Chapter 2

"You are lying," I whispered. "I went to her funeral. I stood by her grave. I watched them lower her into the ground."

"It was a closed casket, Zoe," he said smoothly. "You buried an empty wooden box. Your mother is currently resting in a private clinic. She is in a medically induced coma. I pay the elite doctors. I own the highly secure facility. And I control the machines that keep her lungs breathing."

"Why?" I choked out. "Why would you do this to me?"

"Because leverage is everything," he replied. "You are my wife. You belong to me. Your absolute obedience is the only currency that keeps those life support machines running. If you defy me again, if you ever try to walk out that door, I will make one phone call. I will end her life without a second thought."

He turned his back on me and walked away.

I collapsed onto the cold marble floor. I cried until my throat bled.

I cried for the terrifying reality that she was trapped in a nightmare.

But I could not stay on the floor forever. I had to save her.

I wiped my wet face with the back of my trembling hand. I forced my aching body to stand. I needed help. I needed my father. If he knew his true wife was still alive, he would finally step up.

He would fight for her. He would use whatever influence he had left to save us both.

I crept down the dark hallway toward the staff quarters.

I found a maid's winter coat hanging on a brass hook in the mudroom.

I reached into the deep pocket. My fingers brushed against cold plastic. I pulled it out.

My hands shook violently as I dialed my father's private number. I pressed the phone to my ear. I squeezed my eyes shut. I listened to the first ring. A desperate, naive hope flared in my chest.

Before the second ring could sound, a hand shot out from the shadows.

The phone was violently snatched from my grip.

I gasped and spun around.

My aunt stood in the dim light of the hallway.

"Who are we calling, little bird?" she sneered. She tapped the screen, ending the call immediately.

"Give that back to me," I demanded as I reached for the phone.

"You always were a pathetic, naive girl," she said. "Did you really think you could just call your daddy to come rescue you? He does not care about you, Zoe."

"What are you doing here?" I asked. "Reeve hates you. He bought me to clear the debt. You are not supposed to be here."

My aunt threw her head back and laughed.

"Reeve does not hate me, Zoe. I have always had free reign of this estate. I come and go exactly as I please."

"Why are you keeping this secret from my father? If he knew my mother was alive—"

"He would leave me," she interrupted. "He would drop me in a heartbeat and run right back to her. I could never let that happen. I worked too hard to take her place."

The final illusion of my family shattered into a million jagged pieces.

"You knew," I whispered. The truth hit me like a physical blow. "You knew she was alive this whole time."

"Of course I knew," she mocked. She took a slow step closer. "Who do you think arranged the accident, Zoe?"

My blood ran cold. The floor seemed to drop out from under me.

"What did you do?" I choked out.

"I tampered with the brakes on her car," she confessed. "Three years ago, I crawled under her pristine little sedan and cut the brake lines. I wanted her dead. I wanted your father. I wanted his wealth and his status. I wanted the life she stole from me. But she did not die. She survived the crash. She was in a coma. That was when Reeve stepped in. He offered me a brilliant deal."

"A deal?" I repeated.

"Reeve needed a submissive, broken wife," she explained. "He needed a quiet girl to uphold his clean public image. He took you off my hands. In exchange, he hid your mother away in his private clinic. He kept my secret. I got to keep your father and his money without any interference. It was a perfect arrangement."

Before I could scream, before I could even react to the sheer evil of her words, my aunt grabbed my arm. She dragged me down the hall.

I fought her, but I was weak from starvation and shock.

She shoved me hard. I stumbled backward into an old, unused storage room. It had no windows. The air inside was freezing.

"Rot in here, little bird," she spat.

She slammed the heavy oak door shut.

I heard the deadbolt slide into place with a heavy, final click.

I rushed to the door. I pounded my fists against the thick wood. I screamed for help until my voice was entirely gone.

No one came. No one cared.

I slid down the door and hit the freezing stone floor.

Hours passed. The cold seeped into my bones. I closed my eyes, waiting for the end. Then, a soft scratching sound broke the silence.

When I opened my eyes, a sliver of light shone under the door crack. A piece of thick parchment paper slid under the door with a small, heavy brass key.

"Zoe," a frail, familiar voice whispered through the crack.

It was Martha. She was the old, loyal housekeeper. She had served my mother for twenty years before my aunt took over.

"Martha?" I croaked.

"Take the key," she whispered urgently. "I stole it from the guard's desk. You must leave tonight."

I crawled toward the door. My trembling fingers picked up the brass key. I grabbed the folded parchment. It was sealed with dark red wax. I broke the seal and opened the letter.

The handwriting was elegant and familiar. It was my mother's handwriting.

My dearest Zoe, the letter read. If you are reading this, I am awake. I am safe. But we are running out of time. Come to 424 Blackwood Avenue. Trust no one else.