Chapter 2

Two weeks later.

Jaclyn woke up in her childhood bedroom at the Hampton Lester estate. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn tight, blocking out the afternoon sun.

She sat up slowly. Her body was still weak, but the sedative haze had finally worn off.

The maid sitting in the corner of the room had fallen asleep, her chin resting on her chest.

Jaclyn slid out of bed. Her bare feet sank into the thick Persian rug. She moved silently toward the heavy oak desk near the window.

Her fingers closed around the cold, brass handle of a heavy letter opener.

She gripped it tight. The sharp metal edge pressed into her palm, grounding her.

She crept toward the bedroom door. She turned the knob with agonizing slowness. It clicked open.

She slipped out into the second-floor hallway. The air conditioning chilled her bare arms. She kept her back pressed against the wall, moving toward the grand staircase, avoiding the blind spots of the security cameras.

As she reached the top of the stairs, a figure stepped out from the shadows.

Bradford.

He was holding a crystal glass of red wine. He froze when he saw her. His eyes darted nervously down the hallway.

He quickly ran his free hand through his perfectly styled blonde hair, pasting on a look of deep concern.

"Jaclyn, baby," Bradford said, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. "You shouldn't be out of bed."

Jaclyn's stomach churned. The memory of the hickey on Cherri's neck flashed in her mind.

She took a step back. She raised the brass letter opener, pointing the sharp tip directly at his chest.

"Where is the trust fund money, Bradford?" she demanded. Her voice was raspy, but it didn't shake.

Bradford's fake smile vanished. The muscles in his jaw tightened.

"Put that down, you crazy bitch," he sneered. "You're nothing but a puppet with cut strings."

Footsteps echoed from the other end of the hallway.

Katelyn and Cherri walked out of the master suite. They saw Jaclyn holding the weapon, but neither of them looked scared.

Cherri let out her signature breathy giggle.

They moved forward, fanning out. The three of them formed a semi-circle, slowly forcing Jaclyn backward.

Jaclyn retreated step by step until her back was pressed against the cold glass of the floor-to-ceiling window at the end of the corridor.

The glass was cold against her back. Her breathing turned shallow and rapid.

Cherri walked right up to Bradford and wrapped her arms around his waist. She rested her chin on his shoulder.

"Did it hurt, Jackie?" Cherri asked, her eyes gleaming with malice. "When the baby tore out of you?"

A red-hot spike of fury drove straight into Jaclyn's brain.

She lunged forward, slashing the letter opener toward Cherri's face.

Bradford was faster. He dropped his wine glass. It shattered on the floor. His large hand shot out and clamped around Jaclyn's wrist.

He twisted her arm violently.

Pain shot up to her shoulder. Her fingers went numb. The letter opener clattered onto the hardwood floor.

Bradford shoved her backward with all his body weight.

Jaclyn stumbled. Her back slammed into the floor-to-ceiling window.

A loud, terrifying crack echoed through the hallway. The thick glass spider-webbed behind her.

Jaclyn twisted her head. She looked down. The stone patio was forty feet below.

Katelyn's eyes darkened. She tapped her index finger against her thigh.

"A depressed, grieving mother," Katelyn said slowly. "Jumping to her death. It's a perfect tragedy."

Bradford didn't hesitate. He lunged forward. Both of his hands clamped around Jaclyn's throat.

He shoved her upper body backward, forcing her through the shattered glass.

Gravity ripped at her.

Jaclyn threw her arms out. Her hands desperately clawed at the wooden window frame. Her fingernails dug into the wood until they bent backward and bled.

A massive, deafening crash erupted from the first floor.

The heavy mahogany front doors of the estate were kicked open with explosive force.

Jaclyn strained her neck to look down.

Gaines Acevedo burst into the foyer. He was flanked by four massive bodyguards.

Gaines looked up.

His dark, cold eyes locked onto Jaclyn dangling from the second-story window.

The mask of the ruthless billionaire shattered instantly. Pure, unadulterated terror contorted his face.

"Jaclyn!" Gaines roared. The sound tore from his throat, raw and desperate.

He sprinted toward the stairs, shoving a heavy marble table out of his way with brutal force.

The sound of Gaines's roar echoed up from the foyer, distant but unmistakable. Bradford's eyes darted toward the grand staircase for a split second, his attention momentarily broken.

Cherri stepped forward. She dug her sharp acrylic nails directly into the bleeding wounds on the back of Jaclyn's hands.

The blinding pain forced Jaclyn's fingers to open.

She lost her grip.

The wind roared in her ears.

She fell backward into the night air.

Time slowed down to a crawl. She looked up at the broken window. Bradford, Katelyn, and Cherri stared down at her, their faces blank and cold.

She shifted her gaze downward.

Gaines had already reached the edge of the stone patio. He threw his arms out, his body stretching to its absolute physical limit, trying to catch her.

His eyes were wide, filled with a desperate, agonizing love she had never seen before.

He wasn't the monster. He was the only one trying to save her.

A sickening, wet crunch echoed through the night.

Jaclyn's body slammed into the hard stone patio.

Every bone in her spine shattered. A massive wave of agony instantly overloaded her nervous system.

Warm blood pooled rapidly beneath her back, soaking through her clothes.

Her vision blurred into a hazy gray.

Strong, trembling arms scooped her upper body off the cold stone.

Gaines fell to his knees in the pool of her blood. He pressed his large hands desperately against the massive wound on her head.

Tears-hot and fast-dropped from his face onto her freezing cheeks.

"Don't sleep," Gaines begged, his voice cracking, completely broken. "Jaclyn, look at me. Do not close your eyes."

Jaclyn forced her heavy arm to lift. She wanted to touch his face. She wanted to trace the jawline she had hated for so long.

Her hand hovered in the air for a second before all the strength drained from her muscles. Her arm dropped heavily onto the stone.

Regret, sharp and suffocating, swallowed her whole.

She had spent her entire life fighting the wrong demon.

The darkness rushed in, absolute and final. The last thing she heard was the agonizing scream of the man who loved her.