Chapter 4

The sound of the music box shattering echoed in the sudden silence.

Time seemed to stop.

I stared at the splintered wood and twisted metal on the floor. The little ballerina was gone. My last piece of them. Gone.

I fell to my knees, my hands shaking as I tried to gather the pieces. They were too small, too broken. It was hopeless.

"Oh, I am so clumsy," Katarina said, putting a hand to her mouth in mock horror. "I'm so sorry, Ava."

A rage I had never felt before boiled up inside me. I lunged at her, pushing her away from the wreckage of my memories.

"Get away from it!" I shrieked.

She stumbled backward, catching her heel on the rug and falling dramatically to the floor. "Aah! My ankle! Elliott, she pushed me! She attacked me!"

Elliott was a blur of motion. He saw her on the floor, and his reason vanished.

He grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. "You bitch," he snarled. "I warned you."

He ordered the maids to sweep up the pieces. All of them.

"No!" I screamed, trying to stop them, but the bodyguards held me fast. I watched, helpless, as they swept my parents' last gift to me into a dustpan and carried it away.

I broke free and ran to the kitchen, to the trash can, and started digging through the garbage, ignoring the coffee grounds and food scraps. I had to find the ballerina.

My fingers closed around something small and hard. I pulled it out. It was her. Covered in filth, but whole.

"Look at you," Katarina's voice dripped with contempt from the doorway. "Digging through the trash like the animal you are. Your parents would be so proud."

That was it. The final thread of my control snapped.

I flew at her, my hands closing around her throat. "Don't you ever," I snarled, my face inches from hers, "talk about my parents."

She clawed at my hands, her eyes wide with real fear for the first time. She let out a piercing shriek.

Elliott was there in an instant, pulling me off her. He threw me to the ground.

"You've gone too far, Ava," he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "You're sick. You need help."

He turned to his bodyguards. "Take her to the treatment room."

The treatment room. That's what he called it. It wasn't part of the original house. It was a recent addition of his, a small, soundproofed room in the basement he'd built to 'cure' my defiance. In the middle of the room was a single chair. A chair with leather straps and wires he'd had specially installed.

They dragged me down the cold concrete steps. I fought. I screamed. But it was useless.

They strapped me into the chair. The cold leather chilled my skin. The smell of ozone filled the air.

Elliott stood in front of me, his face a cold, hard mask. Katarina peeked from behind him, a smug look of victory on her face.

"Apologize to Katarina," he said.

"Never," I spat.

He nodded to the guard at the control panel.

A switch flipped.

Searing, white-hot pain shot through my body. Every muscle seized. My teeth clamped together so hard I thought they would break. A scream was ripped from my throat. Black spots danced in my vision.

It stopped as suddenly as it began. I slumped against the straps, gasping for breath.

"Apologize," Elliott repeated.

I lifted my head, my body trembling. I looked him in the eye. "Go to hell."

He nodded again.

The pain came back, worse this time. It felt like my bones were being torn apart. Through the haze of agony, I saw flashes of a different life. Elliott smiling at me. Elliott holding my hand. Elliott kissing me under the stars.

The memories were a cruel joke.

The electricity stopped. I was barely conscious.

"I think she's had enough," Elliott said, his voice bored. "For now."

He turned to the guards. "Take her back to her room. Lock the door."

They unstrapped me. My body was limp. They dragged me up the stairs and threw me onto my bed like a sack of garbage.

My beautiful bedroom was now just another part of my prison. I lay there, every inch of my body aching, and cried. Not for the pain, but for the man I had lost. The man who was now my torturer.