Chapter 5

The afternoon sun beat down on the pavement. Taking advantage of Brennen's afternoon board meeting, Aracely walked down the tree-lined street back to the estate. She had just finished secretly consulting specialized research at the medical school library.

She carried a faded canvas tote bag. She had stopped at a public restroom outside campus to glue the suffocating scar back onto her face and put on the heavy glasses.

A loud engine roared behind her. A silver Aston Martin sped down the street, hugging the curb.

The sports car swerved sharply toward her. A massive puddle of muddy water splashed up.

Aracely's muscles reacted instantly. Her training kicked in. She dodged the water perfectly. But then she remembered her "clumsy maid" persona. She forced herself to slip and fall hard onto the wet grass.

Her tote bag hit the ground. The zipper burst open. Cheap notebooks, old pens, and a pink, heart-shaped piece of paper spilled out.

The Aston Martin screeched to a halt. The door swung up. Erasmo Clark stepped out wearing limited-edition designer clothes. He whistled.

Erasmo walked over and stood over her. "Look at the ugly duckling rolling in the mud."

Aracely locked her jaw. She ignored him. She kept her head down and started picking up her pens.

Erasmo saw the pink paper. He snatched it off the grass before she could reach it.

Aracely's face tightened. She reached for it. It was a cruel prank note some bullies had shoved into her bag at the lecture hall.

Erasmo dodged her hand. He unfolded the paper. He cleared his throat and started reading it out loud in a mocking, theatrical voice.

The letter was a forged, pathetic love note directed at a wealthy heir on campus, shamelessly begging for his affection and heavily hinting at needing financial support for her tuition. It painted her as a desperate gold digger willing to throw away her dignity and pride for a few scraps of cash.

People walking by stopped to watch. They pointed at Aracely sitting in the mud. Disgust covered their faces.

Aracely curled her hands into fists. Her nails broke the skin of her palms. She had to swallow the anger. She couldn't show her fighting skills here.

The passenger window of the Aston Martin rolled down. Brennen Levine sat inside. His profile was carved from stone.

He wore dark sunglasses. He watched the scene coldly. The memory of losing control in the hallway last night made his stomach turn with disgust.

He heard the filthy words in the letter. His brow furrowed in deep revulsion. He pushed the car door open and stepped out.

Brennen walked over to Erasmo. He snatched the pink paper out of his nephew's hand.

He scanned the handwriting. His eyes looked at it like it was toxic waste. He threw the paper right at Aracely's face.

The paper slid down her scarred cheek and landed in the mud. Brennen looked down at her.

"You are not only physically repulsive," Brennen said, his voice dripping with ice. "Your soul reeks of rotting garbage."

He leaned in slightly. "If you ever try your cheap tricks on anyone in the Levine family again, I will make you wish you were dead."

Aracely looked up. She stared right into Brennen's eyes through her thick lenses. Her eyes weren't scared. They were dead and cold.

Brennen felt a sharp sting in his chest at her gaze. It made him angrier. He turned to Erasmo. "Get in the car. Stop wasting time with trash."

Erasmo shrugged. He whistled again and got into the driver's seat. The car roared away, blowing exhaust smoke into Aracely's face.

Aracely sat alone in the mud. She picked up the dirty pink paper. A cold, mocking smile touched her lips.

She stood up and brushed the dirt off her knees. Her mind replayed the moment Brennen snatched the paper.

As a top medical expert whose career had been ruthlessly sabotaged into forced anonymity, she didn't miss it. Brennen's index and middle fingers were twitching uncontrollably.

It was the physical symptom of a nervous system on the verge of total collapse from chronic insomnia. Aracely narrowed her eyes. She had just found the tyrant's fatal weakness.