The wheels of the heavy laundry cart squeaked as Grace pushed it down the long hotel hallway.

Her arms ached. Her uniform was still damp from yesterday's champagne.

"Oh, God. What is that smell?"

Grace stopped the cart.

Blythe stood in the middle of the hallway. She wore a pristine white Chanel suit. Three other wealthy women stood behind her, laughing.

Blythe was Jake's fiancé.

"It smells like a literal slum," Blythe said loudly, waving her hand in front of her nose. She glared at Grace.

Grace lowered her eyes. She gripped the handle of the cart and tried to push it past them against the wall.

Blythe stepped sideways, blocking her again.

"Did I say you could move?" Blythe snapped.

She reached out and shoved the top of the laundry cart with both hands.

The heavy cart tipped over. It crashed onto the floor. Dozens of freshly washed, pure white towels spilled out, scattering across the dusty hallway carpet.

One of Blythe's friends giggled. She stepped forward and dragged the sharp heel of her stiletto directly across a clean towel, leaving a black dirt mark.

Grace felt a hot spike of anger in her chest.

She took a deep breath, forcing her heart rate down. She looked up at Blythe.

"Please move," Grace said evenly. "I have to finish my job."

Blythe's eyes widened in outrage. "How dare you look at me like that?"

Blythe raised her hand and slapped Grace across the face.

The sound cracked through the hallway like a gunshot.

Grace's head snapped to the side. Her cheek instantly burned. A red handprint swelled on her pale skin.

She didn't cry. She slowly turned her head back. She stared directly into Blythe's eyes. Her gaze was completely dead.

Blythe took a step back, suddenly intimidated by the absolute emptiness in Grace's eyes. Her face flushed red with embarrassment. She raised her hand to strike again.

"What is going on here?"

Jake's voice froze the air in the hallway.

He walked out of the elevator. His dark eyes instantly locked onto the bright red mark on Grace's cheek.

Blythe dropped her hand. Her face morphed into a mask of pure victimhood. She ran to Jake and grabbed his arm.

"Jake, honey," Blythe whined. "This disgusting maid tried to run over my feet with her cart. She ruined my shoes."

Jake looked down at Blythe's hands on his jacket. He felt a wave of physical revulsion.

He yanked his arm away. He brushed the fabric of his sleeve as if she had left a disease on it.

Grace watched him. A tiny, pathetic spark of hope flared in her chest. Maybe he would see the truth. Maybe he would stop this.

Jake looked at the dirty towels on the floor. Then he looked at Grace.

"This hotel does not pay you to stand around," Jake said coldly.

He pointed to the towel with the black shoe print.

"Get on the floor," Jake ordered, his voice dropping to a vicious, venomous register. "Lick the dirt off that towel. Now."

The words left his mouth before he could stop them. For a fraction of a second, a flicker of shock crossed his own dark eyes as the sheer malice of his command hung in the air. He tasted the bile of his own cruelty.

Grace's mouth fell open. The spark of hope died, turning to cold ash in her lungs.

Blythe and her friends erupted into loud, cruel laughter.

Grace's hands shook. She looked at the filthy carpet. If she got fired, Cody wouldn't get his medication next week.

She slowly bent her knees. She lowered herself toward the floor.

Jake watched her knees hit the carpet.

A sudden, sharp pain stabbed him directly in the center of his chest. He couldn't breathe. Seeing her actually submit, seeing her break herself for a job, made his blood boil with a rage he couldn't control. The realization that he was acting like a deranged, sadistic monster over a woman who had betrayed him made him physically sick.

Before Grace could lean forward, Jake spun around.

He kicked the heavy metal trash can against the wall with all his strength.

BANG.

The metal dented. The loud noise made everyone jump. Grace flinched, pulling her hands back to her chest.

Jake ripped his tie loose. He was suffocating.

"Get out," Jake snarled, glaring at Grace. "Get out of my sight before I fire you."

Grace scrambled to her feet. She grabbed the handle of the empty cart and ran down the hallway, her breathing ragged and panicked.

Jake stared at the empty corner where she disappeared. His chest heaved. His knuckles were white.

Blythe smiled and reached for his arm again. "Jake-"

Jake turned his head. He gave her a look so violently dark that Blythe froze in terror.

"Do not ever cause a scene in my hotel again," Jake whispered dangerously.

He turned his back on her and walked into his penthouse suite, slamming the door behind him.

The silver tray was heavy.

Grace balanced the ice bucket and the bottle of vintage champagne as she walked toward the VIP penthouse suite. The manager had specifically ordered her to deliver it.

She knocked on the heavy oak door.

"Come in."

Grace opened the door.

Blythe stood in the center of the massive living room. She was wearing a breathtaking, pure white Paris couture gown. The silk pooled around her feet like a cloud.

When Blythe saw Grace, a nasty, calculating smile spread across her lips.

"Bring it here," Blythe ordered.

Grace walked carefully across the thick rug. She kept her eyes on the tray.

As she got close, Blythe suddenly lunged forward. She threw her shoulder directly into the bottom of the silver tray.

The tray flipped.

The heavy bottle of champagne flew into the air. It smashed onto the floor. The dark, sticky alcohol exploded everywhere.

It completely soaked the front of Blythe's white couture dress, staining it a sickly yellow-brown.

Blythe immediately let out a blood-curdling scream.

"You bitch!" Blythe shrieked, pointing at Grace. "She did it on purpose! She threw it at me!"

The door to the study burst open.

Jake walked out, holding a stack of financial reports.

He stopped. He looked at the shattered glass, the ruined dress, and Blythe's fake tears.

"Jake!" Blythe sobbed, running toward him. "This dress is two hundred thousand dollars! She ruined it because she's jealous of me!"

Jake's eyes slowly moved to Grace. His gaze was a physical weight, pressing down on her shoulders.

"She bumped into me," Grace said quickly, her voice trembling. "I didn't move. She hit the tray."

"Shut up," Jake said. His voice was dangerously quiet. "A gold digger who lies for a living has zero credibility in my room."

Grace closed her mouth. Her throat burned. She stared at the man who used to kiss her forehead every morning. He was gone.

Jake walked over to the wall safe. He punched in the code.

He pulled out a thick stack of crisp, hundred-dollar bills.

He walked right up to Grace.

He raised his hand and threw the heavy stack of cash directly at her face.

The paper hit her cheek hard. The bills exploded into the air, raining down around her feet like dead leaves.

"Get on your knees," Jake commanded. "Apologize to my fiancé. Beg for her forgiveness."

Grace clenched her fists. Her fingernails dug so deep into her palms that the skin broke.

"No," Grace whispered.

Jake stepped closer. His chest brushed against hers.

"Kneel," he whispered in her ear, his voice dripping with malice, "or I fire you right now. And I will make sure you are blacklisted from every single job in New York. You will starve on the streets."

Grace stopped breathing.

If she lost her income, Cody would be kicked out of the hospital. He would die.

Her psychological defenses shattered.

Tears filled her eyes. Her legs began to shake violently.

She slowly bent her knees.

As she lowered herself, her wrist caught on the edge of her uniform pocket.

The old, frayed woven bracelet around her wrist pulled tight.

Snap.

The cheap string broke.

The bracelet fell. It hit the thick carpet and rolled right until it stopped against the toe of Jake's expensive leather shoe.

It was a braided string with a cheap, ugly gray stone in the center. Jake had made it for her five years ago on a beach in Malibu.

Jake looked down.

He saw the bracelet.

His lungs stopped working. The blood rushed out of his head, leaving him dizzy.

He stared at the cheap stone. He couldn't process it. Why did she have this? Why was a woman who sold him out for money wearing a piece of garbage he made her half a decade ago?

Grace let out a panicked gasp.

She abandoned her dignity. She threw herself onto the floor, her hands scrambling frantically over the carpet to grab the bracelet.

It was her lifeline. It was the only thing that kept her sane in prison.

Jake watched her panic over the cheap string.

The confusion in his brain instantly mutated into a violent, twisted rage. She was mocking him. She kept it as a trophy of how stupid he was.