Chapter 1
They locked me inside a glass display case and filled it with water while they laughed.
That was how the Whitmore family finally showed me what they had always wanted.
Not out of the house.
Not out of their bloodline.
Gone.
The display case stood in the grand hall of the Whitmore estate, beneath portraits of dead men who looked just as cold as the living ones watching me drown.
It had once held antique armor.
That night, it held me.
Six of them dragged me there.
Charles Whitmore, my father-in-law.
His wife, Beatrice.
Their sons, Grant and Malcolm.
Their daughter, Vivian.
And Vivian’s husband, Peter.
My husband, Adrian, was away in London on business.
Or so I had been told.
Charles called it “a family lesson.”
Beatrice called it “a correction.”
Grant laughed and said, “Let’s see how long street trash can hold her breath.”
I screamed when they shoved me inside.
I fought.
I kicked.
I clawed.
But Peter slammed the glass door shut, and Malcolm dropped the heavy latch.
The click sounded like death.
Then Charles turned on the hose.
Cold water poured from above.
At first, it splashed against my hair and shoulders.
Then it pooled around my shoes.
My ankles.
My knees.
I pounded the glass with both fists.
“Please!”
They stood outside with champagne glasses.
Watching.
Betting.
“Five minutes,” Charles said.
Grant grinned.
“Three. She’s too weak for five.”
Beatrice looked bored.
Vivian took a video.
The water reached my waist.
Then my chest.
My dress clung to me.
My breathing turned sharp and broken.
I slapped the glass until my hands burned.
“Adrian will know!”
Beatrice smiled.
“Adrian will believe whatever we tell him.”
The water reached my throat.
Panic tore through me.
I pressed my face to the glass and saw my own reflection.
Pale.
Soaked.
Terrified.
Then the double doors at the end of the hall burst inward.
Everyone turned.
A man in a black suit walked in.
Tall.
Silent.
Terrifyingly calm.
I recognized him from one newspaper photograph.
Elias Thorne.
The billionaire who owned half the city and trusted almost no one.
He walked past the Whitmores like they were furniture.
In his right hand was a sledgehammer.
Charles shouted, “Who the hell are you?”
Elias did not answer.
May you like
He raised the hammer.
The glass exploded.
