Chapter 2

The "accidents" started a week later.

First, Chloe got violent food poisoning. The culprit was shellfish, hidden in a pasta dish. Everyone in the family knew I was severely allergic to shellfish. It was a convenient, almost lazy, piece of evidence pointing my way.

Richard didn't even ask. He just looked at me with disgust. "How could you, Sarah?"

A few days after that, Chloe nearly drowned in the pool. She claimed she got a cramp, and that she saw me watching from the balcony, not moving to help.

The staff, loyal to the family that paid them, corroborated her story.

Then came the fall. A sprained ankle, a dramatic tumble down the grand staircase. She told Richard I had "tripped" her.

That was the night he hit me.

He cornered me in the library, his face contorted with a rage I' d only seen him direct at business rivals.

"You're a monster," he spat, his voice low and venomous. "She is the kindest, most genuine person I have ever met, and you are trying to destroy her."

"Richard, she's lying," I said, my voice steady. "Look at the facts. The shellfish..."

"The facts are that you're a jealous, cold-hearted bitch!"

He slapped me. Hard. The force of it sent me stumbling backward. I crashed against the glass coffee table.

A sharp, searing pain shot up my leg as a shard of glass sliced deep into my calf. Blood immediately soaked through my silk pants.

He didn't even flinch. He just stared down at me, his chest heaving.

"You will stay in your wing of the house until you learn to behave," he said, his voice cold as ice. "No phone. No visitors. You will think about what you've done."

He walked out, leaving me on the floor, bleeding.

He confined me to my suite, denying me medical attention. The staff was instructed to ignore my calls. My phone was gone.

The only person allowed to see me was Chloe' s new personal assistant, a smug young woman named Jessica. She brought my meals.

Each one contained shellfish.

I' d spit out the first bite, pushing the tray away.

Jessica would just smile. "Mr. Sterling said you're being dramatic. He says if you're hungry, you'll eat."

The wound on my leg grew hot and angry. The skin around it turned a dark, ugly red. An infection was setting in.

I was getting weaker. Desperate, I remembered the burner phone I' d hidden years ago, a relic from my D.C. days. It was tucked into the lining of an old suitcase in the back of my closet.

My leg screamed in protest as I dragged myself across the room. My hands shook as I dialed the number.

"Maria?" I whispered, my voice hoarse.

Maria was our former housekeeper. A kind woman I had helped years ago when her son got into trouble. Richard had fired her a month ago, at Chloe' s suggestion.

"Mrs. Sterling? What's wrong? You sound terrible."

"I need your help," I said, tears of pain and desperation finally welling in my eyes. "He's locked me in. My leg... it's bad. Can you bring me antibiotics? And protein bars? Anything."

There was a pause on the other end. "I'll try," she said. "I'll leave them by the old service entrance near the gardens. Be careful."

I hung up, slumping against the wall, the phone clutched in my hand. Survival was now the only goal. I just had to hold on a little longer.