you tonight. Every important figure in New York will be there. You better behave yourself and not ruin the evening."

Abbey heard the words "welcome-home dinner."

The corner of her cracked mouth twitched upward. A slow, incredibly dark smile formed on her lips. It was the most terrifying expression Brecken had ever seen.

She turned her head to look out the window. The trees blurred past the glass. Her pale, hollowed-out reflection stared back at her.

A massive, extravagant dinner party for the disgraced, convicted felon daughter they hadn't spoken to in five years? It was a laughable, absurd lie.

She knew the Dudley family's playbook. This dinner was a trap. It was a stage perfectly set to humiliate her, to strip her bare and remind her of her place in the dirt.

Abbey's fingers drifted down to her lap. She gently stroked the rough canvas of her bag. Buried deep inside the lining was the only leverage she had managed to forge in blood and sweat over the last five years.

She took a slow, measured breath. She locked her trauma away in a steel box in her mind. Her eyes sharpened into the cold, calculating blades of an executioner. She was ready for the slaughter.

The temperature inside the Escalade plummeted. The silence in the cabin was heavy, thick, and suffocating. The only sound was the soft, rhythmic hum of the air conditioning vents blowing cold air against the windshield.

Brecken kept his eyes on the highway, but his peripheral vision constantly flicked to the rearview mirror. Abbey sat perfectly still in the corner. She looked like a wax figure, completely devoid of life, her dark eyes fixed on the passing trees. The absolute lack of emotion radiating from her was making his skin crawl.

He hated the silence. It made him feel like he was losing control of the narrative. He needed to re-establish his dominance, to remind her that she was the broken one, and he was the benevolent savior.

He cleared his throat. The sound was loud in the quiet car.

"You should be grateful for everything the family has done for you," Brecken said. He pitched his voice to sound authoritative and slightly exhausted, like a parent scolding a difficult child. "Dad and Mom have missed you terribly these past five years."

The words hung in the air, absurd and heavy.

Abbey slowly turned her head away from the window. She did not blink. She locked her gaze onto Brecken's eyes in the rearview mirror. She looked at him as if she were studying a fascinating, disgusting insect.

"Missed me?"

Her lips barely moved. The words slipped out of her mouth completely flat. There was no anger. There was no sadness. There was just a chilling, clinical observation.

Brecken's jaw tightened. Her tone felt like a physical slap.

"Yes. Mom cries over your pictures in the middle of the night. She's been emotionally exhausted dealing with the fallout of your actions," Brecken snapped, his voice rising in defense of his mother.

Abbey stared at him for a second longer. Then, she laughed.

It was a low, raspy sound that started in the back of her throat and spilled into the cabin. It was a broken, eerie noise that held absolutely zero humor.

Brecken slammed his foot on the brake pedal. The heavy SUV jerked violently, the tires screeching against the asphalt before he corrected the steering.

"What the hell are you laughing at? You cold-blooded freak!" Brecken shouted, his composure shattering.

Abbey leaned forward. She ignored the pain shooting up her right leg. She grabbed the headrest of the passenger seat with both hands. Her pale, gaunt face hovered just inches behind Brecken's right ear.

"She cries over my pictures?" Abbey whispered. Her voice was soft, sliding into his ear like a venomous snake. "Then why didn't she ever come see the daughter who exhausted her so much?"

Brecken swallowed hard. He instinctively leaned away from her. "Prison is a filthy place. Mom's health is fragile. She couldn't handle that kind of environment."

Abbey cut him off. Her voice dropped an octave, turning to pure ice.

"Five years. One thousand, eight hundred, and twenty-five days. Not a single visit on visiting day. Not a single five-minute phone call through the glass."

Her dark eyes bored into his reflection. Brecken tried to look away, but he was trapped by her stare.

"Not one letter. Not one postcard. Nothing," Abbey stated. The facts fell from her lips like heavy stones.

Brecken opened his mouth. He searched his brain for a PR-approved excuse, a lie he could use to cover the gaping hole in his family's facade. His throat felt tight. No words came out.

"The only time you people contacted me," Abbey continued, her breath ghosting over his neck, "was three years ago. You sent a corporate lawyer to slide a liability waiver and a severance agreement under the glass. You tried to force me to sign away my legal rights to the family name."

The cabin fell dead silent again.

Brecken's face flushed a deep, mottled red. The veins in his hands bulged against the leather steering wheel. He had spent five years convincing himself that his family was suffering, that they were the victims of Abbey's crimes. She had just taken a sledgehammer to his carefully constructed delusion.

"Don't sit there and play the victim!" Brecken exploded. He hit the steering wheel with his palm. "You brought this on yourself! You pushed Justine down those stairs! You deserve everything you got!"

He desperately threw her conviction in her face, trying to scramble back up to the moral high ground. He needed her to be the monster so he didn't have to feel the crushing weight of his own guilt.

Abbey heard Justine's name. Her expression did not change. Her heart rate did not spike. She had spent five years being beaten bloody for a crime she didn't commit. Words could no longer hurt her.

"I'll say this exactly once," Abbey said, her voice dropping to a dead whisper. "I didn't push her. Believe whatever helps you sleep at night."

She let go of the headrest. She slumped back into the dark corner of the seat. She closed her eyes, completely shutting off her presence. She severed the emotional connection, refusing to give him another ounce of her energy.

Brecken punched the steering wheel. The horn blared, a long, aggressive wail that echoed across the empty highway.

He felt a sickening wave of defeat. The criminal sitting in his backseat had just stripped him of his dignity without raising her voice.

He slammed his foot down on the gas pedal. The Escalade surged forward, the engine roaring as the speedometer climbed well past the legal limit. He drove recklessly, using the speed to burn off the frantic, buzzing anxiety in his chest.

Abbey grabbed the plastic handle above the door frame. Her knuckles turned white as the car swerved through lanes. Her stomach churned violently, but she clamped her jaw shut. She would bite her own tongue off before she let out a sound of distress.

In the distance, the sprawling, castle-like silhouette of the Dudley estate appeared on the horizon.

Abbey opened her eyes. She stared at the massive iron gates of the gilded cage that had destroyed her life. A terrifying, absolute resolve settled into her bones.