Chapter 1

The mark on my skin burned, always. Ten years. A decade with Ethan Harrison. He put it there, a small, ugly symbol on my hip, hidden by clothes. A brand, he called it. My brand of shame. Because I was poor, and he was rich. Because his family, the Harrisons, took me in. My parents died in a factory fire, a suspicious "accident." I was a teenager, my younger brother just a kid. We had nothing. Ethan’s grandfather owed my grandfather a life debt from Vietnam. My grandfather was a hero. That debt landed me here, in this cold mansion. Ethan’s father, old Mr. Harrison, forced the marriage. He was dying then. He wanted the debt paid. So I married Ethan. A sexless marriage. A demeaning one. He made sure I knew my place. Less than human. The prenuptial agreement had a clause. Ten years. Then, dissolution. The ten years were almost up. I clung to that. And to one other memory. Years ago, my brother needed life-saving surgery. We had no money. An anonymous donor paid for it. Later, I found out it was Ethan. A single act of kindness. It made me hope, for a long time, that he might change. He never did. His cruelty was a constant, like the hum of the expensive appliances in this empty house. He reminded me daily of my background. He paraded his "true love," Brittany Astor, in front of me, in front of everyone. She was rich, like him. Shallow, like him. Cruel, like him. They deserved each other. My brother, David, was healthy now. That was the only thing that mattered from Ethan’s past action. But Ethan knew it was my weak spot. He’d threatened David’s well-being before if I didn't comply. The memory of his anonymous payment was a sliver of warmth I’d held onto, a reason to endure. Now, I saw it for what it likely was: another tool of control, a way to ensure I felt indebted, trapped. The ten years were almost up. I had already contacted a lawyer. Freedom was a word I barely dared to whisper.