Felicity pushed open the heavy doors of the Neon Bar in Manhattan.

The heavy bass of the club music vibrated through the floorboards, and blinding strobe lights cut through the smoky air. She wore a simple, dark silk slip dress, wanting to blend into the shadows.

This farewell party was a mandatory HR protocol for her official exit from the corporate roster. She planned to show her face for ten minutes and leave.

Several of her former subordinates dragged her into the center of a crowded leather booth. She forced polite smiles, exhausted by the fake corporate pleasantries. She didn't notice Gary Chandler-a mid-level manager facing termination-staring at her from the corner of the bar. His eyes were dark and desperate. Camila had promised him a massive payout and his job back if he executed her plan tonight.

Gary picked up two brightly colored cocktails and pushed his way through the crowd.

"Felicity!" Gary shouted over the music, sliding into the booth next to her. He held out a glowing blue Margarita. "Congratulations on escaping the Mckinney meat grinder."

Felicity maintained her cold, professional distance. She took the glass but didn't bring it to her lips.

Gary's eyes twitched with anxiety. He leaned in, raising his voice to mock her. "What, too good to drink with the peasants now? Or are you scared to let loose?"

Felicity frowned. She just wanted him to leave her alone. She raised the glass and took a small sip. The liquid burned her throat.

Gary watched her swallow. A sickening, victorious grin spread across his face. He immediately stood up and vanished into the flashing lights.

Less than ten minutes later, the room tilted.

Felicity blinked hard. The neon signs above the bar blurred into streaks of light. The heavy bass of the music suddenly sounded like it was underwater. A wave of intense, unnatural heat exploded in her stomach and rushed through her veins.

She put the glass down. Her hand missed the table, and the glass shattered on the floor.

She tried to stand up, but her legs felt like lead. She collapsed heavily back into the leather sofa. Panic seized her throat. GHB. She had been drugged.

She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. The sharp taste of copper flooded her mouth, giving her a brief, agonizing second of clarity. She pushed herself up and stumbled blindly through the crowd, heading toward the neon sign pointing to the restrooms.

She crashed through the bathroom door, locked herself inside a stall, and slumped against the cold tile wall. She was gasping for air, her heart beating erratically.

Footsteps slammed into the bathroom.

"Felicity?" Gary's disgusting, sing-song voice echoed off the tiles. He began pounding on her stall door. "Come out, baby. Let's go celebrate."

Felicity's hands shook violently as she dug into her clutch. She pulled out her phone. The icons on the screen were splitting into double vision. She couldn't read the numbers.

She pressed her thumb against the side power button, clicking it rapidly five times. The SOS emergency protocol activated. It silently dialed 911 and broadcasted her live GPS location.

"911, what is your emergency?" the dispatcher's voice crackled faintly from the speaker.

"Neon Bar... Gary Chandler... drugged," Felicity whispered, her voice slurring heavily as the drug pulled her under.

Outside, Gary heard the faint voice. He cursed violently. He kicked the cheap lock on the stall door. The metal groaned and snapped.

Gary burst in. He grabbed her phone and smashed it against the porcelain sink, shattering it to pieces.

Felicity kicked out weakly, the heel of her shoe catching his shin. Gary grunted in pain. He raised his hand and slapped her hard across the face. The impact sent her crashing to the floor, her ears ringing loudly.

Gary threw his heavy coat over her semi-conscious body. He dragged her out the back alley exit of the club and shoved her into a waiting black sedan.

The car stopped in a filthy alley behind a cheap motel in Chelsea. Gary hauled her over his shoulder and carried her into a ground-floor room that smelled of mold and stale smoke.

He threw her onto the stained mattress. He immediately started unbuckling his belt, his eyes filled with vile lust.

Felicity's mind was trapped in a dark void. She tried to scream, but her vocal cords were paralyzed. She could only let out a weak, pathetic whimper.

Gary lunged onto the bed. He grabbed the neckline of her silk dress and ripped it. The fabric tore loudly, exposing her bare shoulder to the freezing air.

Just as his hands moved lower, the sound of heavy boots echoed in the motel hallway. Static crackled from police radios.

The 911 dispatcher had tracked the GPS.

Gary froze. He heard the sirens wailing outside the window. Panic consumed him. He tried to pull his pants up and run for the window, but heavy fists pounded on the door.

"NYPD! Open up!"

Trapped, Gary grabbed a broken beer bottle from the nightstand. He hauled Felicity up against his chest, wrapping his arm tightly around her neck, and pressed the jagged glass directly against her carotid artery.

The motel door exploded inward, smashed open by a police battering ram.

Blinding tactical flashlights cut through the dark room. Three officers aimed their Glocks at Gary's head.

Felicity struggled to open her heavy eyelids against the blinding light. Through the glare, she saw a massive, terrifying silhouette step into the doorway behind the cops. Ellsworth.

Ellsworth shoved roughly past the armed police officers, stepping into the filthy motel room.

The air around him was so violently oppressive it felt like gravity had doubled. His eyes locked onto the scene. He didn't see the jagged glass pressed against Felicity's throat. He only saw her torn silk dress, her exposed shoulder, and Gary's arm wrapped around her waist.

His logic completely disintegrated. The toxic jealousy and possessiveness he harbored mutated into pure, unadulterated rage.

"Is this how desperate you are to get away from me?" Ellsworth's voice was a low, demonic rumble. "You're spreading your legs for trash like him in a roach motel?"

Felicity heard his cruel words through the heavy fog of the drug. Her heart shattered into a million irreparable pieces. She shook her head weakly, trying to force the word "drugged" past her paralyzed lips, but only a soft moan escaped.

Gary, desperate to save his own life from the cops, seized the narrative. "We're consenting!" Gary screamed, his voice cracking. "She brought me here! She wanted to trade Mckinney secrets for a job!"

The darkness in Ellsworth's eyes consumed the room. He didn't wait for the police to negotiate. He reached into his coat, pulled his custom firearm, aimed directly at Gary's thigh, and pulled the trigger.

The gunshot was deafening in the small room.

Gary screamed in agony. Blood sprayed across the cheap carpet. He dropped the glass and collapsed, clutching his shattered leg.

Without Gary holding her up, Felicity fell forward.

Ellsworth closed the distance in a second. He grabbed her by the jaw, his fingers digging painfully into her cheeks, and hauled her up. He stared into her dilated, unfocused eyes. He assumed the drug in her system was a cheap aphrodisiac she took willingly.

He raised his hand and slapped her.

The blow was brutal. Felicity's head snapped to the side. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. The sheer physical trauma pushed her over the edge, and she plunged into total darkness.

When Felicity woke up, the air was freezing and smelled of damp concrete.

She tried to move her arms, but sharp pain shot through her shoulders. Her wrists were bound by heavy iron chains, suspended from a rusted pipe above her head. She was in the underground cellar of the Mckinney estate. Her torn silk dress was gone, replaced by a thin, rough hospital gown.

The heavy iron door groaned open.

Ellsworth walked in. He was dressed in an immaculate, tailored suit. In his right hand, he held a leather riding crop. He looked like the devil himself.

"I was framed," Felicity croaked, her throat feeling like sandpaper. "Check the bar's security footage."

Ellsworth's face remained carved from stone. He pulled an iPad from his coat and held it up. He swiped across the screen, displaying a series of high-resolution photographs. They were heavily misleading, out-of-context shots taken by a hired private investigator at the club, perfectly timed to show Felicity seemingly leaning into Gary, smiling, and taking the blue drink willingly.

"You're a whore and a liar," Ellsworth stated coldly. He swung the crop. It cracked violently against the metal shelving next to her, the sound echoing like a gunshot.

Felicity stared at the manipulated photos. Camila had planned this flawlessly. And he didn't even hesitate to believe it.

Ellsworth's fury broke its leash. He swung the leather crop. It slashed across her back. The thin fabric of the gown tore instantly. A line of fire erupted across her skin.

Felicity screamed, her body arching against the chains. But she bit down on her lip, refusing to beg. Her defiant silence only enraged him more.

He dropped the crop. He stepped into her space, grabbing her face, his thumb smearing the blood on her lip. "Swear to me you will never look at another man again."

Felicity spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto his expensive Italian shoes. She looked at him with eyes completely devoid of love. "I would rather die than be your prisoner."

Something inside Ellsworth snapped. He ripped the hospital gown down the center. He forced her down onto the freezing concrete floor.

He took her violently, punishing her with every thrust. Felicity didn't fight back. She didn't cry. She lay there like a broken porcelain doll, staring blankly at the dark ceiling. Her soul completely detached from her body.

When it was over, Ellsworth stood up, breathing heavily. He looked down at her motionless body. A sudden, cold spike of sheer terror pierced his chest. He grabbed his suit jacket and threw it over her shivering form.

He stormed out of the cellar. "Get the doctor down there!" he roared at the guards. "And throw that piece of trash Gary into the Hudson!"

Ten minutes later, the estate's private doctor rushed into the cellar. He gasped at the sight of her back. He immediately administered an adrenaline shot and began cleaning the deep lacerations.

As he turned her over, the doctor froze. His face turned ash white.

Due to the massive dose of GHB, combined with the severe physical trauma and the brutal assault on the cold floor, Felicity was hemorrhaging. A pool of dark blood was spreading rapidly across the concrete.

The doctor sprinted up the stairs, his hands covered in blood. He burst into the living room where Ellsworth was smoking a cigarette.

"Sir! She's hemorrhaging massively! If we don't get her to a hospital right now, she will bleed to death!"

Ellsworth's hand violently jerked. The cigarette dropped onto the Persian rug, burning a hole in the silk. The color vanished from his face.

He sprinted down to the cellar, scooped Felicity's limp, bleeding body into his arms, and ran.

The black Maybach tore down the highway at 120 miles per hour. Ellsworth sat in the back, holding Felicity tightly against his chest. Her breathing was terrifyingly shallow. For the first time in his life, Ellsworth Mckinney felt the paralyzing, absolute horror of losing her.