Deanna was falling. The darkness swallowed her whole, filled with the phantom smell of burning wood and the imagined screams of her parents trapped in the flames.
Then, the sharp, chemical stench of medical bleach forced its way into her nostrils, dragging her back to consciousness.
Deanna's eyelids felt like they were lined with sandpaper. She slowly blinked them open. The blurry shapes above her sharpened into the ceiling of a lavish, sterile white VIP hospital room.
She tried to sit up. Her left arm yanked to a sudden, painful halt.
Deanna looked down. Her left wrist was strapped to the metal bed rail with a thick, white medical restraint. An IV needle was taped to the back of her hand, feeding clear liquid into her veins.
Panic spiked in her chest. She yanked her arm, the restraint biting into her bruised skin.
Before she could scream for help, the sharp clack-clack-clack of designer heels echoed on the marble floor outside her door, accompanied by high-pitched, mocking laughter.
The heavy door was shoved open. Candy strutted into the room, wearing a flawless Chanel pre-fall tweed suit. Flanking her were two women dripping in Cartier jewelry-her socialite friends.
Socialite A pinched her nose in exaggerated disgust, looking down at Deanna. "Oh my god, Candy. Is this the crazy woman who went missing? She looks like a stray dog. And she actually thinks she can steal your husband?"
Socialite B pulled out her phone, the camera flash going off right in Deanna's face. "I'm sending this to the group chat. Everyone needs to see what a delusional mistress looks like."
Mistress.
The word was a poisoned needle driven straight into Deanna's eardrum. Her chest heaved. She glared at them, her throat too raw and dry to form words, managing only a low, furious hiss.
Candy walked right up to the edge of the bed. She looked down at Deanna, her eyes shining with the absolute arrogance of a victor.
Candy leaned in close, the smell of her expensive perfume suffocating Deanna. "I sleep in your bed," Candy whispered, so low the other women couldn't hear. "I spend your parents' money. And you are nothing but a crazy whore tied to a bed."
Pure, blinding rage ignited in Deanna's blood. She didn't care about the pain. She thrashed violently against the bed, throwing her entire body weight sideways. The sudden movement yanked the IV tube tight. The needle tore at her vein, and a rush of dark red blood shot backward up the clear plastic tubing.
The socialites shrieked and jumped back, horrified by the blood.
Candy sneered and slammed her hand on the nurse call button. "Get in here and sedate this psycho!" she yelled.
A nurse rushed in holding a syringe, but before she could approach the bed, the door opened wider.
Joseph walked in. His suit was immaculate, not a single wrinkle in the fabric.
Deanna stopped thrashing. She looked at Joseph, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her eyes begged him to tell the truth. To tell these women that she was his legal wife, the woman he had sworn to love.
Socialite A immediately grabbed Joseph's arm, pouting. "Joseph, this crazy woman just tried to attack Candy! She's dangerous!"
Joseph's eyes flicked to the blood dripping down Deanna's hand. He stared at it for exactly one second before his gaze turned as cold and dead as a frozen lake.
He looked at Candy, then at the socialites. He needed the Riley family's money. He needed the public image of a perfect marriage.
Joseph said nothing. He didn't correct them. His silence was the final nail in Deanna's coffin, cementing her status as the delusional mistress.
The light in Deanna's eyes died completely. The desperation vanished, replaced by an icy, hollow void. She finally saw the monster hiding beneath his tailored suits.
Joseph stepped toward the nurse. "Hold the sedative," he ordered, using his authority as a board member. He turned to Deanna, leaning over the bed.
"If you ever go near Candy again," Joseph whispered, his voice a lethal threat, "I will use every judge I own to have you permanently committed to the State Psychiatric Hospital. You will never see the sun again."
Deanna looked at the lips that used to kiss her. She felt a surge of bile rise in her throat. She stopped pulling against the restraints.
"Get out," Deanna rasped, her voice devoid of any human emotion.
Joseph flinched slightly at the pure hatred in her eyes. He adjusted his tie, turned his back on her, and escorted Candy and her friends out of the room.
The door clicked shut. The room fell into a dead silence, broken only by the steady beep of the heart monitor. Deanna didn't cry. Her tears were gone. Only stone remained.
She closed her eyes and waited.
Hours passed. The lights dimmed. Deanna lay perfectly still, feigning a deep, sedated sleep every time the nursing staff checked on her-which they did every thirty minutes like clockwork. She memorized their patterns. At exactly 11:45 PM, a code blue alarm blared from the opposite end of the VIP wing. The sudden chaos drew the heavy footsteps of the floor's security detail and the primary night nurse away from her door. It was a chaotic, three-minute window of shift-change confusion and emergency response. The hallway outside fell momentarily silent. Deanna's eyes snapped open.
She twisted her body, bringing her restrained wrist close to the metal bed rail. Her keen eyes had spotted a loose, jagged screw protruding slightly from the adjustable hinge of the rail. She pressed the thick plastic buckle of the restraint against the sharp metal edge. Gritting her teeth against the agonizing pull on her bruised wrist, she began to saw the plastic back and forth with frantic, relentless friction. Her muscles burned, and sweat beaded on her forehead, but she didn't stop until the weakened plastic finally gave way with a dull snap.
She ripped her arm free. Without hesitating, she grabbed the IV needle taped to her hand and ripped it out. Blood immediately welled up, dripping onto the white sheets. She pressed her thumb hard against the puncture wound.
She swung her bare feet over the edge of the bed, her toes hitting the freezing linoleum floor. She opened the small closet. Inside hung a gray utility jacket left behind by the cleaning staff. She pulled it on over her hospital gown.
Moving like a ghost, she slipped out the door. She hugged the walls, avoiding the red glow of the security cameras, and pushed through the heavy metal doors of the fire escape stairs.
She descended six flights in the dark. She hit the ground floor and slammed her shoulder against the emergency exit bar.
The door flew open. A blast of freezing rain and wind hit her face. Deanna stepped out into the black, storm-swept alley of Seaport City, running into the night.
