Chapter 2

"Something this petty." I closed my eyes, and the sickening stench of mold and blood from that abandoned factory rushed back. A kidnapper's leather shoe ground into the left side of my face, gravel from the concrete biting into my skin.

Bucket after bucket of icy water was dumped over me. Rats crawled over my feet. My ribs were broken, and curled up in the corner, I used trembling fingers to dial the number I knew by heart again and again.

Every single time, the only thing I heard was a mechanical female voice: "Sorry, the number you dialed is busy right now..." And all that time, he was with Julia Sinclair at her checkup.

I opened my eyes, and acid surged into my throat. I turned my head and bent over the edge of the bed, dry heaving until nothing came out except bitter bile.

Thomas's expression changed. He reached toward my back, as if to pat it. The instant his fingertips were about to touch my hospital gown, I recoiled, and my back slammed hard against the headboard.

"Don't touch me." I stared at him, breathing fast, my fingers clenched tight in the bedsheet.

Thomas's hand hung frozen in midair. Looking at how guarded I was, the fury in his eyes surged again.

"Fine." He tugged at his tie and let out a cold laugh. "Since you love acting so high and mighty, stay here by yourself. When your head clears and you learn how to talk properly, then get your ass back to the Fletcher house."

He turned and strode toward the door. When his hand closed around the handle, he paused, as if waiting for me to cry and call after him like I used to.

The room stayed dead silent except for the machine's dull, steady beeping.

Three seconds later, he slammed the door and left.

I watched the door keep shaking, then slowly picked up the pen from the nightstand and wrote my own name in the line marked Family Signature, one stroke at a time.

On the fourth day after surgery, I checked out of the hospital.

The nurse helped me stuff a few changes of clothes into a plastic bag. She looked at my lonely figure and seemed like she wanted to help carry it. I shook my head, took the bag, and walked out into the late-autumn wind myself.

I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address for Hillcrest Manor. He kept glancing at me through the rearview mirror. Maybe he thought my pale face and cheap sweats didn't belong in a place where every inch of land cost a fortune.

The car finally stopped outside the ornate iron gates.

I pushed open the door, and cold wind poured down my collar. When I reached the gate, I pressed my finger to the scanner. "Beep. Fingerprint not recognized."

I froze for a second and tried again with my thumb. "Beep. Fingerprint not recognized."

Nanny May, who had been watering the plants inside, heard the sound and walked over after setting down the hose. Through the gate, she looked me up and down, her eyes full of open contempt.

"Well, look who's back, Mrs. Fletcher." May dragged out the words in a nasty, mocking tone. "Mr. Fletcher gave orders a few days ago. Said the system was being upgraded, so all the old fingerprints were wiped.

"I figured you'd be staying out a little longer."

System upgrade. It was Thomas's way of warning me, making sure I understood that this house could kick me out whenever it wanted.

I said nothing. I just looked at Nanny quietly.

She got a little uneasy and, unwillingly, pressed the remote. The iron gates slowly slid open.

I walked past her and entered the living room. The air was filled with the expensive scent of sandalwood incense, Thomas's favorite. I used to light it myself every day to please him.

Now the smell only made me sick, and I headed straight for the bedroom upstairs.

When I pushed the door open, the walk-in closet looked like a high-end boutique.

I didn't even glance at the glittering things inside. I walked to the farthest corner, pulled open the bottom drawer, and took out a faded canvas bag. My grandfather had left it to me before he died.

I unzipped it, packed his diary from the vanity inside, then added two old outfits I'd bought for myself years ago.

My gaze swept over the velvet jewelry box in the middle of the vanity. Inside lay a five-carat pink diamond ring.

Thomas had tossed it to me like it was nothing on our wedding day and told me to behave myself if I wanted the title of Mrs. Fletcher.

I reached out and pinched the ring between my fingers. The metal felt cold enough to sting. I took it out and casually tossed it onto the glass surface. It bounced twice with a crisp clink before coming to a stop.

Then I zipped the canvas bag and headed downstairs.

Just as I reached the stairs, the phone in my pocket started vibrating. The screen flashed the name Charles, Thomas's chief secretary.

I pressed accept and held the phone to my right ear.

"Mrs. Fletcher." Charles's voice was cold and businesslike, with a trace of impatience. "Mr. Fletcher has an international meeting tonight and won't be coming back to the villa.

"He asked me to tell you that if you're short on money, he can unfreeze the card linked to his account. But only if you go apologize to Miss Julia Sinclair in person."

I stopped walking, my fingers tightening around the stair rail as the wood dug into my palm. "Are you done?"

There was a pause on the other end. He clearly hadn't expected that response from me. In the past, I'd already have been screaming and cursing into the phone.

"If you're done, then tell Thomas this." I looked at the spotless marble floor downstairs. "I never touched a single one of his cards. They're all in the master bedroom drawer. He can go check for himself."