The SUV sped down the Long Island Expressway.
Colette was curled into a tight ball on the floorboards of the backseat. She was crying so hard she was dry heaving, her body convulsing with every gasp for air.
Bishop frowned in annoyance. He reached over and hit the window switch.
The glass rolled down. Freezing, violent wind roared into the cabin, whipping against Colette's thin clothes and chilling her to the bone.
Thirty minutes later, the massive, wrought-iron gates of the Vance estate slowly parted.
The SUV crunched over the gravel driveway and rolled to a stop in front of a towering marble fountain.
The door opened. Colette tried to push herself up, but her legs were completely numb.
Two massive estate guards reached in. They grabbed her under the armpits and hauled her out of the car like a sack of garbage.
Her left sneaker fell off, hitting the pavement. Her bare foot dragged against the rough stone as they hauled her up the wide granite steps.
Alistair Pemberton, the head butler, pulled open the heavy mahogany double doors.
The guards dragged her into the center of the grand foyer. They let go.
Colette hit the hard marble floor with a sickening thud. The impact scraped the skin off her palms. She curled inward, a weak moan escaping her lips.
Mitch and Brenda Higgins were sitting on the velvet sofas in the living room. When they saw her, they shot to their feet.
Brenda's sharp heels clicked furiously against the marble. She lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of Colette's tangled hair, yanking her head back.
Smack.
The slap echoed through the massive hall. Brenda's palm struck Colette's cheek with explosive force.
Colette's head snapped to the side. Her ears rang violently. A warm drop of blood pooled in the corner of her mouth.
Mitch stood over her, his face purple with rage. "You murderer!" he screamed, pointing a shaking finger at her. "You ruined my daughter's life!"
Colette swallowed the blood in her mouth. "I didn't," she sobbed, her words slurring from the pain. "I wasn't even involved in the party planning..."
The denial pushed Brenda over the edge. She pulled back her pointed leather shoe and kicked Colette squarely in the stomach.
Colette screamed. She curled into a tight ball, clutching her abdomen. Cold sweat instantly soaked through her shirt.
A dozen maids stood in the shadows of the hallway. Not a single one moved to help.
Brenda was panting, completely unhinged. She reached over to a side table, grabbed a heavy crystal vase filled with freezing water and wilted roses, and hurled the freezing contents directly into Colette's face, before lunging forward to violently tear at her collar.
"Stop."
The single, icy word cut through the chaos.
Brenda froze. The dripping vase hovered in her shaking hands.
Ferris walked slowly down the curved grand staircase. His hands were in his pockets. He didn't look angry; he looked bored.
He stepped up to Brenda, took the heavy vase from her trembling hands, and tossed it carelessly onto the rug.
Mitch glared at him. "Why did you bring her here, Ferris? Why did you marry the bitch who destroyed Ellie?"
Ferris let out a dark chuckle. He didn't even glance down at Colette, who was bleeding at his feet.
"It's a media trap," Ferris said, keeping his voice low. "Ellie is out there hiding. She's watching. If she sees me parading this trash around as my beloved new wife, it will trigger an emotional response. It will force her out of hiding."
Mitch and Brenda stared at him. Slowly, the rage in their eyes morphed into a desperate, twisted hope.
Lying on the freezing marble, Colette heard every single word.
The last fragile piece of her soul shattered into dust. She wasn't even a person to him. She was just a piece of bait on a hook.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Hot, humiliating tears ran down her bruised face and dripped onto the cold stone.
