Aria shoved the heavy, soundproof door shut behind her.

The freezing air conditioning of the hallway hit her bare shoulders, making her violently shiver. The thick door muffled the chaotic bass of the club, but Carter's furious roar still echoed in her ears.

She pressed her back against the wall, the textured floral wallpaper scraping against her skin. She gasped for air, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Suddenly, the agonizing pain in her head escalated. It felt as if a thick metal spike was being driven directly into her brain matter.

Aria let out a choked gasp. She clamped her hands over her ears, sliding down the wall until she hit the cold carpet.

The first massive memory fragment forced its way into her consciousness.

She saw herself standing in a lavish ballroom. She watched her own hand deliberately tilt a glass of red wine, pouring it straight down the front of a blonde girl's pale silk dress.

A second fragment slammed into her before she could process the first.

She was standing in the pouring rain. She held a heavy metal wrench, smashing it repeatedly against the windshield of Carter's sports car while screaming like a madwoman.

The memories hit her like physical blows. The dam broke. Two years of horrific, malicious actions flooded her mind.

She saw herself sneering at waitstaff. She heard herself screaming vicious, unforgivable insults at Maya, her best friend.

Then, the most terrifying image of all materialized.

She saw a crisp, white marriage certificate. Her signature was on it, right next to the name Julian Carlisle.

Aria's eyes snapped open. She dug her fingernails into her scalp, pulling her hair hard enough to hurt.

She couldn't accept this. The system that had hijacked her body had completely destroyed her life. It had turned her into a monster.

Her stomach violently convulsed. She rolled onto her side and dry-heaved onto the carpet. Her throat burned, but nothing came up.

Down the long corridor, the elevator doors chimed open. Heavy footsteps approached rapidly.

Three large security guards in dark suits marched toward her.

Aria tried to push herself up. She needed to tell them she needed a doctor. But her legs felt like they were filled with wet cement.

The lead guard pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt. He spoke into it, his voice dripping with annoyance.

He stopped a few feet away from her. He didn't reach out to help her up. He just stared down at her with cold eyes.

"Ma'am, are you alright? Do you need medical assistance?"

Aria opened her mouth to argue, but a wave of extreme dizziness washed over her. The edges of her vision turned black.

The guard's lips kept moving, but his voice sounded like he was underwater.

One final, massive memory struck her. She saw herself in a heavy, suffocating wedding dress, walking down an aisle with a dead, hollow expression on her face.

Aria let out a low, pained moan. The darkness swallowed her completely. Her body went limp, collapsing fully onto the floor.

The guard cursed loudly. He finally crouched down, shaking her shoulder.

He pulled his walkie-talkie back up. "We have a situation with Mrs. Carlisle in the west corridor. She appears unwell. Requesting immediate medical transport."

The quiet hallway erupted into chaos.

The blaring siren of an ambulance tore through the midnight streets of New York.

Aria lay strapped to a narrow stretcher. Her face was the color of ash. Her brows were tightly knitted together in pain.

Paramedics moved quickly around her, calling out her dropping blood pressure and erratic heart rate to the hospital over the radio.

The automatic doors of the emergency room slid open with a sharp hiss. The stretcher was shoved rapidly down the bright corridor.

Blinding surgical lights flashed past Aria's closed eyes in a rapid rhythm.

The sharp, urgent voices of doctors and nurses buzzed in her ears.

Through the haze of unconsciousness, Aria felt the sharp, icy prick of an IV needle piercing the back of her hand. Then, she sank back into the heavy, dreamless dark.

Aria's consciousness slowly clawed its way back to the surface.

The first thing she registered was the dull, throbbing ache in her head. The second was the sharp, pinching sensation of an IV needle taped to the back of her left hand.

She forced her heavy eyelids open. A pristine white ceiling and soft, indirect lighting greeted her.

The sharp, chemical smell of hospital antiseptic filled her lungs, barely masked by a faint trace of lavender essential oil.

She turned her stiff neck. On the wooden nightstand beside her bed sat a plastic cup of water and a stack of unread newspapers.

The heavy door to the VIP room was cracked open just an inch. The hushed, urgent voices of two women drifted inside.

Aria held her breath. She lay perfectly still, straining her ears to understand her situation.

A sharp, nasal voice spoke first. "Did you see the front page of Page Six today? It's her again."

A second voice let out a low scoff. "How could I miss it? Mrs. Carlisle threw another psycho fit at the club last night."

The first nurse, Brenda, clicked her tongue. "She is completely deranged over Carter Vanderbilt. It's pathetic. She has absolutely no shame."

Hearing the words "Mrs. Carlisle" and "no shame" made Aria's chest tighten painfully. Her fingers automatically curled, gripping the thin hospital sheet until her knuckles turned white.

The conversation outside continued. Brenda detailed how Aria had stalked Carter and Clara, ruining their date like a rabid dog.

The second nurse sighed heavily. "I actually feel sorry for Julian Carlisle. Being married to a disaster like her must be the ultimate humiliation for his family."

Aria's brain worked frantically, stitching the nurses' gossip together with the horrific memory fragments from the club.

The reality of her situation settled over her like a suffocating blanket. To the entire world, she was a hysterical, malicious wife who was desperately trying to cheat on her husband.

A wave of intense, burning shame washed over her, followed instantly by a hot flash of rage. She wasn't angry at the nurses. She was furious at the parasitic system that had left her with this mess.

She needed to sit up. She pushed her weight onto her elbows.

A soft groan escaped her lips. The metal bed frame creaked loudly.

The voices outside the door stopped instantly.

A second later, Brenda pushed the door open. She walked in, a tight, professional smile plastered across her face. The smile didn't reach her cold eyes.

Brenda walked to the side of the bed. She tapped the IV bag, checking the drip rate without looking at Aria.

"Mrs. Carlisle. You're awake," Brenda said, her tone flat and dismissive. "How are you feeling?"

Aria stared at the poorly hidden disgust in the nurse's eyes. She swallowed hard, forcing moisture into her dry throat.

"I'm alive," Aria replied. Her voice was hoarse, but completely steady.

Brenda paused. Her hand hovered over the IV tube. She clearly expected the notorious Mrs. Carlisle to start screaming or throwing things.

Brenda dropped her fake smile. She switched to a rigid, business-like tone. "Your husband has been notified. He is currently on his way."

The word "husband" made Aria's stomach twist into a hard knot.

She gave a single, curt nod. She didn't demand to see Carter. She didn't throw a tantrum.

Brenda frowned, clearly unsettled by the calm reaction. Without another word, she turned on her heel and marched out of the room.

Aria waited until the door clicked shut. She reached over and ripped the glowing pulse oximeter off her index finger.

Ignoring the wave of dizziness, she stretched her arm out and grabbed the top newspaper from the nightstand.

She grabbed the top newspaper. Who would leave this here? The answer was obvious. It was a message from her husband. A reminder of the mess she was in, and exactly who held the power to clean it up.

The front page of Page Six stared back at her. A massive, high-definition photo showed her face twisted in a snarl, her hand raised to strike Carter. The headline was printed in massive, bold letters.

Aria stared at the photo for a long moment. Then, she crushed the newspaper in her hands, twisting the paper until it tore. She threw the crumpled ball into the trash can.

Her eyes hardened. She had to find a way to survive this.