Chapter 2

The memory hit me with the force of a physical blow. Three years ago. The manicured lawns of our Louisiana estate, swarming with federal agents.

Ethan, not in a suit then, but in a crisp FBI windbreaker, standing on our porch as they dragged my father away in handcuffs. He held the warrants. He directed the seizure of every painting, every piece of furniture, every memory.

My mother had already passed, leaving me to care for my younger sister, Molly, whose body was failing her, whose medical bills were astronomical.

"I can make this all go away for Molly," Ethan had said to me that night, in the ruins of our life. His voice was quiet, almost gentle, which made it all the more monstrous. "There's a family in Texas. The Duncans. They have an arrangement they need filled. You go there, you do as you're told, and Molly gets the best care money can buy. A new identity. A safe place. No foster care, no state-run facilities."

He laid out the choice. My life for hers.

"Or," he'd added, "I can let the state take her. With your family's name, she'll be a target. You'll never see her again."

So I went.

The moment I stepped out of the car onto the endless, dusty expanse of the Duncan ranch, Caleb was there. He didn't greet me. He just looked me up and down, a predator assessing his new prey.

"So you're the broken little oil princess," he'd said. He grabbed my suitcase, not to help, but to toss it in the dirt. "You're not a guest here. You're a payment. You'll work. You'll obey. And you'll learn to call me sir."

That was the beginning of the breaking.

Now, in the clinic, Caleb's grip on my jaw was just as brutal. He forced my head back, his thumb pressing into the bruise on my cheek.

"Tell him, Jocelyn," he repeated, his voice dangerously low.

The terror was a familiar friend. I looked at Ethan, at his cold, calculating face, and then at Caleb, the architect of my daily misery. Two sides of the same coin.

"I... I belong to you," I whispered to Caleb, the words tasting like ash.

Caleb released me with a shove. He turned to Ethan, a triumphant sneer on his face. "You hear that? She's mine." He leaned in close to Ethan, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I even gave her my mark. So she'd never forget."

He ripped the collar of my hospital gown, exposing the skin just above my collarbone. There, branded into my flesh, was a small, stylized 'D'.

Ethan's face went rigid. The mask of calm indifference finally cracked, replaced by a flash of pure fury. For a single, terrifying moment, I thought he would lunge at Caleb.

Caleb just laughed. "Don't worry," he said, pulling my gown back into place with a rough tug. "I take good care of my things."

He stroked my hair, the gesture a grotesque parody of affection. "Poor thing's exhausted. She lost our baby."

His words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. He wanted Ethan to know. He wanted him to feel this.

My mind went blessedly blank. I felt nothing. I was a stone at the bottom of a deep, dark well.