“Sign over your stock assignment and step aside so Julian’s real family can take your place,” my mother-in-law, Eleanor, said, sliding a thick black folder across the table toward me in the middle of dinner.

The drive from Brooklyn to Greenwich felt like it lasted a century. I didn't wait for Viktor’s team to pick me up; I threw my raincoat over my shoulders, jumped into my SUV, and drove like a maniac through the afternoon gridlock, running red lights and weaving recklessly through highway traffic.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Please God, let her be safe. Please don't let them hurt her.

By the time my SUV tires crunched up the gravel driveway of the Greenwich estate, the rain had slowed to a misty, miserable drizzle.

The grand colonial mansion looked dark and ominous against the gray autumn sky. All the front windows were shuttered, but I could see a dim light flickering inside the cavernous kitchen at the back of the house.

I didn't bother using the doorbell. I grabbed a heavy iron snow shovel from the side porch and smashed the reinforced glass pane of the back door, reaching inside to flip the deadbolt.

The door swung open with a loud creak.

I stepped into the kitchen, the iron shovel gripped tightly in my right hand, ready to crack open the skull of anyone who came near me.

“Nora!” I screamed, my voice echoing off the marble countertops.

Silence. Just the low hum of the refrigerator and the dripping of water from my jacket onto the tile floor.

I rushed down the hallway toward the formal dining room—the exact room where this entire nightmare had begun weeks ago.

And as I reached the arched doorway, the breath was knocked entirely out of my lungs, leaving me paralyzed in horror.

Sitting in the center of the room on a high wooden stool was Nora. Her little face was stained with heavy, silent tears, her small shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

And standing behind her, holding a pair of heavy household hair-cutting shears, was Chloe.

Beside her stood Eleanor, holding Nora’s arms pinned firmly to the chair, while Renata stood nearby holding a silver handheld mirror in front of my daughter’s face.

Clump after clump of Nora’s long, beautiful brown hair fell onto the mahogany floor like dead leaves.

“Stop!” I shrieked, charging into the room like a wild animal.

Chloe laughed, snipping another jagged chunk off the side of Nora’s head before casually tossing the hair onto the floor. “Oh, look who decided to show up. Mommy’s here, sweetie! Say goodbye to your little princess locks.”

“Mommy!” Nora cried out, her voice raw and broken. “Mommy, make them stop! It hurts!”

Eleanor turned her cold, venomous eyes toward me, a twisted smile curling her wrinkled lips. “We thought the brat needed a makeover, Evelyn. After all, Vances don't walk around looking like street urchins. We’re just teaching her some family discipline.”

I stopped dead in my tracks, about ten feet away from them.

The iron shovel slipped from my fingers, clattering loudly against the hardwood floor.

My entire body went numb. The rage I had felt a moment ago evaporated, replaced by something much darker, much colder, and infinitely more terrifying.

Julian, who had been standing quietly in the corner of the dining room watching the entire scene unfold with his hands shoved lazily into his pockets, finally looked up.

He didn't rush over to comfort his terrified daughter. He didn't tell his mother and his mistress to put the shears down.