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."

The lie hung in the air of the precinct, thick and foul.

Carmen's soul watched Forrest twist his watch dial. He was protecting Evelin. He would rather look like a ruthless businessman than admit he abandoned his fiancée for another woman.

The memory of the hospital pulled Carmen back in. The scene shifted again.

Flashback.

The rain and the dark street faded into the sterile, bright white lights of the Richmond private hospital.

Carmen had managed to hail a cab. She arrived at the ER soaked to the bone, shivering violently, and leaving a trail of blood on the pristine floor.

The doctors rushed her into a private suite. They ran tests. The diagnosis was a severe threatened miscarriage brought on by physical trauma and extreme stress. They gave her painkillers and told her she needed absolute bed rest.

She lay in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. She felt entirely hollow.

Ten minutes after she was admitted to the private suite, a nurse walked in carrying a clipboard.

"Ms. Campos," the nurse said with a gentle, sympathetic smile. "Your blood work came back. We found the cause of your severe cramping, aside from the physical trauma and stress."

The nurse handed her a piece of paper. It was a lab report. The HCG hormone levels were circled in red ink. Attached to it was a small, glossy black-and-white printout. An ultrasound.

"Congratulations," the nurse said softly. "You are six weeks pregnant. Despite the trauma, the baby is currently stable, but you need absolute bed rest."

Carmen stared at the tiny, bean-shaped blur on the paper. A bomb went off in her chest. A baby. Forrest's baby. A fierce, blinding wave of maternal instinct crashed over her.

Before she could even begin to process the overwhelming surge of emotion, the heavy door to the suite swung open.

Forrest walked in. He wasn't alone. He was flanked by the Richmond family's chief legal counsel and the head of their private security firm.

Forrest didn't rush to her side. He didn't ask how she was feeling. He stood at the foot of her bed, his face an unreadable mask of business.

"Are you stable?" Forrest asked. It sounded like he was asking about a stock portfolio.

Carmen tried to sit up, wincing as her stomach pulled. "Forrest, I..."

He held up a hand to silence her. "Evelin called me an hour ago. She received a death threat from an unknown number. The message was horrific."

Carmen's heart sank like a stone. He was here for Evelin. Again.

The head of security stepped forward. He opened an iPad and held it up for Carmen to see. On the screen were screenshots of text messages. I'm watching you. You're going to pay. There was a photo of Evelin with her eyes scratched out. There was a blurry still from a security camera showing a man in a hoodie standing across the street from Evelin's apartment.

"We believe a violent stalker has fixated on Ms. Mcgowan," the security chief said in a monotone voice.

Carmen looked at the iPad. Her stomach churned with nausea. She knew Evelin. Evelin was a master manipulator. This whole "stalker" routine reeked of a setup.

"Forrest, this is insane," Carmen said, her voice raspy. "Evelin is making this up. She wants you to feel sorry for her."

Forrest slammed his hand down on the metal footboard of the bed. The loud bang made Carmen flinch.

"Enough, Carmen!" Forrest roared. "I know you hate her, but this is a matter of life and death! Stop being so incredibly selfish for one minute!"

The chief lawyer cleared his throat. He adjusted his glasses and looked at Carmen with cold, calculating eyes.

"Ms. Campos," the lawyer said smoothly. "We have analyzed the stalker's behavioral patterns. He seems to harbor deep hostility toward anyone closely associated with Mr. Richmond. You, as his high-profile fiancée, are actually the most visible target."

The lawyer paused. He didn't blink.

"Therefore, we propose a strategy," the lawyer continued, his eyes cold and calculating. "We will use a highly trained female operative as a body double. We need her to wear your exact clothing, drive your vehicle, and use your personal items to draw this dangerous individual out, allowing our security team to apprehend him."

The air in the hospital room turned to ice.

Carmen stared at the lawyer. Then she stared at Forrest.

They wanted to use her identity, her belongings, putting a target on her back-all to protect Evelin. And Forrest was standing right there, demanding she comply, completely oblivious to the fact that she was lying in a hospital bed, bleeding, carrying his unborn child.

Her hands began to shake. A hot, blinding rage flared in her chest.

She pointed a trembling finger at the door. "Get. Out."

Forrest frowned. "Carmen, be reasonable-"

"I said get out!" she screamed, her voice cracking. "All of you!"

The lawyer and the security chief took a step back. They looked at Forrest, waiting for his command.

This was the moment. Carmen locked eyes with Forrest. Deep down, beneath the layers of pain and betrayal, a tiny, pathetic part of her still hoped he would act like a man. She hoped he would say, No, this is too dangerous, I won't risk my fiancée.

Forrest looked back at her. He didn't speak.

He was weighing his options. Carmen could see the gears turning behind his dark eyes. He was calculating the risk to Carmen's safety and reputation versus the safety of Evelin.

He didn't look worried for her. He looked annoyed that she was making this difficult.

That brief second of hesitation was the fatal blow. It hurt worse than the dogs tearing her flesh. It was the absolute, undeniable proof that she meant nothing to him. She was just a pawn to be sacrificed for his true love.

Forrest saw the light completely die in Carmen's eyes. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Let's go," Forrest told his men. "Let her rest. We'll discuss this tomorrow."

He didn't sign the consent form for the bait operation. But he didn't say no, either. He turned and walked out, leaving her alone in the cold room.

End of Flashback.

In the police precinct, Frobisher was still glaring at Forrest.

"So you dropped her off," Frobisher said. "Did you check on her later?"

Forrest twisted his watch. "I went to the hospital the next day. I paid her entire medical bill. She was perfectly fine."

He left out the bait plan. He left out the stalker. He used his money to cover his sins.