Chapter 3

The guards slammed me to the hardwood floor, their knees digging into my spine, pinning my arms.

Tessa crouched beside me, her eyes gleaming with a sick, frantic joy.

Smack.

Her hand connected with my cheek. Then again. Her acrylic nails raked across my face, leaving deep, bleeding scratches. I tasted copper.

"Where's that Rothwell pride now?" she hissed, her breath sour against my skin.

I looked at Grant, begging with my eyes for just a shred of the boy I used to love. He just took a sip of his bourbon and smiled.

"Strip her," Tessa commanded.

Before I could react, the guards tore off my coat and my silk blouse. I thrashed wildly, but it was useless. They pinned me half-naked against the cold floor.

Tessa pulled out her phone. The blinding flash of the camera fired again and again.

"Look at you!" Tessa cackled, snapping pictures of my bruised, half-naked body. "The great, untouchable Cecilia Rothwell! Ruined!"

"You're dead, Tessa," I choked out through the blood.

Tessa grabbed my jaw, her nails digging into my fresh wounds. "If you ever try to fight back, I'll leak these to the press. I'll tell the world the flawless CEO is a drug-addicted freak who loves underground sex parties. Your pristine reputation? Your parents' dignity? Gone in a second."

She had taken my company. My man. And now, my dignity.

Grant finally stood up, adjusting his cufflinks.

"Throw her in the cellar," he ordered. "Seven days. No food, no water. When I come back, I expect a broken dog who knows how to obey. Or I'll sell those pictures, and I'll send your parents to the Feds."

They dragged me down the concrete stairs and tossed me into the pitch-black basement.

"Enjoy the dark, bitch!" Tessa yelled from the top of the stairs. "When you get out, I'll let you watch us fuck on your wedding night!"

The heavy oak door slammed shut. The deadbolt slid home.

I lay in the freezing dark, shivering and bleeding. My mind began to slip. I thought of the empire I'd built, brick by brick, for a man who wanted to destroy me.

I can't die here, I whispered to the dust.

I wasn't a victim. I was a Rothwell. And if I was going to burn, I would drag the entire Mercer family into hell with me.

My vision dimmed as suffocating darkness closed in.

Then the silence shattered.

BOOM.

The reinforced cellar door blew inward, sending splinters flying like shrapnel.

Through the smoke, a figure emerged—tall, lethal, and devastatingly familiar.

"Celia?"