My husband stood in our marble kitchen laughing while his mistress called me a washed-up old maid, completely certain I had no money, no family, and nowhere left to run.

The next morning, I woke up in my old bedroom at my father’s estate.

The sheets were Egyptian cotton, the same ones I’d slept on through high school and college. The walls were still painted that soft blue I’d picked out when I was sixteen. For a moment, I almost believed the last eight years had been nothing but a terrible dream.

Then I tried to sit up.

My back screamed.

Every muscle pulled tight, a burning reminder of the belt marks crisscrossing my skin. I gasped and fell back against the pillows.

The bedroom door opened.

My father walked in carrying a tray. On it: two eggs over easy, buttered toast, a mug of tea exactly how I liked it, and a small bottle of prescription painkillers from the doctor who’d come at three in the morning.

“Good morning, baby,” he said, setting the tray across my lap. “How do you feel?”

“Like I lost a fight with a lawnmower.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, his face tight with suppressed anger.

“The doctor said the bruising should fade in a couple of weeks. No permanent damage. Physically, anyway.”

He paused.

“Lily’s downstairs with her nanny. She slept in my room last night. She didn’t want to be alone.”

My throat tightened.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s seven, Elara. She saw her father beat her mother. She’s not okay. But she’s safe. And that’s what matters right now.”

He reached out and covered my hand with his.

“I’m sorry,” he said. The words sounded strange coming from him—Charles Langford almost never apologized. “I should have stepped in sooner. I should have seen how bad it was getting before last night.”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to say ‘I told you so.’”

“I would never say that to you. Never. I just want you to be happy.” He squeezed my hand. “And you will be again. I promise.”

A knock came at the door.

Mr. Hale stepped inside. He was holding his tablet, his face impassive as always.

“Mr. Langford. Ms. Langford. The board meeting is in forty minutes. The helicopter is warming up on the south lawn. Also… there’s someone here to see you. Says it’s urgent.”

“Who?”

“Ms. Avery.”

I froze.

“Sloane is here?”

“Yes, ma’am. Arrived ten minutes ago. Says she needs to speak with you privately. Won’t leave until she does.”

My father stood up.

“I’ll have her thrown off the property—”

“No.”

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, wincing at the pain.

“Let her in.”

“Elara—”

“I want to hear what she has to say. Alone.”

My father studied my face for a long moment, then nodded.

“Mr. Hale, bring her to the morning room. Elara, I’ll be right outside the door. If she so much as raises her voice—”

“I know.”

Ten minutes later, I walked into the morning room.

Sloane was pacing by the fireplace. She looked terrible. Her hair was a mess, her red dress from the night before was wrinkled, and there was a dark purple bruise blooming on her cheek where Derek had hit her. She spun around when she heard me enter.

“Elara, thank God—”

“Save it.” I sat down in the armchair by the window, careful not to put pressure on my back. “You have five minutes. Then you’re gone.”

She stopped pacing and clasped her hands together. The gesture was meant to look pleading. It just looked fake.

“I know you hate me,” she said. “And you have every right. I was terrible to you. I said horrible things. But you have to believe me—Derek made me do it.”

I blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“He controlled everything. The money, the house, the business. He told me if I didn’t play along with his little games, he’d cut me off. I was scared, Elara. So scared. He’s… he’s not a good man. You know that better than anyone.”

She took a step toward me.

“I can help you.”

“Help me with what?”

“With Derek. I know things. Terrible things. The offshore accounts your father mentioned? I know the account numbers. I know the passwords. I know which vendors paid him kickbacks and which ones he’s planning to bankrupt for the insurance money. He told me everything. He thought I was on his side.”

I stared at her.

“Why would you give me that information?”

“Because he hit me last night.” Sloane’s voice cracked. She touched the bruise on her cheek. “Eight months I gave him everything. I left a good man for him. I ruined my reputation. And last night, because he was angry at you, he hit me. Just like he hit you. I realized then that I was never anything more than a toy to him. And when he’s done with his toys, he throws them away.”

She knelt down in front of my chair.

“I don’t want money. I don’t want a job. I just want to see him fall as hard as he possibly can. And I want to be the one who helps push him. Let me help you, Elara. Please.”

I looked into her eyes.

I saw hatred there. Real, burning hatred. Not for me—not anymore—but for Derek.

And I realized something.

The enemy of my enemy…

“Stand up,” I said.

She stood.

“Everything you know,” I said. “Every account number, every contract, every conversation. I want it all. Written down. Dated. Signed. And if I find out you’ve lied about even one thing—”

“I won’t lie. Not about this.”

“Good.” I stood up carefully. “You have twenty-four hours. Bring everything to my father’s lawyer. If it checks out, we won’t press charges against you for the company funds you spent. If it doesn’t… you’ll be sharing a cell with Derek.”

She nodded so hard her hair bounced.

“Thank you. Thank you, Elara. You won’t regret this.”

She turned and practically ran from the room.

My father walked in the door thirty seconds later.

“Well?” he said. “What did she want?”