Chapter 1 - The Sound of Betrayal
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The first thing I heard was Atlas’s skull striking the cold, unforgiving marble of the library floor. The sound was a dull, sickening thud that vibrated through the soles of my shoes.
The second thing I heard was my brother’s voice, low and dripping with a twisted, manic delight.
“If you don’t make me rich tonight,” Adrian whispered, his breath carrying the faint scent of expensive scotch and stale mints, “mom and dad are going to burn.”
I hit the floor hard, my knees buckling as a heavy hand shoved me downward. My chin slammed into the polished stone, and I felt the sharp sting of my lip splitting open. Warm, metallic-tasting blood immediately slid over my chin, dripping onto the collar of my silk blouse.
Beside me, Atlas—my golden retriever, my faithful guide dog, my absolute shadow for the past seven years—scrambled desperately against the slick floor. He let out a high-pitched, broken whimper that tore right through the center of my chest.
Before I could reach out to comfort him, I heard the heavy scuff of a leather dress shoe. Adrian kicked him again.
“Stop,” I said, my voice tight but remarkably steady.
Adrian laughed, a cruel, hollow sound that echoed off the high, vaulted ceiling of my private library.
“There she is,” he mocked, pacing slowly around me. “The helpless little queen. The brilliant, untouchable CEO, finally down on her knees where she belongs.”
My wrists were securely zip-tied behind my back, the thick plastic digging painfully into my skin every time I tried to shift my weight. I forced myself to sit upright, breathing through the throbbing pain in my face. I didn't give him the satisfaction of a grimace. I kept my face entirely blank, my unseeing eyes staring straight ahead into the darkness I had lived in for years.
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Somewhere far below this magnificent room, deep in the sprawling, cavernous wine cellar of my estate, my adoptive parents were supposedly bound to wooden chairs. According to Adrian, they were surrounded by open cans of gasoline, waiting for a single match to drop.
He wanted me terrified. He needed me broken. But as the blood dripped from my chin, the only thing I felt was a cold, calculating rage.
