Chapter 1

Eleanor Vance's voice was ice.

"You have two choices, Miss Hayes."

Her office at the Vance Foundation building felt like a tomb, all polished dark wood and silent, heavy air. Mia sat small in the leather chair, her hands clenched in her lap.

"Marry my son, Julian. We will be generous. A trust fund, a place in society. Everything you could want. You will, of course, be discreet about... recent events."

Or.

The word hung there.

"Or, you take a substantial payment. A new identity. A new life, somewhere far away. You disappear, and you never contact anyone from your old life, especially not Julian, ever again."

Mia didn't hesitate. The thought of marrying Julian, of being tied to him, was a physical sickness.

"I'll disappear."

Her voice was a raw whisper.

"Please. Just let me go."

Eleanor Vance raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

"So eager to run. One might think you had something to hide."

But Mia's choice was made. Escape. At any cost.

The decision, however clear, did nothing to stop the nightmares.

Later that night, in the sterile guest room Eleanor Vance had provided while arrangements were made, Mia woke up screaming.

Her throat was raw. The sheets were twisted around her, damp with sweat.

The lake house.

Julian's face, contorted with rage.

The glint of the chain he'd used.

She gasped for air, her body trembling. Months. Months of it.

The pristine, anonymous room felt like another cage. She was out of the lake house, but she wasn't free. Not yet.

She fumbled for the small bottle of anxiety pills she'd managed to keep hidden, her lifeline during those dark months. Her hands shook so badly she almost dropped them. One pill. Just one to quiet the screaming in her head.

She remembered Julian, early in her captivity.

He'd come into the cold basement room where he kept her, a tray in his hands.

Soup. Bread. Water.

He'd set it down carefully on the small, rickety table.

"You need to eat, Mia."

His voice was soft, almost tender. His dark hair fell over his forehead, his blue eyes, usually so hard, held a flicker of something she couldn't name. Concern?

She'd stared at him, her own eyes hollow. Fear was a constant companion, a bitter taste in her mouth.

He was handsome, devastatingly so. The kind of handsome that belonged on magazine covers, not in a damp basement keeping a prisoner. He wore an expensive cashmere sweater, soft gray, a stark contrast to the grime and despair of her prison.

"Why are you doing this, Julian?" she'd whispered, her voice hoarse from disuse and fear.

Then the tenderness would vanish.

Like a switch flipped.

He'd grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh, bruising.

"Eat."

The command was harsh, his eyes suddenly cold, furious.

He'd forced the spoon to her lips, soup dribbling down her chin when she couldn't swallow past the terror.

"You ruined me, Mia," he'd hiss, his face close to hers, his breath hot. "You destroyed my family's name. You humiliated me."

She didn't understand. None of it made sense.

The accusations were wild, disconnected from any reality she knew.

A business merger? Leaking secrets? Public humiliation?

It was insane.

She'd tried to ask, to understand.

"Julian, what are you talking about? What humiliation? What secrets?"

Her mind would race, trying to piece together his fragmented, violent accusations.

She remembered seeing him at Blackwood University, just weeks before.

He'd approached her in the art studio, a hesitant smile on his face.

A smile she hadn't seen since high school, before... before everything went wrong.

"Mia Hayes. I thought that was you."

He'd seemed different then. Quieter. Almost shy.

They'd talked. About art. About Philadelphia, her home. He'd even asked about her scholarship.

A spark. A tiny, hopeful spark.

Then, days later, he was at her off-campus apartment.

His face was a mask of cold fury. No explanation.

He'd grabbed her, a hand clamped over her mouth before she could scream.

Dragged her out. Forced her into his car.

The drive to Vermont was a blur of terror.

The secluded lake house. The chains. The beginning of the nightmare.

She'd tried to reason with him, to beg.

This was after weeks of it. Weeks of his rage, his confusing accusations, the darkness.

She was weak, thin, her spirit eroded.

"Julian, please," she'd rasped, her voice barely audible. "Whatever you think I did... I'm sorry. Just let me go. I'll go anywhere. I'll never say anything. Please."

She would have said anything, promised anything, to make it stop.

Forgiveness was a small price for freedom.