Ella turned her back on Leland. She walked down the narrow, dimly lit corridor-a secluded passageway designed specifically to connect the main ballroom to the VIP lounges-her cheap shoes making soft scuffing sounds against the carpet.
The hallway smelled of dust and old wiring. The overhead fluorescent lights flickered, casting long, broken shadows against the walls.
She reached a corner where the corridor intersected with a heavy glass door leading to an outdoor terrace.
As she stepped past the door, a massive hand shot out from the darkness.
Thick fingers clamped around her wrist like a steel vice.
Before Ella could even gasp, a violent yank pulled her off her feet. She was dragged through the glass door and out into the freezing night air of the unlit terrace.
Her back slammed against the exterior marble wall. The impact knocked the breath out of her lungs.
The black paper bag slipped from her fingers, hitting the concrete floor with a dull thud.
Ella gasped for air. Her shoulder blades throbbed from the hard marble. She forced her eyes open, blinking against the sudden darkness.
The moonlight caught the sharp, angular jawline of the man pinning her to the wall.
Ivan Campbell. Her second oldest brother.
Ivan's eyes were bloodshot. The smell of expensive bourbon radiated from his pores. He leaned in close, his chest pressing heavily against hers, trapping her completely.
"Look who crawled out of the loony bin," Ivan sneered. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble.
Ella tried to pull her wrist free. She twisted her arm, but Ivan's grip was immovable. The difference in their physical strength was absolute.
Ivan laughed. He squeezed her wrist harder. Ella felt the bones in her arm grind together. A sharp, hot pain shot up to her elbow.
"You still smell like the ghetto," Ivan whispered, his face inches from hers. "You think putting on a dress tonight changes what you are? You're a mistake. You should have stayed lost when you were three."
Ella stopped struggling. She let her arm go limp in his grip.
She looked up into Ivan's furious, bloodshot eyes. The cold wind whipped her hair across her face.
"Why, Ivan?" Ella asked. Her voice was quiet, cutting through the wind. "From the day they brought me back when I was fourteen. You hated me instantly. Why?"
Ivan's jaw ticked. The muscle jumped under his skin. "Because you ruined this family. You made Mom and Dad look at you instead of Ashlyn."
Ella let out a short, dry laugh. The sound was entirely devoid of humor.
"You don't give a damn about Ashlyn," Ella said, her eyes piercing through his drunken haze. "You hate me because I'm real. Because you're terrified."
Ivan's breathing hitched. "Shut up."
"You're a violent, out-of-control brute," Ella continued, her words precise and surgical. "You realized the moment I walked into that house that I was smarter than you. You were terrified that the little trash girl from the foster system was going to outshine the great Ivan Campbell."
Ivan's face contorted. The truth hit him like a physical blow, shattering his fragile ego.
"I said shut up!" Ivan roared. His furious shout echoed violently down the secluded hallway, the sheer volume of his voice vibrating against the glass door.
He let go of her wrist. His large, heavy hand flew up into the air, his fingers curling into a thick, brutal fist.
