Confetti from my 99th IPO was still falling when a hood was thrown over my head and I was shoved into a van. I expected a ransom demand, but instead found my biological parents who abandoned me twenty years ago. "Your sister ruined a gift Stephen Whitford bought his wife," my father commanded coldly. "You'll take the blame." The daughter they raised in my place sobbed theatrically. "Stella, even if Stephen tortures you to death, Mom and Dad will finally welcome you back for this." My birth-assigned fiancé—a stranger—dabbed her crocodile tears with adoration. "It's your privilege to pay for Isabelle's mistake," he snarled. "If you say one wrong word, I'll ruin you!" He leaned closer. "Stephen has a nasty temper. Beg, plead, crawl into his bed if you must—just keep his anger away from Isabelle's family." I stared blankly. They wanted me to beg mercy from my husband? The one currently giving me the silent treatment after storming out? So my gorgeous, petty man had bought me a birthday gift after all. Was he ready to make up? … A laugh escaped me. I couldn’t help it. They were literally planning to send me back to my own home. Well, this might work out perfectly. Maybe when he saw me like this, that big baby would feel a pang of sympathy and drop his grudge. My parents were still barking orders at me. "Do you have any idea who the Whitfords are?" my mother shrieked. "If they hold this against your sister, her entire life will be destroyed!" "You're tough, you grew up in the gutter, you can take a beating," my father added. "But Isabelle is different. She's been raised in comfort, not like you, who clawed your way up from nothing." Isabelle immediately threw herself into the arms of my supposed fiancé, Caleb. "Caleb, darling, I didn't mean to," she whimpered. "I was just trying to wipe a smudge off the gift for Mr. Whitford's wife, and my hand slipped…" Caleb wrapped his arms around her, cooing reassurances before glaring back at me. "Stella, if you try any funny business, I won't just run you out of Port Sterling. I'll make sure that pathetic little startup of yours goes bankrupt overnight!" A pathetic little startup? Any one of my 99 publicly traded companies could buy his entire family dynasty ten times over. And he called them pathetic? I suppressed another smile and asked meekly, "So… what exactly do you want me to do?" Seeing me submit, Isabelle’s tears vanished. Her chin went up. "Everyone knows Stephen Whitford is a monster—brutal and cruel," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. "If he hits you, you take it. If he screams at you, you endure it. You do whatever he wants until his anger is spent!" My mother chimed in, "Exactly. And you have a pretty face. Once Mr. Whitford is done playing with you, he might forget all about our family's little mistake." "And when it's all over," she finished with a magnanimous flourish, "we'll let you rejoin the family. We'll even find you a decent husband!" Isabelle traced circles on Caleb's chest, her eyes glinting. "I know this is terribly unfair, darling sister," she purred. "But you're the older one. You should be the one to make sacrifices." "And even if you don't make it back, Mom, Dad, and I will set up a nice memorial for you. We'll visit it every year, I promise." Well, damn. They already had my funeral planned. That tiny flicker of excitement I’d felt at finally finding my birth family was stomped out, ground into dust. It made sense, I suppose. If they could abandon me twenty years ago, they weren't exactly going to be model parents now. Caleb pulled a photograph from his pocket and tossed it at my face. "Take a good look. This is Stephen Whitford, the heir to Whitford Industries!" The man in the photo had eyes that could drown you and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. Devastatingly handsome. And, yup, that was my husband. The one who'd stormed out and was now refusing to answer my calls. He really did have a temper. Petty and vindictive. The whole reason we were fighting was that I'd been too busy with the IPO to spend time with him. And yet, even while he was sulking, he'd still bought me a birthday present. The man was all bark and no bite. Adorable, really. I pocketed the photo, forcing a tremor into my voice. "Is he… is he going to kill me?" My father snorted, waving a dismissive hand. "Hmph. That depends on how useful you can be. Now stop wasting time and get going!" As I moved toward the door, Caleb grabbed my arm. "Wait." He eyed me suspiciously. "You're not planning to pull a fast one and escape, are you?" I almost laughed at his self-important act. Escape? Did a person "escape" to their own home? He leaned in, his voice a low threat. "I'm warning you, Stella. I know your type. You grew up on the streets, all sly words and manipulative tricks. You know how to play people." "And get rid of any stupid ideas you have about me," he added, his lip curling in disgust. "My fiancée is Isabelle. I would never be interested in a woman who's been passed around for twenty years. Don't even think about it." This was hilarious. As if I'd give up my brilliant, gorgeous husband for a toad like him. He shoved me into a car, and Isabelle slid in beside him, clinging to his arm. "Caleb, darling, let me come too. I can't bear to be apart from you for so long," she whined. "What if she tries to seduce you on the way? I don't trust her!" Caleb stroked her nose affectionately. "Silly girl. You're the only one for me. Why would I even look at a cheap piece of trash like her?" He glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes filled with contempt. "I heard she slept her way to the top. God knows how many men she's been with." Isabelle insisted on coming, claiming she needed to make sure I didn't "get any ideas" and ruin the whole family's plan. Caleb kept his eyes on me through the mirror. "You'd better behave, Stella. The Whitford estate isn't a place for gutter rats like you to run wild." Isabelle chirped, "Don't worry, Caleb. She wouldn't dare. Getting the chance to do this for me is the best thing that's ever happened to her." I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes, too tired to bother with the two idiots. The sheer audacity of this family was thicker than bulletproof glass. The car wound its way up the mountain towards the sprawling villa district. As the familiar white mansion came into view, a wave of relief washed over me. The sycamores lining the driveway were the ones I’d picked out myself. In the garden around the bend, Stephen had planted a massive patch of irises for me with his own hands. It felt good to be home. I wondered, if I showed up looking this pathetic, would that sulking husband of mine feel sorry enough to stop being mad at me? But then Isabelle noticed my expression. "Stop the car!" she shrieked. Caleb slammed on the brakes. "Isabelle? What's wrong? We're almost there." Her eyes were fixed on me, narrowed into slits. "Look at her! She's got that… that dreamy look on her face! You'd think she was going to meet a lover, not face her punishment!" She lunged over the seat, her face inches from mine, her voice a venomous hiss. "Stella, do you really think meeting a man like Stephen Whitford is your golden ticket? Your chance to crawl out of the mud?" I opened my eyes and met her gaze calmly. "With an imagination like that, you should write novels." "How dare you talk back to me!" Isabelle’s face flushed with rage. She turned back to Caleb, her voice turning into a pathetic whine. "Caleb, darling, she's just a feral animal. She has no manners. If she acts like this in front of Mr. Whitford, he'll take it out on all of us!" Caleb's brow furrowed. "Isabelle's right. Before we hand you over, we need to teach you some rules." He got out, yanked me from the car, and gestured to a second car that had been following us. A few of his cronies got out and surrounded me, smirking. Caleb shoved me to the ground, planting a foot on my back. "Listen to me, Stella. You're going to be a good little girl today, or you'll regret it." Teaching me the rules? On my own turf? I twisted around and sank my teeth into his leg. As he howled in pain, I scrambled to my feet, brushing the dirt from my clothes and cracking my knuckles. "What, you want to fight?" One of his friends chuckled, stepping closer. "Ooh, a feisty one. I like feisty. Makes it more fun." Caleb, clutching his leg, swung around and slapped me hard across the face. These absolute animals. I didn't hesitate. I drove my foot straight into his groin. He collapsed, gasping for air. Isabelle shrieked, her face contorted with rage. "Get her! Pin that bitch down!" The men swarmed me. I fought back, but it was four against one. In moments, they had me pinned to the ground, unable to move. Caleb staggered to his feet, wheezing, and stomped on my head. "You ungrateful bitch! Who do you think you are, fighting back?" Isabelle ran over, screaming, "You slut! You hurt my Caleb!" She pulled a small, sharp knife from her purse and held it to my cheek. "Sister, dear, that face of yours is just too tempting. What if you get to the Whitford estate and actually bewitch Mr. Whitford? He might forget all about why you're there." "So," she whispered, her voice a cruel caress, "why don't we give you a little reminder of your place?" The tip of the knife broke my skin. "What do you think, sister? Carving the word 'whore' onto your cheek would be a nice touch, don't you think?" "That way, Mr. Whitford will know exactly what kind of trash you are. He can play with you, but he'll never take you seriously." Caleb grunted his approval. "Good thinking, Isabelle. Do it now." As Isabelle pressed the blade down, I screamed with all the strength I had left. "I am Stephen Whitford's wife! This is my home!" "You touch me today, and I swear, by tomorrow, there won't even be ashes of you left to bury!" For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then, the air erupted with derisive laughter. "Hahaha! What did she just say? She's Stephen Whitford's wife?" "Did we hit her too hard? The bitch is delusional!" Isabelle’s knife moved from my cheek to my mouth, pressing against my lips. "Sister, you should really pick a better time and place for your fantasies. You? Mrs. Whitford?" "Stephen Whitford doesn't sleep with public property!" "Maybe we should just cut out that lying tongue of yours! Then you won't be able to spout such nonsense anymore!" Caleb sneered down at me. "Stella, I knew you were trash, but I never realized how low you could sink." "Who do you think Stephen Whitford is? Do you really believe he would ever look at a slut like you?" Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. Every attempt to speak sent a fresh wave of agony through me. My silence, however, was taken as guilt. Isabelle reached down, grabbed the front of my jacket, and ripped it open. My coat was torn, and a photograph fluttered to the ground. It was the one Caleb had thrown at me earlier. The picture of my husband, Stephen. Isabelle froze for a second, then snatched it up and showed it to Caleb. "See, Caleb! I told you! No wonder this slut was so eager to come with us!" "She had this disgusting fantasy in her head the whole time! She's shameless!" "Well," Isabelle said, a wicked smile spreading across her face, "since she's so desperate to serve a man, why don't we… test the merchandise for Mr. Whitford? Let's see if her body is soft enough to please a man." Caleb's face darkened into a mask of pure disgust. "You make me sick, Stella." His friends' breathing grew heavy. One of them lunged forward and tore my shirt off. "Don't worry, we'll teach her how to behave. By the time we're done, she'll be perfectly obedient for Mr. Whitford!" Caleb just watched, cold and indifferent. I struggled desperately, trying to cover myself with my shredded clothes. But their hands were everywhere, and one of them yanked my pants down. Just as they were about to rip away my last piece of underwear, a blinding beam of headlights cut through the darkness. Caleb and Isabelle’s faces went pale. They recognized the car. There was only one like it in all of Port Sterling. It belonged to my husband, Stephen Whitford. The tinted window glided down, revealing a face so handsome it was almost cruel. "Assaulting someone at the gates of my home?" Stephen's voice was dangerously quiet. "You've got a lot of nerve." Caleb scrambled to explain. "Mr. Whitford! This bitch ruined your gift! We were just teaching her a lesson on your behalf!" Isabelle, her eyes wide and fixed on Stephen's face, hastily smoothed her dress. At that same moment, the man holding me down dug his fingers into my skin. Ignoring the searing pain in my mouth, I screamed at the car. "Husband! Help me!" The moment the words were out, a hand clamped brutally over my mouth. I fought against it, but it only made them hold me down harder. Caleb plastered a fawning smile on his face. "Mr. Whitford! Please, don't misunderstand! This woman damaged the present you prepared for your wife. We were just disciplining her for you, teaching her some respect!" Isabelle sidled closer to the car, puffing out her chest and pitching her voice to a saccharine squeak. "That's right, Mr. Whitford. A woman like this has no manners. We were worried she might offend you." The light inside the car was dim. I couldn't see Stephen’s expression. And with my mouth cut and muffled, my cry of "Husband" had come out as a garbled mess. He must not have understood me. Seeing no reaction from Stephen, Caleb stepped in front of me and hissed, "You dare scream again, you whore? I'll show you what happens!" He grabbed my hair and slammed my head against the pavement. Again. And again. Blood streamed down my face. The world went fuzzy at the edges. I tried desperately to crawl toward the car. But then, the window began to rise. "Clean up your mess and get lost." "My wife wouldn't want her favorite garden sullied."
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