Aubree dragged her aching body off the floor and limped into the massive walk-in closet. Every step sent a sharp pulse of pain through her lower half.

She reached toward a section of soft, cotton loungewear, her fingers brushing against a loose grey sweater.

Godfrey walked up behind her. He snatched the sweater out of her hand and threw it onto the hardwood floor.

He reached into the formal section and pulled out a stiff, heavy Chanel tweed dress. It was a dark, suffocating navy blue.

He shoved the rough fabric into her chest. "Put this on," he commanded.

"Mrs. Valentine does not need to be comfortable," he added coldly. "She needs to be presentable."

Aubree turned around without making a sound. She stripped off the remnants of her torn nightgown and pulled the heavy dress over her head. The stiff fabric scratched against her sensitive skin, the tight waist restricting her breathing.

She walked over to the vanity mirror. She opened a small jar of thick concealer and began dabbing it heavily onto her neck, desperately trying to cover the dark purple bruises and bite marks he had left on her skin.

Ten minutes later, they stepped out of the private elevator into the underground parking garage.

Miles Mercer, Godfrey's executive assistant, was already standing by the open rear door of a black Maybach. He held a tablet in his hand, his face completely devoid of emotion.

Godfrey stepped into the car first, his long legs taking up most of the space in the back seat.

Aubree climbed in after him. She pressed her body flush against the opposite door, trying to put as much physical distance between them as the leather seat would allow.

The heavy door slammed shut. The air inside the cabin instantly felt thick and unbreathable.

The car pulled out of the garage and merged onto the highway heading toward Long Island.

Godfrey opened his laptop and began typing rapidly, completely ignoring her existence.

Aubree turned her head and stared out the tinted window. The trees blurred past. Her stomach cramped violently, twisting into tight knots at the thought of facing his family.

The Maybach suddenly jerked forward as the driver hit the brakes hard. Traffic had come to a dead stop.

Aubree's body pitched forward. Her shoulder brushed against the sleeve of Godfrey's suit jacket.

Godfrey instantly recoiled. He looked down at his sleeve and brushed his hand over the fabric, as if she had just wiped mud on him.

The small, dismissive gesture felt like a physical slap to Aubree's face.

The traffic did not move. Godfrey's breathing started to speed up. The suffocating enclosed space and the stagnant traffic triggered a dark, violent restlessness deep within his chest. A fierce, unyielding pressure built up behind his ribs, demanding immediate release. He gripped the leather armrest so hard the material creaked under the pressure of his white-hot tension, his knuckles turning completely bloodless.

"Pass them," Godfrey barked at the driver, his voice sharp and aggressive. "I do not care about the fines. Get this car moving."

The driver swallowed hard. He jerked the steering wheel, pulling the massive car onto the narrow shoulder of the highway, speeding dangerously past the line of stopped vehicles.

Aubree squeezed her eyes shut. She reached across her chest and gripped the seatbelt with both hands, her heart pounding against her ribs.

Two hours later, the Maybach turned onto a private, tree-lined road in the Hamptons.

The massive iron gates of the Valentine estate slowly swung open. The car crunched over the pristine gravel driveway, heading toward the towering main house.

Godfrey snapped his laptop shut. He turned his head and glared at Aubree. "Fix your face. Stop looking like a corpse."

The car rolled to a smooth stop in front of the grand portico.

The driver got out and opened Aubree's door. She looked up, preparing to step out, but her entire body froze. All the blood drained from her face in an instant.

Aubree stared through the open car door, her eyes locked on the figure standing at the top of the stone steps.

It was a woman wearing a flowing white silk dress. Her blonde hair was perfectly styled, blowing gently in the ocean breeze. It was Allyson Pennington. Godfrey's former fiancée.

Godfrey saw her too. The dark, violent storm that had been brewing in his eyes all morning completely vanished. His face relaxed.

He stepped out of the car and walked quickly up the steps.

Allyson smiled brightly. She opened her arms wide as he approached.

Godfrey wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close, and pressed a natural, lingering kiss to her cheek.

Aubree forced her stiff legs to move. She climbed out of the car, her high heels sinking slightly into the gravel. Her ankle rolled, sending a sharp pain up her calf, but she caught her balance.

Neither Godfrey nor Allyson looked back at her. She followed them up the steps like an unwanted servant carrying luggage.

They walked into the massive, double-height living room. Genevieve, Godfrey's mother, was sitting on a tufted velvet sofa, holding a teacup.

When Genevieve saw Allyson, she stood up immediately. A massive smile broke across her face.

"My dear girl," Genevieve said, reaching out to grab both of Allyson's hands. "It is so wonderful to see you."

Aubree stopped at the edge of the Persian rug. She stood perfectly still, keeping her hands clasped tightly in front of her stomach.

Genevieve shifted her gaze. Her smile dropped instantly when she saw Aubree. She looked Aubree up and down, her eyes lingering on the dark tweed dress.

"That color makes you look like an old widow," Genevieve said, her voice dripping with disdain.

Aubree lowered her chin. She raised her hands and signed, Good afternoon, Mother.

Genevieve rolled her eyes and turned her head away. "Stop waving your hands at me. I do not understand those monkey gestures."

Aubree's hands froze in the air. A hot flush of deep humiliation burned her cheeks. She slowly lowered her arms back to her sides.

Allyson linked her arm through Genevieve's. "The art exhibition in Paris was exhausting, but the gallery sold out," Allyson said, her voice smooth and sweet, completely ignoring the tension.

Genevieve laughed, patting Allyson's arm.

Godfrey handed his suit jacket to a waiting butler. He stood near the fireplace, watching Allyson with a soft, attentive expression Aubree had never received.

Aubree felt completely invisible. She took a small step backward, planning to slip away into the hallway and hide in a guest room.

"Aubree," Allyson called out suddenly.

Aubree stopped.

Allyson walked over to her, her heels clicking loudly against the marble floor. She stopped right in front of Aubree and tilted her head, her eyes locking onto Aubree's neck.

"Oh my," Allyson said, raising her voice so it carried across the entire room. "Are you having an allergic reaction? Your neck is covered in awful red marks."

Godfrey's head snapped toward them. His face darkened instantly. He stared at the bruises he had violently left on her skin the night before, his jaw clenching. He thought she had intentionally done a poor job covering them up to mark her territory.

Genevieve let out a harsh scoff. "The daughter of a bankrupt fraud always has cheap, sensitive skin."

Aubree bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall.

Allyson turned around and looked at Godfrey, batting her eyelashes innocently.

"Anyway," Allyson smiled, "I have some wonderful news. I am moving back to New York permanently."

The massive living room fell completely silent. Everyone's attention was locked on Allyson.

Allyson reached up and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "I will be joining the Valentine Group starting Monday."

She looked directly at Godfrey, her smile widening. "I am going to be your new Executive Assistant. I will be handling the Asia-Pacific merger."

Aubree's head jerked up. Her chest tightened so violently she physically gasped, all the air rushing out of her lungs. She stared at her husband, waiting for him to deny it.

Godfrey said nothing. He stood by the fireplace, his silence confirming the appointment.

Genevieve clapped her hands together. "Brilliant! An Ivy League business graduate is exactly what Godfrey needs. Finally, someone useful."

Genevieve shot a nasty glare at Aubree. "Unlike some people who could not even finish a basic college degree and just drain our resources."

Aubree dug her fingernails into her palms. The only reason she dropped out of college was because her father went bankrupt and could no longer pay the tuition.

Allyson sighed softly, looking at Aubree with fake pity. "Oh, do not be too hard on her, Genevieve. Being a quiet housewife is a perfectly fine life for some women."

A loud, sharp thud echoed from the top of the grand staircase.

Everyone looked up. Augusta, the matriarch of the Valentine family, stood at the landing. She gripped a heavy silver cane in her right hand.

The air in the room instantly grew cold. Genevieve immediately fixed her posture and stopped smiling.

Augusta slowly walked down the stairs, leaning heavily on the cane. She reached the bottom floor and stopped in front of the sofa. Her sharp, calculating eyes scanned the room.

"Genevieve," Augusta said, her voice raspy but commanding. "You speak like a bitter fishmonger. Have some class."

Genevieve's face turned bright red, but she kept her mouth firmly shut.

Augusta turned her head toward Allyson. Her eyes narrowed into tiny slits.

"The Valentine Group is not a playground for socialites," Augusta warned, tapping her cane against the marble floor. "The assistant chair is not a throne for you to play house in."

The perfect smile on Allyson's face cracked. She lowered her eyes, her fingers twitching nervously against her silk dress.

Augusta walked past them. She stopped right in front of Aubree, who was still standing near the edge of the rug.

The old woman reached out her wrinkled hand and gently patted Aubree's cold, trembling fingers.

"As long as I am breathing," Augusta announced loudly, making sure every person in the room heard her, "Aubree is the only granddaughter-in-law this family recognizes."

A hot tear finally escaped Aubree's eye, rolling down her cheek. She raised her hands and signed, Thank you, Grandmother.

Godfrey crossed his arms over his chest. He glared at the floor, his muscles tense with extreme irritation at his grandmother's blind protection of a woman he despised.

The head butler stepped into the room, bowing slightly. "Dinner is served in the main dining room."

The group moved out of the living room and walked down the long hallway toward the dining area.

Augusta took her seat at the head of the massive, long crystal table. She pointed her cane at the chair directly to her right. Aubree sat down.

Godfrey walked to the left side of the table and pulled out a heavy wooden chair.

Before he could sit, Allyson rushed forward. She slid smoothly into the chair right next to his.

She reached across the table and picked up Godfrey's linen napkin, gently placing it on his lap for him.

Aubree sat across from them. She stared at Allyson's hand resting near Godfrey's leg. The brief warmth Augusta had given her instantly vanished, replaced by a freezing, hollow ache in her chest.