Idella stood outside the heavy oak door of Fount's private study. She took a deep breath, the cold, wet fabric of her blouse sticking to her ribs, and knocked.

"Come in." The voice was low, entirely devoid of emotion.

Idella pushed the heavy door open. The thick scent of aged bourbon and expensive cigars hit the back of her throat.

Fount stood with his back to her, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the estate. He wore a custom-tailored black dress shirt. In his right hand, he swirled a crystal glass filled with bourbon and ice. The clinking sound was the only noise in the massive room.

"Fount," Idella said, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to keep it steady.

He didn't turn around.

"Why are you in Chicago during business hours?" Fount asked, his tone icy.

"My mother, Loretta, is in critical condition," Idella said, speaking fast, desperate to get the words out. "She needs an artificial heart valve. The Mayo Clinic needs a two-million-dollar deposit by tomorrow, or they won't operate."

She took a step forward, her wet shoes squeaking slightly on the hardwood floor.

"Susan forced me to sign a resignation letter today," Idella continued, her voice dropping to a plea. "I have nothing left. Fount, please. After three years of marriage, I'm begging you. Just help me."

Fount finally turned around. His cold, calculating eyes swept over her shivering frame, lingering on her soaked clothes and messy hair. A flash of pure disgust crossed his features.

He walked over to his massive mahogany desk and set the glass down.

"The Fitzgerald family does not sponsor charity cases," Fount said evenly. "And I certainly do not throw money into bottomless pits."

The words sliced through her chest.

"Then let me advance the dividends from my trust fund," Idella countered desperately. "The one point seven million in my name. I just need to borrow against it."

Fount let out a short, mocking laugh. He walked around the desk, stopping just inches from her. He towered over her, his presence suffocating.

"That trust was established purely for tax evasion purposes," Fount stated, his voice devoid of pity. "You have zero legal right to liquidate it. You own nothing."

Idella stumbled back a step, her heel catching on the edge of the Persian rug. The prenuptial agreement she had signed-the one he claimed was just a formality to protect her-was a trap.

"What about my patents?" Idella argued, her heart hammering against her ribs. "The targeted therapy research I did in Seattle. That brought the company millions!"

"Company property," Fount interrupted sharply. "You were an employee. A highly replaceable one."

He reached up and adjusted his left cufflink, a gesture he only made when he was deeply annoyed.

"Look at yourself, Idella," Fount sneered, his eyes narrowing. "You are hysterical. You are emotionally unstable. Your white-trash family is dragging you down, and you expect me to clean up your mess."

Tears finally broke free, spilling hot down Idella's cold cheeks.

"Why did you marry me?" she cried out, her voice breaking. "Why did you give me the illusion of a family if you were just going to do this?"

Fount's hand paused on his cufflink. His expression hardened into stone.

"Because you were quiet," Fount said coldly. "You were submissive. You made a perfectly acceptable ornament for the board to look at."

The truth hit her with the force of a physical blow. She felt entirely stripped bare, thrown out into the freezing snow.

Fount turned back to his desk. He opened a drawer, pulled out a leather-bound checkbook, and uncapped a gold fountain pen. He scribbled a number across the paper.

He ripped the check from the book and tossed it. It fluttered through the air, landing on the floor right at Idella's feet.

"One hundred thousand dollars," Fount said, not looking at her. "Consider it funeral expenses. Take it and get off my property."

Idella stared at the piece of paper on the rug. Her stomach churned violently. Bile rose in her throat.

To take that money, she would have to bend down. She would have to bow to him.

She didn't move. She slowly lifted her head. The tears stopped. A new, freezing numbness washed over her.

She bit down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted the sharp, metallic tang of blood.

"I would rather sell my own organs than take a single cent from you," Idella said, her voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm whisper.

Fount scoffed. "You won't last a week without my money."

Idella didn't say another word. She spun around, grabbed the heavy brass handle of the oak door, and yanked it open, fleeing the suffocating room.

Behind her, Fount yanked his tie loose with a frustrated jerk and downed the rest of his bourbon in one swallow.

Idella practically fell down the grand staircase, her vision blurred. She had to find the money. She couldn't let her mother die.

Idella stumbled out of the main house, her legs feeling like lead. The wind whipped across the estate's sprawling gardens, drying the wet patches on her clothes into freezing, stiff patches.

Her mind raced, cycling through loan sharks, payday loans, anything to get the cash.

Suddenly, a high-pitched, agonizing yelp shattered the quiet of the garden.

Idella's heart stopped. The sound came from the direction of the decorative infinity pool. It was Buddy. Her four-year-old Golden Retriever.

She shoved through the perfectly trimmed hedges, thorns tearing at her coat, and sprinted toward the water.

When she broke through the clearing, the blood drained from her face.

Austin was standing at the edge of the deep end. He held a long, thick rose branch covered in sharp thorns. In the water, Buddy was thrashing wildly, his head barely staying above the surface.

Every time the dog tried to paddle toward the tiled edge, Austin swung the thorny branch, jabbing it hard into Buddy's face and paws, pushing him back into the center. A faint trail of red blood swirled in the chlorinated water.

"Stop!" Idella screamed, a raw, guttural sound tearing from her throat.

She lunged at Austin. She grabbed the rose branch with her bare hands. The thick thorns sliced deep into her palms, but she didn't feel the pain. She ripped the branch away and shoved Austin hard by the shoulder.

The boy lost his balance, his expensive sneakers slipping on the wet tiles, and he fell hard onto his backside.

Idella didn't hesitate. She dove straight into the freezing pool.

The icy water shocked her system, but she kicked hard, swimming toward the sinking golden retriever. She grabbed Buddy around the chest. The dog was heavy, his fur waterlogged, his breathing ragged.

Using every ounce of strength she had left, Idella dragged the dog to the edge and heaved him up onto the concrete.

Just as she pulled herself out of the water, a piercing, theatrical wail erupted from Austin. He sat on the tiles, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Austin!"

Angelita came running from the tea pavilion, her silk dress fluttering. She dropped to her knees, grabbing Austin and frantically checking his arms for injuries that didn't exist. She shot Idella a look of pure, venomous hatred.

Heavy footsteps approached. Fount strode out from the patio, his jaw clenched tight.

"She pushed him!" Angelita cried, her eyes filling with instant tears. "She came out here demanding money, and when she didn't get it, she attacked Austin!"

Idella knelt on the concrete, shivering violently, her arms wrapped around Buddy. Blood dripped from her lacerated palms onto the dog's wet fur.

"He was drowning my dog!" Idella yelled, pointing at the bloody rose branch on the ground.

Fount didn't even glance at the dog. He marched right up to Idella, his shadow falling over her. His eyes were completely devoid of humanity.

"You are out of control," Fount said, his voice a dangerous, low rumble. "You are a violent liability to my family."

"He was torturing an animal!" Idella screamed, her voice cracking.

Fount let out a cold sneer. "No one on this estate will believe the word of a hysterical woman over my heir. I saw you push him."

He leaned down, his face inches from hers.

"Apologize, Idella. Or I will personally call the board of directors at the Mayo Clinic right now. I will inform them that every single cent of the Fitzgerald family's philanthropic donations will be permanently revoked, and I will make sure they understand the endless legal harassment they will face if they keep your mother as a patient. Do you really think they will risk crossing me for a nobody? Your mother will be wheeled out onto the street before sunset."

The threat hit her like a sledgehammer to the base of her skull. All the fight, all the righteous anger, evaporated in an instant. He had her by the throat, and he knew it.

Idella slowly pushed herself up to her feet. Her wet clothes weighed a hundred pounds. She dug her bleeding fingernails deep into her palms, the physical pain grounding her.

She looked at Angelita, who was hiding a smirk behind her hand, and Austin, who was sticking his tongue out again.

Idella bowed her head. The humiliation burned like acid in her throat.

"I'm sorry," she forced the words out of her mouth.

Fount scoffed. He pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his fingers, as if just standing near her had contaminated him. He turned and escorted Angelita and Austin back toward the house.

Idella fell back to her knees beside Buddy. She buried her face in his wet fur. The absolute despair morphed into a hard, freezing knot of hatred in her chest. She would make them pay.

Idella slammed her brakes, leaving the Toyota illegally parked on the curb outside the 24-hour veterinary clinic in downtown Chicago. She threw the door open and sprinted inside, carrying Buddy's heavy, bleeding body in her arms.

"Help him! Please!" she yelled, rushing the front desk.

A vet tech immediately grabbed a gurney, hauling the gasping dog away into the trauma room.

Idella stood at the reception desk, water dripping from her clothes onto the linoleum.

The receptionist clicked her mouse a few times and slid a long, itemized clipboard across the counter. "We need to drain the fluid from his lungs and stitch the lacerations. It requires a three-thousand-five-hundred-dollar emergency deposit upfront."

Idella's hands shook as she fumbled with her soaked leather wallet. She pulled out her Chase Sapphire credit card and handed it over.

The receptionist swiped the card. The machine let out a sharp, angry beep.

DECLINED.

"Try it again," Idella pleaded, panic rising in her chest. "The chip might be wet."

The receptionist typed the numbers in manually. Another beep.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Insufficient funds."

Idella snatched her phone from her pocket and opened her banking app. A red banner flashed across the top of the screen. Every single joint credit card, every savings account, every checking account she had access to was marked with a bold FROZEN status.

Fount. He was cutting off her oxygen. He wanted her crawling back on her hands and knees.

From the back room, Buddy let out a weak, agonizing whimper.

Idella's breath hitched. She had no choice.

She reached over to her left wrist and unclasped the heavy, diamond-encrusted Patek Philippe watch. Fount had tossed it to her in a jewelry box two years ago, telling her to wear it so she wouldn't look cheap at a gala.

She slammed the twenty-thousand-dollar watch onto the counter.

"Start the surgery," Idella ordered, her voice trembling but fierce. "I am going to the pawnshop down the street. I will be back in twenty minutes with cash."

The receptionist looked at the watch, then at Idella's desperate eyes, and nodded.

Half an hour later, Idella ran back into the clinic, slamming four thousand dollars in crumpled bills onto the desk-a fraction of the watch's worth, but enough to save her dog.

Once the vet assured her Buddy was stable, Idella went to the clinic bathroom. She stripped off her freezing, wet clothes and pulled on a cheap, gray sweatpants set she kept in her car trunk for emergencies.

She had to go back to the Fitzgerald headquarters. She needed her personal research notebooks. The early patent drafts she had written before the marriage were her only leverage to find a new job.

Because her badge was dead, Idella had to endure the humiliating gaze of the lobby security guards as they escorted her to the freight elevator, treating her like a criminal.

The elevator groaned to a halt on the twelfth floor. Idella pushed open the glass doors to the Seattle branch's Chicago liaison office.

The moment she stepped inside, the hum of office chatter died instantly. Every eye turned to her.

By the water cooler, three of her former colleagues-people who had kissed up to her just yesterday-were openly laughing, pointing at her cheap sweatpants.

Idella ignored them. She marched straight to her cubicle.

Her stomach dropped. The lock on her desk drawer had been violently pried open. The metal was bent and scratched. Inside, her files were thrown everywhere.

She frantically dug through the mess. The blue leather-bound notebook containing her core molecular data had been brutally rifled through. The cover was bent, and several pages were carelessly crumpled, but it was left behind, tossed aside like garbage. They hadn't even bothered to take it, clearly believing her early, handwritten formulas were entirely worthless without the company's patented digital models.

"Who touched my desk?" Idella demanded, glaring at the floor supervisor.

The supervisor smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Compliance department did a routine sweep. Company property stays with the company."

Fount had anticipated her move. He was stripping her down to the bone.

Idella grabbed an empty cardboard box. She swept her remaining personal photos and a few useless pens into it, her chest tight with suppressed rage.

She held the heavy cardboard box in her arms. Blood slowly seeped from the wounds on the palms of her hands as she walked toward the elevator lobby.

Just as she pressed the down button, the private executive elevator next to her let out a soft ding.

The solid brass doors slid open.

Angelita stepped out, flanked by three senior executives. She wore a pristine, tailored white Chanel suit, looking every inch the untouchable goddess of high society.

Angelita's eyes drifted from Idella's messy hair down to her cheap gray sweatpants, and finally to the pathetic cardboard box in her arms. A slow, cruel smile spread across Angelita's perfect lips.

Angelita stopped walking. She looked at Idella with wide, overly sympathetic eyes.

"Idella," Angelita said, her voice dripping with fake pity. "If things are truly this desperate for you, the Fitzgerald Charity Foundation runs a soup kitchen on the South Side. I can make sure you get a hot meal."

The executives behind her let out a chorus of low, mocking chuckles.

Idella's grip on the cardboard box tightened until her knuckles ached. She didn't say a word. She just stared dead into Angelita's eyes, burning the image of that smug, fake face into her memory.