Chapter 1
Inside the courtyard hemmed in by towering walls, a lavish, stand–alone commercial building rose in majestic silence.
From the outside, it looked polished and professional. In reality, it was anything but. People called it a psychiatric center, but what it really was a private prison built to cater to Riverton’s wealthy–where every dark whim had a price.
Jarringly out of place beside that opulent building squatted a tin–sheet doghouse; the mid–winter wind sliced through, rattling the metal with an ear–splitting clang.
Elena Bennett lay curled inside the doghouse wearing nothing but a paper–thin dress–her exposed arms blotched black–and–blue. Cold burrowed straight through her tightly knotted body. She had neither eaten nor drunk for so long her throat felt aflame, each swallow scraping raw.
Out of nowhere, someone slammed a boot into the iron gate with a metallic crash.
A stout woman barked, “Elena Bennett, your family’s here to take you home!”
Elena’s eyes remained vacant, unfocused. ‘Family–do I even still have any…
One year earlier an old housekeeper had walked a girl named Annabelle Bennett through the gates, proclaiming her the Bennett family’s true–born heiress; the reunited trio wept until they could scarcely stand.
Elena had stood there stiff as a stranger, hands hanging, clueless what to do.
Just when she thought she would be thrown out, Adaline Bennett clasped her fingers and, with heartbreaking warmth, said she was still their daughter.
Moved to tears, Elena had naïvely believed she had simply gained
a little
sister.
Yet Annabelle’s endless traps painted Elena as scheming, vicious, and cruel, until the parents she had addressed for twenty years grew colder with every disappointment.
At Madam Whitmore’s birthday party Elena caught Annabelle stealing the Whitmore family’s heirloom jade bracelet; terrified, Annabelle struck first, accusing Elena of the theft.
Her parents said nothing–only shielded Annabelle. Enraged, the Whitmores demanded Elena be sent to this private prison to be corrected.
From that day on, Elena understood the Bennett family recognized only one daughter–Annabelle.
Elena asked herself, ‘It’s been a year–have they finally remembered I exist? Want to bring me back now?‘
“Are you deaf when I speak to you?” the stout woman snapped.
She ground her heavy boot into Elena’s frost–bitten hand, pressing harder and harder.
Agony sliced through Elena’s consciousness, rippling to every nerve ending in an instant.
Her whole body quaked; veins bulged on her forehead, cold sweat beading.
The stout woman savored Elena’s torment, a savage thrill curling her lips as she crooned, “Don’t blame me–your parents and oh–so- devoted fiancé told us to take extra good care of you, ha–ha!
“You robbed the true–born heiress for twenty years; without a little pain, how could you ever repay all she suffered?”
The woman yanked her foot back, then kicked Elena aside. “Remember to behave once you’re home–don’t you dare anger the real young lady again!”
A black Rolls–Royce pulled to the curb.
The door swung open and a pair of polished black leather shoes sank into the snow with a crunch.
Victor Whitmore, tall and broad–shouldered, stood outside the gloomy gates in a charcoal cashmere overcoat; his features were sharply etched against the gray light.
1/2
8:35 PM.
Chapter 1
Flakes drifted onto his shoulders while his assistant hurried over from the driver’s seat, umbrella raised,
The assistant said, “President Whitmore, Miss Bennett has spent a whole year in re–education. She must be refined and gentle by now- once she sees you she’ll surely sprint into your arms like before.”
Victor lowered his lids, his eyes unreadable upon the snow. “Our engagement was set when we were children. As long as she’s changed, it will be honored.”
He lifted his gaze to the prison entrance and spotted a frail girl in a flimsy dress walking toward him.
His brows snapped together; when he focused, his pupils shrank dramatically.
Victor stared, stunned–one gust might topple that slender silhouette.
Yet the girl was Elena Bennett!
An invisible hand seemed to clutch his heart in an instant.
Elena only spared him a fleeting glance before dropping her eyes to the snow, shuffling forward with a timid stoop until she stopped two yards away.
Keeping that distance, she murmured, “President Whitmore.”
