After you get married, you won’t need to work so hard anymore. Gavin can take over your company, and you can devote yourself to your husband, your home, and, hopefully, giving us a grandchild.

Over the next two weeks, I played the part of the blissful bride with Oscar-worthy precision. I joined Gavin for wedding dress fittings, let Naomi guide me through floral selections, and smiled demurely whenever Elijah made grand, sweeping statements about "family legacy" over expensive dinners at country clubs.

Every single gesture from them was a calculated move toward my company.

During a Sunday brunch at their Buckhead home, Naomi pulled out a thick leather binder filled with sample guest lists and wedding registries. The sun was streaming through the floor-to-ceiling glass of their sunroom, painting an picture of aristocratic peace that felt sickeningly fake.

"Alyssa, dear," Naomi said, setting a porcelain teacup down with a soft click. "Gavin mentioned that your agency is handling the annual marketing campaign for Vanguard Financial next month. That's a massive contract."

"It is," I replied, taking a small sip of tea. "It’s about four million in revenue this quarter alone."

Elijah, sitting in an armchair with the morning paper, looked up, his eyes sharpening. "A contract of that scale requires heavy administrative oversight. Gavin’s background in private equity would be invaluable there. You shouldn't be stressing yourself with high-stakes client management when you should be planning a home."

"Oh, Elijah is right," Naomi chimed in, leaning across the glass table to pat my hand. Her touch felt like scales. "A woman’s energy is wasted in corporate boardrooms, Alyssa. Once you give Gavin power of attorney over the firm’s operational accounts, you can finally breathe."

"I’ve been giving it a lot of thought," I said, lowering my eyes to look like a submissive young woman contemplating her future. "I think you might be right. I’ve been running so hard for six years... maybe it’s time I let Gavin take the wheel."

Gavin, sitting beside me, squeezed my shoulder, his voice warm with triumph. "You won't regret it, babe. I’ll protect everything you’ve built."

You mean you’ll liquidate everything I’ve built, I thought.

"Where is Brianna today?" I asked casually, looking around the empty sunroom. "I brought a box of organic teas I thought she might like."

Naomi’s smile stiffened slightly. "Oh, Brianna’s gastritis flared up again. She’s resting in her quarters upstairs. It’s best not to disturb her. She gets confused easily when she’s ill."

"Confused," I repeated softly. "That’s terrible. Is Damian coming back from his business trip soon to care for her?"

"Damian is extremely busy in London," Elijah said curtly, shutting his paper with a sharp snap. "Family business. Now, about the pre-wedding financial arrangements..."

They were cutting Brianna off completely, portraying her as mentally unstable to explain away her isolation.

Later that afternoon, while Gavin and Elijah went to the garage to inspect a vintage car, and Naomi went to order catering, I slipped away toward the rear service stairs. My heart hammered against my ribs, but my steps were quiet.

The third floor of the Herndon estate was vastly different from the opulent grand foyer. The carpets were worn, the air was stale, and the doors were plain.

I walked down the narrow corridor until I reached the end door—the one leading near the back storage area where I had seen Brianna two weeks ago. I knocked softly.

No answer.

"Brianna?" I whispered, putting my mouth near the brass knob. "It's Alyssa."

A soft gasp sounded from inside, followed by the muffled scraping of a chair. The lock clicked, and the door opened an inch.

Brianna’s eye appeared in the crack. She looked worse than before. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath her hollow eyes, and her lip was swollen.

"What are you doing here?" she breathed, horror choking her voice. "If Naomi catches you up here—"

"Brianna, listen to me," I whispered urgently, slipping my hand through the narrow opening and pressing a small, black burner phone into her cold fingers. "This phone is encrypted. My security head set it up. There is one contact saved: my private line. Nobody can trace it."

Brianna stared at the device as if it were a unexploded bomb. "Alyssa, you don't understand. You have to leave. You have to break the engagement and run. They are ruthless. They did this to me!"

"What did they do to you, Brianna?" I demanded softly. "Where is Damian?"

Tears spilled down Brianna's pale cheeks. "Damian isn't in London. He’s... he’s in a private psychiatric care facility in North Carolina. They put him there after he tried to stop Elijah from embezzling from his trust fund. They threatened to take my daughter away if I didn't stay here and sign over my family inheritance!"

My jaw tightened. "They locked your husband away and stole your money?"

"They used my father's estate to pay off their initial debts, and when the money ran out, they turned on me," Brianna sobbed quietly. "They keep me locked away when guests come. They are doing the exact same thing to you, Alyssa. Gavin doesn't love you. He chose you because your agency is clean, profitable, and liquid!"

"I know," I said firmly, reaching out to clasp her shoulder. "I saw them in the storage room two weeks ago, Brianna. I saw what Naomi did to you. I heard what Gavin said."

Brianna gasped, covering her mouth. "You saw?"

"Yes. And I am not running away. I am going to pull you out of this house, get Damian out of that facility, and put Gavin and his parents in prison."

"They're too powerful," she wept softly. "They have lawyers, judges—"

"They have leverage built on fear," I countered. "I have fourteen million dollars, a team of former federal investigators, and nothing left to lose. Keep that phone hidden. When the time comes, I need you to record everything you can. Can you do that for me?"

Brianna looked down at the tiny phone in her hand, then looked back up at me. A faint, flickering spark of defiance returned to her broken eyes.

"I’ll do it," she whispered. "Just... please don't leave me here."

"I won't," I swore. "I'll be back."

Footsteps echoed from the bottom of the wooden staircase.