The red light on the camera died.
Paige Turner stood up, shaking Ferris's hand with a satisfied smile before her team began breaking down the heavy equipment.
The moment the cameras were pointed at the floor, Ferris dropped his arm from Colette's waist. He stepped away from her so fast it was as if she had caught fire.
He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a black silk square, and aggressively wiped the palm that had just been holding her hand.
Colette watched him do it. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted iron. The humiliation burned hotter than the physical pain in her shoulder.
They walked out of the sunroom in silence, heading down the long corridor toward their separate holding rooms.
Just as they reached the corner, a woman in a skin-tight, blood-red dress stepped out from a side hallway, blocking their path.
It was Keira Higgins. Ellie's older half-sister.
Keira planted her high heels into the carpet, crossing her arms. Her eyes raked over Colette's expensive white gown with pure, acidic jealousy.
"Look at this," Keira sneered, her voice echoing off the walls. "A convicted criminal playing dress-up. You have no shame, do you?"
Colette stopped. She was so physically and mentally exhausted her bones ached. She tried to step to the side to walk past her.
Keira shifted, blocking her again. "You think you won because you manipulated your way into his bed? You stole my sister's life!"
"Move, Keira," Colette said, her voice hollow.
"Make me, you piece of trash!" Keira lunged forward. Her manicured hands grabbed the delicate lace neckline of Colette's gown.
She yanked hard.
Riiiiip.
The left strap of the couture dress tore, slipping off Colette's shoulder and exposing the pale skin of her collarbone.
Colette gasped, her hands flying up to cover her chest. Her eyes widened in shock.
Keira laughed, a cruel, ugly sound. Without warning, Keira raised her right hand and swung.
Smack.
The slap landed squarely on Colette's cheek, right over the heavy makeup hiding her previous bruise.
The force of the blow sent Colette stumbling backward. Her spine slammed hard against the carved wooden wainscoting of the hallway. Her ears rang, and the skin on her face felt like it had been set on fire.
Up ahead, Ferris's phone buzzed. He pulled it out, and the moment he saw the caller ID, the color drained slightly from his face. His jaw locked. He turned to Colette, his eyes narrowing into a lethal glare. "Stand exactly here. Do not move a single muscle," he commanded coldly, before turning the corner into a private study to take the call, disappearing from sight.
Colette watched his broad back vanish.
He was gone. There were no cameras. No guards.
The dam inside Colette broke. Two years of prison, the death of her father, the beatings, the humiliation-it all surged into her blood like adrenaline.
She pushed herself off the wall. She adjusted her torn strap with eerie calmness. Her eyes locked onto Keira, cold and dead.
Keira smirked, raising her hand to strike again. "What are you gonna do, you little-"
Colette planted her feet, twisted her hips, and swung her arm with every ounce of strength she had left in her body.
CRACK.
Her palm connected with Keira's cheekbone with the force of a baseball bat.
Keira's eyes rolled back. Her stiletto twisted on the carpet, and she collapsed backward, hitting the floor in a heap of red fabric.
Keira clutched her rapidly swelling face, her mouth open in shock before a piercing, pig-like squeal erupted from her throat.
Colette stood over her, breathing heavily. She looked down at the crying woman like she was a stain on the rug.
"Touch me again," Colette whispered, her voice shaking with rage, "and I will kill you."
She turned around and pushed open the door to the lounge.
