Carmen hovered in the corner of the ceiling like a silent security camera.

She watched Forrest stare into the flames. Right above the fireplace, a massive, framed portrait of Carmen in her engagement dress stared down at him. He didn't even look at it.

The doorbell buzzed, a sharp sound that shattered the quiet intimacy of the room.

Forrest groaned and stood up. He adjusted the lapels of his silk robe, his jaw tight with annoyance.

He walked to the front door and yanked it open.

Jax Dalton stood in the hallway. He wore a tailored suit and a smirk that made Carmen want to punch him. Jax was Forrest's best friend, a trust-fund playboy who had always hated her.

Jax let out a low whistle as he walked past Forrest into the penthouse.

"Well, well," Jax said, looking around the empty room. "Any word from Evelin's kidnappers? Aren't you worried that crazy bitch Carmen is going to storm in here and slit your throat?"

Forrest walked over to the bar cart. He poured Jax a glass of scotch. He let out a dry scoff.

"She can barely take care of herself right now," Forrest said. "She's too busy playing her little games."

Jax took the glass and laughed. He threw himself onto the sofa.

"I heard," Jax said. "She's playing the disappearing act again? What is it this time? Trying to tank the Richmond family stock to force you to set a wedding date?"

Forrest swirled the amber liquid in his glass. He twisted the dial of his watch, his signature tell when he was irritated.

"It's her usual routine," Forrest muttered. "But she took it too far this time. Evelin is terrified. Carmen is sick in the head."

They sat there, drinking expensive liquor, tearing her apart.

Jax mocked her. He mimicked Carmen's voice, pretending to cry and beg for attention. He called her a control freak. He said she had borderline personality disorder.

Forrest laughed at every joke.

Up near the ceiling, Carmen felt every word like a physical cut to her skin. She had spent four years loving this man, compromising for him, shrinking herself to fit into his world. And this was what she was to him. A joke. A crazy bitch.

Forrest's private cell phone buzzed on the glass coffee table.

It was an unknown number. He frowned and reached to decline the call. But he paused when he saw the New York area code. He swiped to answer.

"Forrest Richmond," he said, his voice instantly dropping into his professional, authoritative tone.

The voice on the other end was loud enough for Carmen to hear. It was a gruff, official voice.

"Mr. Richmond. This is Detective Frobisher, NYPD Major Crimes. Are you the emergency contact for Carmen Campos?"

Forrest's smile vanished. He sat up straighter. "I am her fiancé. What is this about?"

"We found a scene in an abandoned industrial park in Brooklyn," the detective said. "It's highly bloody. We have reason to believe it's connected to Ms. Campos. We need you to come down to the 84th Precinct immediately to assist with the investigation."

Jax stopped laughing. He set his glass down on the table. The smirk fell off his face.

Forrest didn't look worried. He just looked deeply, profoundly annoyed. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He genuinely believed this was just another one of Carmen's tricks to get his attention.

"Detective," Forrest said smoothly. "I respect the work you do. But I can assure you, this is likely a massive misunderstanding."

'Carmen and I have been experiencing significant relationship strain,' Forrest stated smoothly into the phone, his tone completely detached. 'She is highly unstable and prone to erratic behavior. This entire situation is likely just her way of acting out for attention.'

Carmen's soul flickered. The air around her turned freezing cold.

Acting out for attention.

With those words, he erased their four-year relationship. He erased her status. He erased her right to be mourned.

"She's probably just at a party with her friends and let her phone die," Forrest continued, his voice dripping with condescension. "You don't need to waste your resources, Detective."

There was a heavy silence on the other end of the line.

"Mr. Richmond," the detective said, his voice turning hard. "I strongly advise you to come to the precinct. Now."

Forrest rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

He hung up the phone and threw it hard onto the sofa cushions.

"Evelin is terrified out of her mind hiding in a safehouse, and Carmen is pulling this stunt," Forrest sneered. "The only thing she's in danger of is making a fool out of me. I'm going down there to expose her little prank right now."

The black Maybach pulled up to the curb outside the NYPD 84th Precinct.

Forrest stepped out of the car. He adjusted his expensive Tom Ford suit jacket and slid a pair of dark sunglasses over his eyes. He looked at the dirty brick building with absolute disgust, as if just breathing the air here was beneath him.

Carmen's soul drifted right behind him. She wanted to see his face when the police showed him the blood.

Forrest walked into the chaotic bullpen. He demanded to see whoever was in charge. A young officer pointed him toward a glass-walled office in the back.

Captain Marcus Frobisher was waiting for him. Frobisher was a heavy-set man with graying hair and tired eyes. He didn't stand up when Forrest walked in.

Forrest took off his sunglasses and tossed them onto Frobisher's messy desk.

"Captain Frobisher, I assume?" Forrest said. "I believe my lawyers have already called you. This entire situation regarding Carmen is a gross waste of police time."

Frobisher raised a thick eyebrow at the word "Carmen." He didn't argue. He simply reached into a manila folder and slid three photographs across the desk.

The photos were heavily redacted with black marker, but the sheer amount of crimson red covering the concrete floor was unmistakable.

Next to the photos, Frobisher placed a clear plastic evidence bag. Inside was Carmen's ID card.

Next to that, he placed another bag. It held Carmen's limited-edition Hermes Birkin bag. The pristine white leather was soaked in dried, dark brown blood.

Forrest stared at the bag. The muscle in his jaw ticked. His pupils contracted for a fraction of a second, a cold, suffocating flash of genuine panic striking his chest. But he ruthlessly forced it down, refusing to let the police see him lose control. He hardened his gaze.

"Find her," Forrest said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy register. "I want to see exactly what kind of sick game she is playing to get my attention."

Frobisher looked at Forrest like he was looking at an alien.

"Mr. Richmond," Frobisher said slowly. "There was a massive amount of blood at that scene. The medical examiner gave a preliminary report. Based on the volume, no human being could survive that kind of blood loss."

Forrest scoffed. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs.

"It's animal blood," Forrest said confidently. "Or she bought blood bags. She was the star of her theater club in college. She loves dramatic effects."

Hovering near the ceiling, Carmen felt a surge of rage so violent it made the overhead fluorescent lights flicker. He was taking her devotion, her pain, and twisting it into a psychotic performance.

Forrest opened his mouth to continue his lecture on Carmen's "histrionic personality," but the office door slammed open.

Brooke Carpenter stormed into the room like a hurricane.

Brooke was Carmen's best friend. Her mascara was smeared down her cheeks. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen from crying. She had rushed straight from her apartment after getting the police call.

Brooke saw Forrest sitting there, looking perfectly calm and arrogant.

"Forrest Richmond! You absolute bastard!"

Brooke lunged forward. Before the police could stop her, she swung her arm and slapped Forrest across the face.

The sharp crack echoed through the entire bullpen. Every cop stopped typing.

Forrest's head snapped to the side. He froze. In his entire life of wealth and privilege, no one had ever dared to strike him.

He touched his stinging cheek. He turned back to Brooke, his eyes dark with fury. "Are you insane?"

Brooke pointed her finger aggressively at his chest. Tears spilled over her eyelashes.

"Am I insane?" Brooke screamed. "Carmen is missing! There's blood everywhere! And I heard you out in the hall telling them she's faking it? Do you have a heart in that chest, or is it just a cash register?"

Forrest stood up, towering over her. "She is faking it, Brooke. And you're enabling her delusions."

"She sent me a text last night!" Brooke yelled, slamming her hands on Frobisher's desk. She turned to the Captain. "She texted me at 10 PM! She said her stomach was in excruciating pain and she was going to the hospital! She wasn't faking anything!"

The word hospital hit Forrest like a physical blow.

His arrogant expression shattered. His face went completely pale. He remembered the stomach pain. He remembered exactly why she had that pain.

Frobisher, a veteran cop, instantly caught the flash of panic in Forrest's eyes.

Brooke wasn't done. She turned back to Forrest, sobbing openly now.

"She loved you until she had nothing left of herself!" Brooke cried. "You emotionally abused her for years! Everyone saw it, but she defended you! And now she's bleeding somewhere, and you call it a show? You don't deserve to breathe the same air as her!"

The cops in the bullpen were glaring at Forrest now. The disgust in the room was palpable.

Forrest's face flushed dark red with embarrassment and rage. He pointed a shaking finger at Brooke. "Get this crazy woman out of here!"

Frobisher stood up. He didn't look at Brooke. He looked dead at Forrest.

"Mr. Richmond," Frobisher said, his voice dropping an octave. "I am officially making you a person of interest in this case. I need you to tell me exactly where you were last night, minute by minute."

Forrest's breath hitched. For the first time, he realized his money couldn't buy his way out of this room.

Up above, Carmen watched Brooke cry for her. It was the first warmth she had felt since she died.

Brooke's sobbing voice echoed in the small office, acting like a key unlocking a dark vault in Carmen's mind.

The sterile walls of the police precinct began to blur. Forrest's pale face and Frobisher's suspicious glare melted away. The harsh fluorescent lights were replaced by the blinding flash of lightning.

The sound of rain filled Carmen's ears.

She was pulled violently into a memory. The memory of her final night alive.

Flashback.

It started in the massive walk-in closet of the penthouse.

Evelin had come over for dinner, crying crocodile tears. Evelin claimed that Carmen had stolen a vintage diamond bracelet that belonged to Evelin's late mother. It was a blatant lie. Evelin had lost it herself at a club.

But Forrest didn't care about the truth. He only cared about Evelin's tears.

He cornered Carmen in the closet. His eyes were bloodshot, looking at her like she was a monster.

"Are you that jealous of her?" Forrest hissed, stepping closer. "Are you that desperate for my attention that you have to steal from a grieving girl?"

"Forrest, I didn't touch her bracelet!" Carmen pleaded, backing up until her spine hit the wooden shelves.

He didn't listen. He grabbed the collar of her silk evening gown. With one violent yank, he tore the fabric down the middle.

Carmen gasped, trying to push his chest away. Her manicured nails scratched his forearm, leaving a thin trail of red.

That scratch pushed Forrest over the edge. He viewed her self-defense as an unforgivable challenge to his authority. He pinned her wrists against the wall with one hand. His other hand gripped her jaw, forcing her to look at him.

He punished her. He used his physical strength to force intimacy on her, turning what should have been an act of love into a weapon of humiliation.

Halfway through, a sharp, stabbing cramp ripped through Carmen's lower abdomen.

She cried out, doubling over as much as his grip allowed. "Forrest, stop! It hurts!"

He let go of her wrists and stepped back, adjusting his belt. He looked down at her curled on the floor with absolute disgust.

"Save the performance, Carmen," he spat. "It won't work."

He turned and walked into the master bathroom, turning on the shower to wash her off his skin.

Carmen lay on the cold hardwood floor. The pain in her stomach wasn't fading. It was growing sharper, twisting like a knife. Cold sweat soaked her hairline.

She knew something was terribly wrong.

She dragged herself up, grabbed a coat to cover her torn dress, and called the family's private driver. She told him to take her to the Richmond private hospital.

She sat in the back of the Rolls Royce. The rain outside was coming down in sheets, blurring the neon lights of Manhattan. She clutched her stomach, pulling out her phone to text Brooke. My stomach hurts so bad. Going to the hospital.

Suddenly, the driver's phone rang through the car's Bluetooth speakers.

"Forrest," the driver answered.

Forrest's voice filled the car. It was cold, urgent, and completely devoid of the anger he had just shown Carmen.

"Turn the car around," Forrest ordered. "Go to the speakeasy in Soho. Evelin is there. She's crying because of the bracelet incident. She's scared. Pick her up immediately."

The driver looked in the rearview mirror at Carmen, who was pale and gasping for breath. "Sir, I have Ms. Campos in the car. We are heading to the emergency room."

Carmen leaned forward, grabbing the back of the driver's seat. "Forrest," she begged into the microphone. "Please. I'm bleeding. I need a doctor. Let him drop me off first."

There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line.

"Carmen, drop the act," Forrest snapped. "I am sick of your games. Evelin is actually in distress. She is a hundred times more important than your fake stomach ache."

The words hit Carmen's chest like a sledgehammer. Her lungs stopped working.

"Pull over," Forrest commanded the driver. "Kick her out. Let her call a cab. If you don't pick Evelin up in ten minutes, you're fired."

The driver hesitated, but he needed the job. He pulled the heavy car over to the curb on a dark, flooded street corner.

Two bodyguards in the front seat got out. They opened the back door. The freezing rain blew in. They grabbed Carmen by the arms and dragged her out onto the wet pavement. They didn't even give her an umbrella.

The doors slammed shut. The Rolls Royce sped away, its red taillights disappearing into the storm.

Carmen stood alone in the freezing rain, wearing a torn dress and a thin coat. The physical pain in her stomach was agonizing, but the pain in her heart was fatal. She slid down the brick wall of a closed bakery and collapsed onto the wet concrete.

End of Flashback.

Carmen's soul snapped back to the present, inside the police precinct.

Forrest was sitting across from Frobisher. His face was chalk-white. He was twisting his watch dial frantically.

"Yes," Forrest stammered, avoiding Frobisher's eyes. "She... she said her stomach hurt. I told the driver to let her out."

Frobisher leaned forward. "You kicked your fiancée out of a car in a rainstorm while she was having a medical emergency? Why?"

Forrest swallowed hard. He lied. "I had a very urgent business meeting. I couldn't be late."