Chapter 1

The sharp, sterile smell of antiseptic assaulted Jaclyn's nose before she even opened her eyes.

A violent, tearing pain ripped through her lower abdomen.

Her eyelids fluttered open. The harsh fluorescent lights of the Manhattan private hospital room burned her retinas. The heavy residue of anesthesia made the white ceiling tiles swim above her.

She gasped for air. Her lungs felt like they were filled with crushed glass.

Her trembling right hand moved downward, sliding over the thin hospital gown. Her fingertips met the cold, thick layer of medical gauze taped over her flat stomach.

Her heart stopped beating for a full second.

The door clicked open. A nurse in pale blue scrubs walked in. Her eyes were wide, her mouth set in a tight line of professional pity.

"Mrs. Acevedo," the nurse said, her voice low. "You suffered a severe hemorrhage from the fall down the stairs. I am so sorry. We couldn't save the baby."

A high-pitched ringing erupted in Jaclyn's ears.

Hot, involuntary tears spilled over her lashes, burning trails down her pale cheeks. Her fingers dug into the sterile white bedsheets, twisting the fabric until her knuckles turned completely white.

The sharp clack of high heels echoed in the hallway.

The door swung open wider. Her older cousin Katelyn and her younger cousin Cherri walked into the room. Their faces were twisted into masks of exaggerated concern.

"We'll take it from here," Katelyn told the nurse, her tone leaving no room for argument.

The nurse nodded and slipped out.

The moment the door clicked shut, Katelyn reached out and pressed the lock button on the handle. A soft click echoed in the silence, sealing the room.

The fake sympathy vanished from Katelyn's face. A cold, hard smirk replaced it.

Cherri stepped right up to the edge of the mattress. She looked down at Jaclyn's sweating, pale face.

Cherri let out a short, breathy giggle. The sound scraped against Jaclyn's eardrums.

"Look at you," Cherri mocked, her eyes trailing down to Jaclyn's bandaged stomach. "What a tragic little mess."

The air in the room suddenly felt too thick to breathe. Jaclyn's chest heaved. She forced her heavy arm to move, reaching for the red call button clipped to her pillow.

Katelyn's hand shot out. Her manicured fingers clamped down on Jaclyn's wrist like a vice, pinning it to the mattress.

Katelyn leaned in close. Jaclyn could smell the expensive vanilla perfume radiating off her skin.

"It wasn't an accident, Jaclyn," Katelyn whispered. Her index finger tapped a rhythmic, mocking beat against Jaclyn's trapped arm. "The lubricant on the top step was a very deliberate choice."

Jaclyn's pupils dilated. Her breath hitched in her throat.

She stared at the two women she had grown up with. The cousins she had trusted with her life. Her brain flatlined, unable to process the sheer magnitude of the malice in front of her.

"We needed you to break," Cherri added, her voice sickeningly sweet. "A grieving, unstable mother is so much easier to declare legally incompetent. Uncle Guy needs full control of your medical decisions."

Jaclyn's jaw locked. A surge of pure, unadulterated rage pumped adrenaline into her veins.

She yanked her arm upward, trying to sit up, trying to fight.

The sudden movement tore at her internal stitches. A fresh wave of agony exploded in her pelvis. She collapsed back into the pillows, gasping for air.

Cherri laughed louder this time.

Katelyn reached into her designer handbag. She pulled out a folded piece of paper and shook it in front of Jaclyn's face.

"Uncle Guy's masterpiece," Katelyn said.

Jaclyn forced her eyes to focus on the document. It was a copy of a trust fund transfer agreement. At the bottom line, her own signature stared back at her.

It was a flawless forgery.

The rumors of the Lester family's bankruptcy weren't rumors. Her uncle had drained her inheritance to save his own sinking ship.

"Bradford..." Jaclyn choked out, her throat raw. "Does he know?"

Cherri's smile widened. She reached up and pulled down the collar of her silk blouse. A dark, purple bruise marred the skin of her collarbone. A fresh hickey.

"Bradford helped us plan it," Cherri purred.

Jaclyn's stomach violently contracted. Acid burned the back of her throat. She turned her head and dry-heaved over the edge of the bed, spitting up nothing but bitter bile.

"Once you're discharged, you're going straight to a psychiatric facility upstate," Katelyn stated coldly. "You will never see the inside of a ballroom again."

Jaclyn opened her mouth to scream. She needed to scream for help.

Cherri moved with terrifying speed. She snatched the spare pillow from the armchair and slammed it down over Jaclyn's face.

Darkness instantly swallowed her. The heavy fabric pressed against her nose and mouth, cutting off her oxygen.

Jaclyn thrashed. Her arms flailed blindly in the air. Her fingernails scratched at Cherri's forearms, but her muscles were too weak from the blood loss.

Her lungs burned. Black spots danced behind her closed eyelids.

Heavy footsteps pounded outside the door. A key rattled in the lock.

Katelyn grabbed Cherri by the shoulder and yanked her backward.

The pillow lifted. Jaclyn sucked in a massive, ragged breath. Her chest heaved violently as oxygen flooded her starving lungs.

The door flew open. The doctor rushed in, followed by two nurses.

Katelyn and Cherri were already crying. Real tears streamed down their faces.

"She just started screaming and thrashing!" Katelyn sobbed, covering her mouth in fake horror. "She's completely lost her mind!"

The doctor took one look at Jaclyn. Her eyes were wild. Her face was red and covered in sweat. Her chest was rising and falling in rapid, uneven jerks.

"Get the sedative," the doctor ordered the nurse. "She's having a severe PTSD episode."

"No!" Jaclyn croaked. Her vocal cords were bruised from the pillow. "They tried... to kill me!"

The nurse grabbed Jaclyn's left arm. Strong hands pinned her down.

Jaclyn shook her head frantically. She kicked her legs, ignoring the blinding pain in her stomach.

A cold alcohol swab wiped her inner elbow.

"Just relax, Mrs. Acevedo," the doctor said, his voice completely detached from her reality.

The sharp prick of the needle pierced her vein.

Jaclyn stopped fighting. She turned her head and locked eyes with Katelyn and Cherri, who were standing at the foot of the bed.

She burned their faces into her memory. She memorized the exact curve of their victorious smiles.

The heavy, thick sludge of the sedative hit her bloodstream. Her eyelids felt like they were made of lead.

The fire of hatred in her chest burned hotter than the drugs.

Katelyn leaned over the footboard.

"Game over, Jaclyn," Katelyn mouthed silently.

The edges of the room turned black.

In her final second of consciousness, the face of her husband flashed in her mind. Gaines Acevedo. The man she had fought so hard to escape. The man she had hated.

A cold, hollow sense of regret washed over her.

The darkness pulled her under. The steady, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor was the only sound left in the room.

Katelyn folded the document with deliberate slowness, tapping it against her palm. "A masterpiece," she repeated, before slipping it back into her designer handbag. She linked arms with Cherri, and they walked out of the room.