Chapter 4

Alanna spun around, her only thought to get downstairs, to find a police officer, to expose Bailey for the monster she was. But Bailey was faster. She lunged, grabbing Alanna' s arm with surprising strength.

"Where do you think you're going?" Bailey snarled.

Alanna tried to wrench her arm free. In the struggle, Bailey slammed her against the ornate staircase railing. The impact knocked the wind out of her, and black spots danced in her vision.

Suddenly, Bailey's expression shifted. Her face crumpled into a mask of terror. "Alanna, no! Please, don't!" she shrieked, her voice echoing in the grand hall.

Then, to Alanna' s utter shock, Bailey slapped her own face, hard.

"Help! Someone, help me!" she screamed, her eyes wild with fake panic.

Before Alanna could even process the bizarre performance, Bailey let go of her arm and threw herself backward, tumbling dramatically down the marble staircase like a broken doll.

Alanna stood frozen at the top of the stairs, stunned into silence.

A split second later, a blur of motion came from the ballroom below.

"Bailey!"

It was Cameron's voice, raw with fury. He stormed up the stairs, his face a thundercloud. He didn't even look at Alanna. His hand came up and he slapped her, the crack of it echoing louder than Bailey' s fake screams.

The force of the blow sent her stumbling back. Her cheek burned, a fiery imprint of his hand.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he roared, his eyes blazing. "Can't you leave her alone for one second?"

Before Alanna could even form a response, Anderson rushed past them, his face a mask of panic. He didn't spare her a glance as he scrambled down the stairs to where Bailey lay in a crumpled heap at the bottom.

In his haste, he shoved past Alanna, knocking her off balance. Her foot slipped on the smooth marble. Time seemed to slow down as she fell backward, her head hitting the edge of a step with a sickening crack.

The world went dark for a moment. When her vision cleared, the world was tilted and blurry. She could hear Bailey' s choked sobs from below.

"She's crazy, Anderson," Bailey cried, clutching at her brother' s arm. "She said... she said she was going to sell me to those men she was with. The ones who hurt her."

The lie was so vicious, so perfectly crafted to trigger their fears, that Alanna could almost admire its cruelty.

"Alanna, apologize to her. Now," Anderson commanded from the bottom of the stairs, his voice dangerously low.

Pain radiated from the back of her head. She could feel something warm and sticky trickling into her hair. Blood. But the physical pain was nothing. The coldness spreading through her was the feeling of being utterly abandoned by the people she thought would die for her.

Her vision was starting to tunnel, but she pushed herself up on one elbow, her gaze locking with Cameron's. "No," she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.

She turned her head, looking past them to where Bailey was putting on the performance of a lifetime. "I have proof," she rasped, her hand going to the locket at her neck. "My mother's locket. It's... it has a camera. It recorded everything."

Bailey' s face went white. She opened her mouth to speak, a flicker of genuine panic in her eyes.

But Cameron just scoffed, his face a mask of disgust. "You're still lying. Still trying to hurt her. I've had enough." He looked at Anderson. "Call the police."

Anderson, cradling Bailey, nodded grimly. He pulled out his phone.

While Cameron glared down at her, Anderson was murmuring soft comforts to Bailey, completely ignoring the fact that his own sister was bleeding on the stairs.

Alanna tried to unclasp the locket, but her fingers were clumsy, shaking too hard. Before she could get it off, two of Cameron' s bodyguards were there, hauling her to her feet. They pinned her arms behind her back.

"Cameron! Anderson!" she screamed, her voice breaking with desperation. "You're going to regret this! You'll see! You'll all see!"

They didn't even look back. They just walked away, their backs a solid wall of betrayal, leaving her with the bodyguards to wait for the police.

She spent the night in a cold, sterile interrogation room. The harsh overhead light made her head throb. Her cheek was swollen and purple, and the cut on the back of her head had stopped bleeding but was caked with dried blood. No one had offered her a doctor.

"I want to press charges," she told the detective for the tenth time, her voice raw. "Against Bailey Kent. And the compound she works with."

A man in a sharp suit walked in. The family lawyer. He didn't look at her with sympathy. He looked at her with disdain.

"Miss Robertson," he said coolly, "the D.A.'s office has declined to press charges due to lack of evidence. In fact, Miss Kent is considering filing a slander suit against you."

He placed a document on the table in front of her. "However, your brother and Mr. Stewart are willing to be merciful. They are offering you a choice."

He leaned in, his voice dropping. "Choice one: you refuse to apologize. In which case, they will use their connections to have you sent back to that... village. They feel a little more time there might help you 'reflect' on your behavior."

The threat was like a punch to the gut. The compound. Her hell. She started to tremble, a deep, uncontrollable shudder. She couldn't go back. She would rather die.

"I'll take the second choice," she choked out, her voice barely a whisper.

The lawyer smiled, a cold, thin expression. He slid another paper across the table. A pre-written confession and apology.

"Choice two," he said smoothly. "You sign this, admitting your 'slanderous' accusations were a result of trauma-induced delusion. You formally apologize to Miss Kent. And they will drop the matter."

The room seemed to tilt. The air was too thick to breathe. It was a choice between her personal hell and public humiliation. Between physical torture and the death of her soul.

She picked up the pen. Her hand was shaking so badly she could barely form the letters of her own name. A dry, bitter laugh escaped her lips as she signed away her truth, her dignity.

They were so blind. So easily fooled by a pretty face and a few tears.

Later, a doctor came to stitch the cut on her head. The needle pierced her skin, but she didn't cry. The pain was distant, unimportant. It was nothing compared to the agony of what had been done to her.

The moment they released her, she walked out of the station and pulled out her phone, booking the first flight out of the country. To anywhere. She had to get away from them. From this city that had become her prison.

She was standing on the curb, waiting for a taxi to the airport, when a black SUV screeched to a halt in front of her. The doors flew open. Bodyguards. Cameron's men.

They grabbed her before she could even scream.