Elaine Miller was a prisoner.

Trapped in the master bedroom of the West Wing, the door was double-locked and flanked by two hulking bodyguards. Her phone had been stripped from her, replaced by a tablet Marcellus Spencer had tossed her—a cruel suggestion to "amuse herself" while completely cut off from the outside world.

Fury burned in her chest. She slammed her fist into the wall, a hollow thud that did nothing to soothe the screaming in her mind.

Night fell.

The click of the lock broke the silence. The door creaked open, and a shadow crossed the room, settling onto the edge of the bed. Elaine kept her eyes squeezed shut, but as the man leaned in, she lunged. She clamped her teeth onto his shoulder, tearing down with every ounce of her suppressed hatred. Blood blossomed against his shirt, the metallic tang filling the air.

Marcellus let out a sharp hiss, yet he didn't pull away. Instead, he pulled her into a crushing embrace. "Acting like a feral animal, Elaine? Does that satisfy you?"

Her jaw ached, her strength failing. Realizing the pain didn't faze him, she let go, spitting a mouthful of copper-tasting blood onto the floor.

"Let me go."

"I'm not keeping you prisoner. Just agree to remarry me, and you can go wherever you please."

A bitter laugh escaped her. "Not in this lifetime."

Marcellus grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Why not? We have all the time in the world. I’m not going anywhere."

He leaned in to kiss her. Elaine’s eyes widened, and she didn't hesitate—she bit down hard on his lip. He didn't even flinch. He pinned her shoulders to the mattress, his mouth capturing hers in a suffocating, possessive display.

Just as her lungs began to burn, he pulled back. Elaine wasted no time; her palm connected with his face in a sharp, stinging slap. His head snapped to the side. He didn't erupt in rage; he only chuckled. "We have three children together, Elaine. Why be so coy? A little affection won't kill you."

"Get out. You make me sick."

She scrubbed at her mouth with the back of her hand, desperate to erase his touch. His gaze chilled instantly. He reached out to pull at her clothes. A wave of bone-deep, traumatic memories crashed over her. She shoved him back, her body betraying her as she lurched to the side, dry-heaving violently.

Marcellus froze, his hands hovering mid-air. "Elaine... what's wrong?"

"Get out!" she rasped, hatred dripping from every word.

Marcellus clenched his fists, frustration battling with an uncharacteristic flicker of remorse. Terrified of her reaction, he swung his legs off the bed. "Rest. I'll be back tomorrow."

The next day, it wasn't Marcellus who entered. Max led little Maisie through the doorway.

Elaine stiffened, her gaze locking onto the toddler. Maisie was only three—tiny, pale, and looking at her with wide, timid eyes.

"Are you... Mommy?"

"Maisie!" Elaine surged forward, enveloping the child in her arms. Tears hot enough to scald streamed down her cheeks, her words stumbling over one another. "Maisie! I’ve missed you so much! God, I’ve missed you!"

"Three years... it’s been three years..."

Max hovered a step behind, watching the reunion with a hollow flicker of longing in his eyes. Elaine wept until the storm in her chest subsided, finally lifting her gaze to the boy. He was her oldest, the child who had cut her deepest. He was a pawn, brainwashed by the adults around him, but she couldn't simply pretend the scars didn't exist.

"Mommy... I'm sorry."

Max rushed forward, burying his face in her lap. His voice was thick with sobs. "It was my fault before. Please, don't be mad at me. I won't do it again... you still want to be my mommy, right?"

Elaine held her breath, her heart softening against her will. She reached out, patting his back with a trembling hand.

"Zeke is still sleeping; I'll bring him later."

Marcellus’s voice cut through the air. Elaine looked up to see him leaning against the frame, watching her with predatory focus. When she didn't respond, he softened his tone. "Isn't this better? The five of us, finally together. Remarry me, Elaine. The children need their mother."

The warmth in her chest evaporated into ice. "My answer remains the same: impossible. Marcellus, do you have any idea how I spent those seven years? Do you have any idea how much I suffered? What makes you think a pathetic 'I'm sorry' wipes the slate clean?"

Marcellus was silent for a long moment. He signaled for a bodyguard, who stepped forward and handed a hunting knife to Elaine.

"I know I owe you. If you need vengeance to feel whole, do whatever you want to me."

The blade caught the light, a silver sliver that made her heart race. For a split second, the hatred consumed her, blinding her. She wanted to throw it all away, to plunge that steel deep into his heart and end the nightmare. Her fingers brushed the cold, hard handle.

Suddenly, the door burst open.

"Mr. Spencer! Someone is at the gate—it’s a man with a child and the police!"