The roar of engines shook the air at the Hamptons track.
I sat low in the driver’s seat of my rented coupe, fingers clamped tight on the wheel. When the green flag dropped, I pressed the pedal to the floor. The car surged forward into the pack.
On the fourth lap, a sleek black sports car pulled up fast on my left.
I glanced over.
Calvin was behind the wheel. Through the glass, our eyes locked. His jaw tightened. His eyes flashed with cold anger when he recognized me. He didn't want his obedient wife on his track.
Turn six was coming up fast. It was a sharp, narrow curve bordered by steep gravel.
Instead of braking, Calvin accelerated. His car swung hard to the right, deliberately cutting across my lane to box me out. He gave me nowhere to go.
I slammed on the brakes. The tires screamed. The car lost traction on the loose dirt shoulder, fish-tailed, and hit the embankment.
The world flipped violently.
Metal screeched as the roof caved in. Glass exploded over my skin like crushed ice. The car rolled once, then twice, before slamming to a dead halt upside down.
Smoke filled the cabin. A sharp, white-hot bolt of agony tore through my chest. My left wrist hung at an unnatural angle. Blood dripped warm and steady into my eyes.
Sirens wailed in the distance. When the rescue crew cut me out of the crushed frame, I couldn't breathe without tasting copper.
Calvin won the race.
I found out that evening from a nurse's phone. A private photo had leaked from my parents' estate in Greenwich. Cleo stood beneath the garden lights in a white dress. Pinned over her heart was Grandmother Lawson’s ivy brooch. Calvin stood right behind her, tall and elegant, holding a glass of champagne.
At nine o'clock, Calvin walked into my hospital room.
He didn't bring flowers. He didn't sit down. He stood at the foot of my bed, impeccably dressed, checking his platinum wristwatch.
"You were reckless, Aspen," he said. His voice was completely flat. "Entering a race like that was foolish. You could have killed someone."
My ribs were cracked. My wrist was cast in plaster. Cuts covered the left side of my face.
I didn't answer. I just stared at him.
He stayed for exactly eleven minutes. When his phone vibrated, he glanced at the screen, turned on his heel, and walked out without another word.
I lay alone in the dim room, watching clear saline drip through the plastic IV tube into my vein. Drip. Drip. Drip.
My mind felt clear and cold.
Five billion dollars. That was the number. My parents had the liquid assets. Calvin had the empire. If they wanted me erased so their miracle could take my place, they were going to pay for it.
One week later, I discharged myself and returned to the penthouse.
I limped through the front doors, my ribs bound tight under a dark knit sweater. Calvin was standing by the wet bar in the living room, pouring amber scotch into a tumbler.
He looked up. A slight flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly buried beneath his usual calm mask.
"You should be resting," he said.
I walked toward him, moving slowly to keep my ribs from grinding together. I stopped three feet away.
"The ivy brooch," I said. My voice was low, steady, and devoid of tears. "It belonged to my grandmother. She promised it to me before she died."
Calvin didn't move. "It was an auction item, Aspen."
"You knew what it was," I said. "You won it and gave it to a stranger."
Calvin set his glass down on the marble counter with a sharp *clink*. His eyes darkened. My lack of screaming seemed to rattle him more than a tantrum ever could.
"Lorelei is not a stranger," he snapped, his voice rising. "She is your sister. She survived ten years of hell abroad, and you begrudge her a piece of jewelry?"
"It was mine," I repeated quietly.
"You are childish!" Calvin took a step forward, towering over me. The vein in his neck pulsed with sudden, sharp fury. "You entered that race to spite her. You wrecked your car to play the victim. You have done nothing but pick fights since the day she came home!"
I didn't flinch. I didn't blink. I simply looked up into his angry, handsome face.
My silence pushed him over the edge. He hated that he couldn't break me. He hated that I wasn't begging for his approval anymore.
"You want to act like a bitter, hysterical child?" Calvin's jaw clenched tight. "Then you can sit alone until you learn some respect."
He grabbed my uninjured right arm. His grip was steel. He dragged me down the private elevator, all the way to the penthouse basement level.
He stopped in front of a heavy, solid steel door. It was an old, windowless storage room used for seasonal furniture.
He shoved me inside.
I stumbled over a rolled-up rug, my cracked ribs flaring in agony as I caught myself against the wall.
"Calvin—"
"Mrs. Reed is resting," Calvin said to the building security guard standing by the hall. His voice was cold as winter frost. "She is not to be disturbed. Keep this door locked."
The heavy door slammed shut.
The deadbolt turned with a loud, final click.
Then, the overhead bulb clicked off from the outside switch.
Total, pitch-black darkness swallowed the room. I stood in the absolute silence, my breath coming in shallow, painful gasps.
I didn't bang on the door. I didn't shed a tear.
I sat down on the cold concrete floor, leaned my back against the wall, and closed my eyes in the dark.
I could wait.
