At 4:40 a.m., my husband dragged me out of bed and forced me to cook oatmeal for his mother.

The front door unlocked with a heavy click.

I stepped into the grand foyer. The air inside the house was freezing; the heat had been shut off, and the bitter smell of stale alcohol and burning paper hung thick in the air.

“Claire?”

Vivian emerged from the shadows of the drawing room.

The transformation was shocking. The pristine, untouchable matriarch looked completely unhinged. Her silk blouse was stained, her silver hair hung in wild, uncombed strands around her face, and her eyes were bloodshot and hollow. In her trembling hand, she held a half-empty glass of gin.

“You came back,” Vivian whispered, her voice cracking. “You vile, ungrateful creature. Do you know what you’ve done? The bank called. Montgomery called. The press is parked at the end of the road!”

“I know,” I said, stepping into the hallway.

“We took you in!” Vivian shrieked, slamming her glass onto an antique side table. “You were a nobody with a dead father’s petty trust fund! Marcus gave you a name! I taught you how to walk, how to speak, how to be someone!”

“You taught me how to survive monsters, Vivian,” I answered coolly.

From the shadows behind the grand staircase, Marcus stepped out.

He was holding an iron fireplace poker in his right hand. His suit jacket was gone, his white shirt torn at the collar, his eyes entirely devoid of reason. The erratic, violent energy radiating from him made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

“You’re not leaving here, Claire,” Marcus said, his voice dropping into a low, guttural growl. “You think you’re clever? You think Arthur Montgomery cares about you? You’re my wife. Everything you have belongs to me.”

“Nothing belongs to you, Marcus,” I said, keeping my hands visible, my left thumb resting lightly against the emergency transponder in my pocket. “Not the money. Not this house. And certainly not me.”

“Shut up!” Marcus roared, raising the iron poker. He took two heavy, lunging steps toward me. “You’re going to call Montgomery. You’re going to tell the police you fabricated those videos. You’re going to tell them you’re a manic depressive who staged the whole damn thing!”

“Marcus, calm down,” Vivian muttered, though her voice lacked conviction. “Make her sign the retraction first. The lawyer said if she signs an affidavit recanting the abuse, the police can’t move forward—”

“She’s not signing anything,” Marcus snarled, his face twisted in psychotic fury. “She’s going to learn her lesson once and for all.”

He swung the poker.

I didn't freeze. I had spent months anticipating this exact explosion.

I dropped low, dodging beneath the arc of the heavy iron bar. The poker slammed violently into the drywall behind me, punching a massive hole in the plaster. Before Marcus could recover his balance, I pushed hard against his chest, sending him stumbling back against the bottom stairs.

I pressed the button on my transponder.

*Signal sent.*

Marcus recovered instantly, his face purple with rage. He lunged again, grabbing the collar of my coat and slamming me to the floor. The splint on my right wrist struck the hardwood, sending a white-hot flash of agony through my arm.

“You think you can beat me?” Marcus hissed, pinning me down with his knee on my chest, the iron poker pressed horizontally across my throat. “I run this house! I own you!”

Vivian stood three feet away, watching with a mixture of terror and dark, sick fascination. “Marcus… don't kill her… just break her hands. She can't write if her hands are broken…”

That was Vivian Vance to the very end. Cruel, calculating, and fundamentally evil.

“Look at her, Mother!” Marcus laughed, pressing the poker harder against my windpipe, cutting off my air. “Look at the little bird!”

Through the suffocating pressure, through the roaring in my ears, I looked directly into Marcus Vance’s eyes.

I didn't struggle. I didn't beg.

I raised my left hand, pointing a single finger toward the front door.

A deafening crash shattered the silence.

The heavy oak front doors exploded inward off their hinges.