From Ruined Wife To Tycoon's Obsession

Everly pushed open the heavy door to the nursery. The room was dim, the curtains drawn tight. The air inside was thick and stale, smelling sharply of unwashed linen and neglect.

She limped quickly toward the crib in the corner.

Three-year-old Aria was curled into a tight ball, her tiny fingers gripping a worn-out stuffed rabbit.

At the sound of footsteps, Aria's eyes flew open. Panic flashed in her large, innocent eyes. But when she saw it was her mother, her little face crumpled. She let out a weak, pitiful cry and reached her arms up through the wooden bars.

Everly's heart physically tore in her chest. She reached down and pulled her daughter into her arms, pressing her face into Aria's soft hair.

As she lifted her, Everly immediately felt the heavy, sagging weight of Aria's diaper. It was soaked through, cold against the child's skin. The nanny hadn't changed her all night.

Everly's jaw locked. She carried Aria into the attached bathroom and turned on the warm water in the sink, grabbing a soft washcloth.

She laid Aria down on the changing table and gently unzipped the child's fleece onesie.

As she pulled the fabric down, Everly's eyes froze. Her breathing stopped completely.

Scattered across Aria's pale thighs and the soft skin of her inner arms were dark, purple bruises. Next to them were distinct, crescent-shaped red marks-the undeniable shape of adult fingernails digging into flesh.

Everly's hand began to shake so violently she dropped the washcloth into the sink. Water splashed everywhere.

She reached out with a trembling finger and lightly touched the edge of a bruise.

Aria flinched violently, pulling her arm back. "Owie," she babbled, her voice trembling. "Bad."

Tears erupted from Everly's eyes, hot and blinding. Marion had ordered the nanny to do this. They were torturing a disabled child.

Everly pulled Aria against her chest, holding her tight as the sound of the running water masked the guttural, agonizing sobs tearing out of Everly's throat.

When the tears finally stopped, they were replaced by a cold, mechanical focus.

Everly dried Aria off, dressed her in warm, clean clothes, and set her in the playpen.

She moved frantically around the room. She grabbed a nondescript canvas duffel bag from the closet. She shoved in diapers, Aria's medical files, her own passport, and the few pieces of jewelry she owned. She zipped the bag shut and shoved it deep into the back of the closet.

She was going to take Aria and run tonight.

A sharp knock on the door made her jump. Brenda, the head housekeeper, pushed the door open without waiting for permission.

Brenda looked at Everly with a thinly veiled sneer, maintaining the icy facade of a high-society servant. "Mrs. Moss has requested your assistance with the dinner service tonight. She felt a more hands-on role would be appropriate for you given recent events. The maid's uniform is prepared. You are to come downstairs immediately."

Everly stared at the woman. A cold laugh almost escaped her lips. To keep them blind to her escape plan, she had to play the broken victim.

"Fine," Everly said, her voice dead.

By sunset, the deafening roar of helicopter rotors shook the glass windows of the estate. The wind whipped the autumn leaves across the lawn in a violent frenzy.

Everly stood in the shadows of the grand foyer, wearing a stiff, ill-fitting black maid's uniform. She kept her head down as the massive front doors were hauled open.

Carson Moss practically bowed as he walked backward into the house, leading a tall, imposing figure out of the cold.

The man stepped inside. He shrugged off his black cashmere overcoat, handing it to the butler. The chandelier light hit his sharp, sculpted jawline and cold, predatory eyes.

Everly's heart slammed against her ribs. She instinctively took a step backward, pressing her spine against the wall, trying to melt into the shadows.

It was him. The man from the Maybach. The man who had thrown money at her bleeding body in the rain.

"Mr. Lancaster," Carson said, his voice dripping with desperation. "Welcome to our home. It is an honor to host the head of the Lancaster Group."

Guilford Lancaster shook Carson's hand with minimal effort. His dark eyes swept over the opulent foyer with an air of absolute boredom.

Suddenly, his gaze stopped.

His eyes cut through the crowd of servants and locked flawlessly onto Everly, hiding in the dark corner.

Everly stopped breathing. Her stomach twisted into a tight knot. She waited for him to speak, to expose her as the pathetic woman from the street, to humiliate her in front of her abusers.

Guilford's eyes darkened slightly. His gaze swept over her pale face, the bruise on her cheek, and the humiliating maid's uniform. The eye contact lasted for less than a second.

Then, as if he were looking at a blank wall, he looked away.

"Let's get this over with, Moss," Guilford said, his voice a flat, emotionless drawl. He walked past Carson, heading straight for the dining room.