Chapter 2

My knees scraped against the gravel as the guards dragged me across the courtyard. The rough stones tore at my skin, but the pain was nothing compared to the crushing weight of humiliation. I was being pulled like an animal toward the large, wrought-iron dog kennel at the far end of the garden. It was home to Courtland's prized Dobermans.

"No, please, don't do this," I whimpered, my voice cracking.

The household staff had gathered to watch, their faces a mixture of morbid curiosity and cruel satisfaction. Some of them held up their phones, the small black lenses capturing my degradation. The sound of their snickering was a physical blow.

"Look at the 'murderer.' She's getting what she deserves."

"She belongs in a cage."

The guards threw me inside the kennel and slammed the heavy door shut. The metal latch clicked into place with a sound of finality. The Dobermans, agitated by the commotion, began to bark, their deep, menacing growls filling the small space. I scrambled to the back of the cage, pressing myself against the cold bars.

"Please, let me out!" I cried, my voice lost in the cacophony of barking.

Courtland stood outside the kennel, watching me with those same empty eyes. He was a statue of righteous judgment, unmoved by my terror.

I clutched at my chest, my fingers searching for something, anything, to hold onto. They found a small, smooth object in the pocket of the cheap uniform I wore. A lapis lazuli bead, a gift from my grandmother. "For protection," she had said. It was the only thing from my past life I had managed to keep.

The smooth stone was cool against my skin, a small point of reality in this nightmare. My mind flashed back to the years I had spent trying to earn Courtland's love. I thought I could melt his icy exterior with my warmth. I had been so naive. All my efforts, all my love, had been for nothing. It had all led to this: a cage.

My pride, once the talk of New York society, was now a forgotten relic. He had systematically stripped it from me, piece by piece, until nothing was left. The physical pain, the constant fear, the public shame-it all blurred together into a wave of despair that finally pulled me under. The world tilted, the barking faded, and everything went black.

I woke to a sharp, stinging pain on my cheek. Courtland's mother, Eleanor Johnson, stood over me, her face contorted in a mask of pure hatred. I was no longer in the kennel, but on the cold marble floor of Kinsley's memorial room.

"You worthless creature," she spat, her voice dripping with venom. "You faint from a little time in a cage? Kinsley is dead because of you. Dead!"

She pointed to the enormous portrait of Kinsley that hung over the mantelpiece. "Courtland wants you to kowtow. One hundred times. To beg for Kinsley's forgiveness."

My body was a dead weight. I couldn't move. One of the maids grabbed my hair and forced my head down, slamming my forehead against the hard floor. Once. Twice.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, the words mechanical, meaningless.

"Louder!" Eleanor shrieked. "Does that sound like you're sorry?"

Again, they forced my head down. A warm trickle of blood ran down my temple. I repeated the words, my voice a hollow echo in the silent room. "I'm sorry, Kinsley. I'm so sorry."

The memory of that night five years ago played in my mind on a loop. Kinsley, falling. The shock on her face. And then Courtland, finding me beside her body, his face breaking not with grief, but with a terrible, cold rage. "You will pay for this, Anastasia," he had vowed. "For the rest of your life, you will live in hell to atone for what you've done."

He had kept his promise.

I slammed my head against the floor again. And again. The pain was a distant thrumming. I counted each one, a litany of my suffering. Ninety-eight. Ninety-nine. One hundred.

I finished, my forehead bleeding freely onto the pristine white rug. I was dizzy and nauseous, but a single thought pushed through the fog. Aspen.

I looked up at Courtland, who had been watching silently from the doorway. "I've done what you asked," I rasped. "Now, please, let me see Aspen."

A flicker of something-was it pity?-crossed his face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He walked over to a small table and picked up a vial filled with a dark liquid.

"You want to see your brother?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft.

I nodded, hope warring with terror in my chest.

He held out the vial. "Drink this. Drink this, and I will let you see him."

I stared at the vial, then at his unreadable face. "What is it?"

"A medicine," he said smoothly. "To ensure a murderer like you can never bear children. To ensure your tainted bloodline ends with you."

My blood ran cold. He wanted to make me infertile. He wanted to take away the one thing a woman holds sacred, the possibility of a future, of a family of her own. All for a crime I didn't commit.

I looked from the vial to his cold, determined eyes. It was a choice between my future and my brother.

There was no choice at all.

For Aspen, I would do anything.

With a trembling hand, I took the vial. I brought it to my lips and drank every last drop.