Blaire forced her heavy eyelids open. The blinding morning light pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Manhattan penthouse suite stung her eyes. She let out a muffled groan. Her throat felt as if it had been scraped with sandpaper. She pressed her palms flat against the mattress and tried to push herself up. The moment she moved, a tearing, searing pain shot through her lower body. She gasped. Her heart suddenly slammed against her ribs in a fierce, frantic rhythm. She dropped her gaze. Her skin was bare, covered in blooming red marks. Her mind went blank. An ice-cold, suffocating terror seized her lungs. She grabbed the heavy duvet and yanked it up to her chin. The sudden movement pulled at her sore muscles. Cold sweat instantly beaded on her forehead, dampening her hairline. A low, mocking sneer came from the corner of the room. The sound pierced her panic instantly. Blaire froze, then slowly turned her stiff neck toward the shadows. Kamryn Lane sat in a separate皮质 armchair. The sheer physical presence of the man seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the room. He was unhurriedly, meticulously fastening the cufflinks of his custom shirt. His deep gaze swept over her. It was the look a man gives to a defective product on a shelf. Humiliation burned at the back of her throat. Blaire opened her mouth. She tried to ask him what had happened, but her vocal cords wouldn't obey. Only a faint, hoarse wisp of air escaped her lips. "You... what did you do to me?" Kamryn paused in fastening his cufflink. He looked up, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile that held no warmth. "Awake? Faster than I expected." His long legs crossed the distance to the bed in three strides. His massive shadow swallowed her completely. Blaire instinctively pressed her back against the headboard, pulling her knees to her chest. He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a checkbook. He uncapped his pen and scribbled down a number. His movements were crisp and efficient, radiating impatient disgust. He flicked his wrist. The signed check fluttered through the air and hit Blaire square in the cheek. The sharp edge of the paper left a small, stinging paper cut on her skin. The check landed on her lap. Blaire looked down. One million dollars. The absurdity of the number hit her like a physical blow. Absolute humiliation rose as hot tears, flooding her eyes. "Take it," Kamryn said, his voice as cold as if it had been dug out of an ice cellar. "Pretend last night never happened. Keep your mouth shut, and get out of my sight." Blaire looked up, forcing out a few hoarse words: "I didn't... I didn't seduce you..." "Is that so?" Kamryn let out a mocking laugh, towering over her. "A gold-digger scheming to climb into my bed. I've seen countless women like you. You're probably the... I've lost count." Each word crushed another part of her dignity. Blaire grabbed the check. Her hands trembling violently, she tore the thick paper in half. She flung the shredded pieces at his chest. They scattered like broken snowflakes in front of him. "I don't want your money!" Her voice was hoarse, rasping as if it would tear her throat apart. "I have no idea how I got here! I was drugged—do you hear me? I. Was. Drugged!" Kamryn easily sidestepped the falling pieces of paper. His eyes darkened. Her resistance only deepened his hostility. He leaned over the bed, gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her head up to look at him. "Nice acting," he said, his voice low, like a dull knife pressed against her skin. "But save it. You think this will get you more?" The pressure of his fingers felt as if they would shatter her jawbone. The pain forced a single tear to spill over her lashes and roll down her cheek. "Let go of me..." Blaire grabbed his wrist, her nails digging into his skin as she tried to pry his hand away. "You're hurting me..." The disparity in strength between them was laughable. She couldn't move him an inch. Instead, she glared at him, pouring all her hatred into her eyes. A rapid, urgent clicking of high heels echoed from the hallway. The sound broke the suffocating stalemate. Both of them turned their heads toward the door. The heavy suite door burst open. Danita Terrell rushed into the room, her face twisted into an exaggerated expression of panic. Danita clapped a hand over her mouth and let out a loud, theatrical gasp. Her gaze swept from the disheveled bed to Blaire, then to Kamryn. A fleeting, dark satisfaction flickered in Danita's eyes before she masked it. Blaire saw her foster sister and opened her mouth to call for help. "Danita—help me—I don't know how—" But the coldness in Danita's brief glance froze her. The cry for help died in her throat. Danita didn't look at her. She immediately rushed to Kamryn, her voice trembling with false concern. "Kamryn! Oh my God, are you okay? What happened? The moment I got your message—" Kamryn shot her a look of pure disgust and stepped back, keeping his distance. Undeterred, Danita deftly turned her gaze back to the bed. She covered her mouth and let out a choked, desperate cry, performing as if the scattered clues had just now horrifyingly pieced themselves together in her "innocent" mind. "Blaire..." Danita's voice trembled, but Blaire could hear the smugness hidden beneath it. "How could you... how could you do this to me? I'm your sister!" She twisted her expression into heartbroken disappointment. She pointed a trembling finger at Blaire, her voice rising sharply. "You seduced Kamryn? You knew about him and me—you're shameless!" The mud was flung directly onto Blaire's head. Blaire shook her head frantically, tears flying. "No! Danita, listen to me—I was drugged—I don't know how I got here—please believe me—" Her weak, hoarse voice was completely drowned out by Danita's loud accusations. Danita didn't want to listen. Kamryn released Blaire's chin. He turned to the nightstand, pulled a wipe from a pack, and cleaned his fingers. His movements were filled with extreme revulsion, as if he had just touched something diseased. He looked at Danita and spoke coldly. "Just a disgusting accident. She's your problem. Handle her." The sentence nailed Blaire to the pillar of shame. He picked up his suit jacket from the back of the chair. Without another glance at Blaire, he turned and walked toward the door, his strides long and determined. Danita quickly turned and chased after him. Her voice became sickeningly sweet. "Kamryn, wait—I know you didn't mean to—it must have been her seducing you—don't be angry—" The two left the suite one after the other. The heavy door slammed shut with a bang. The sound snapped the last thread holding Blaire together. Her body went completely limp in the tangled sheets. She grabbed the duvet, pulled it over her head, desperately wanting to hide. As she moved, her gaze fell upon the glaring, dark red stain on the white mattress. Staring at the physical proof of her stolen innocence, Blaire curled into a ball. Tears finally broke through the dam. Silent, agonizing sobs soaked her pillow. She bit down on a corner of the blanket to keep herself from crying out loud. The only sounds left in the room were her stifled whimpers and the never-ending noise of New York City outside the window.

The image of that blood was seared into her retinas until the hotel staff finally escorted her back to the Terrell estate. Hours later, the clock on her nightstand pointed to two in the morning. Blaire pushed herself up from the mattress. She threw on a silk robe, tying the belt with trembling fingers. Her throat was parched; she needed to go downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of water. She pushed open the heavy carved wooden door of her bedroom. The dim wall sconces in the hallway stretched her shadow long across the floor. The deathly silence of the enormous house sent a chill down her spine. She walked barefoot across the cold white marble floor. She tried to make her footsteps completely silent, but her dry throat compelled her to continue toward the grand staircase. She had just reached the first-floor landing when low voices drifted from the slightly ajar door of the study. The sound stopped her in her tracks. Blaire wanted to turn back upstairs, but then she heard her own name, clear as day. A morbid curiosity seized her. She held her breath and crept closer to the gap in the door. She pressed her back against the cold wall. Peeking through the narrow slit, she saw her foster mother, Clotilda, holding a glass of red wine. A smug, chilling smile hung on Clotilda's face. Danita sat on the leather sofa, her voice thick with anxiety. "Mom, Kamryn won't even look at me. He walked right past me in the hallway today. You said the plan would work—" Clotilda let out a dismissive snort. She patted her daughter's hand. "Patience. Once Blaire is carrying the Lane family's child, everything will proceed exactly according to plan. Kamryn will do his part—he thinks he got lucky, but he's just a pawn on our chessboard." These words slammed into Blaire's chest like a sledgehammer. She clamped both hands over her mouth, pushing the scream back down her throat. Danita leaned forward, her voice dropping lower, tinged with a cruel excitement. "And after the baby is born? What do we do with her then?" Clotilda took a slow sip of her wine. "Stage an accident. A car crash, or a fall down the stairs—whatever you prefer. Then, drain her blood and transplant her healthy heart into your chest. The Terrell medical team has been ready for a long time." The horrifying truth crashed down on her. A living organ bank. A surrogate vessel. The realization shattered her entire reality. A wave of intense nausea rose in her stomach, making her knees go weak. She thought of the strange-tasting champagne at last night's charity gala. All the recent warmth and smiles from her foster family had been a deadly trap, designed solely to deliver her into Kamryn's bed. Her body began to tremble uncontrollably with sheer terror. She stumbled backward, and her heel caught the edge of a tall porcelain flowerpot in the hallway. The pot scraped against the marble floor, letting out a dull, harsh screech. The voices in the study stopped immediately. "Who's out there?" Clotilda's sharp, suspicious voice pierced through the wooden door. Blaire's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She looked around frantically for a place to hide, but the long hallway was empty. There was nowhere to run. The brass doorknob of the study began to turn. In that moment of absolute panic, a strong arm reached out of the darkness, and a large hand clamped over her mouth. Blaire struggled wildly, but the force yanked her into the unlit storage room next to the study. The door clicked shut behind them, soundlessly. "Don't make a sound." A low voice vibrated against her eardrum. The study door opened. Clotilda poked her head out, scanning the empty hallway. "Strange... I definitely heard something." She muttered something about the night wind and closed the door again. In the pitch-black storage room, Blaire's back was pressed against a chest hard as rock. The scent of rich cedarwood mixed with raw male hormones invaded her senses. Her body went completely rigid. Calhoun Terrell's deep, raspy voice rumbled in her ear. "What are you doing sneaking around outside the study in the middle of the night?" Blaire pushed hard against his chest. The faint moonlight filtering through the high window illuminated her foster brother's face. His sunken eyes stared at her, filled with dangerous calculation. To hide the terrible secret she had just learned, Blaire dug her nails deep into her palms. She used the sharp pain to keep herself alert. She forced the muscles of her face into a pale, weak smile. "I... I had a nightmare," she said, letting her voice tremble just enough to be convincing. "I came down for water, and I got lost in the dark. I didn't hear anything, Cal—I just want to go back to my room..." Calhoun stepped forward, trapping her against the shelves. There was no gentle touch. He shot out his hand, clamping his thumb and forefinger around her jaw with enough force to nearly crush it, an undeniable authority in the grip. He forced her head up, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized her pale face like a stern warden examining a disobedient prisoner. "A nightmare?" His voice held no warmth. "Your hands are shaking, Blaire. What are you afraid of?" Blaire fought the urge to flinch. She met his gaze, forcing her eyes to look wide, innocent, and dependent on her brother. "I'm just... scared from the dream. Please, Calhoun, let me go back to sleep." A long silence. His gaze scraped across her face like a blade. Finally, with a flick of his wrist, he released her jaw abruptly, seemingly accepting her explanation. He shrugged off his cashmere coat and draped it over her thin robe. "Put this on. Don't freeze to death. Mother still has uses for you tomorrow." His tone returned to its usual harsh coldness. "Go back to your room immediately. If I see you wandering the halls again—" "You won't," Blaire whispered. "I promise." A wave of immense relief washed over Blaire. She pulled the coat tight around herself, the fabric still holding his body heat. Keeping her head down, she hurried past him and fled the storage room. Back in her bedroom, Blaire locked the door and leaned against the wood. She slid down to sit on the floor, gasping for air as if she had just struggled out of water. She bit down hard on the back of her hand to keep herself from crying out loud. The pure terror in her eyes slowly congealed into a desperate, burning will to survive. "They're going to slaughter me like livestock..." she whispered to the empty room, her voice hoarse and broken. "But I won't let them. Never." She couldn't wait to be killed. She needed to make money and escape, and first thing in the morning, she needed to buy the morning-after pill—to sabotage their surrogacy plan.

The sun had just risen when Blaire finished washing up. She changed into a pair of jeans and a plain sweater. Taking a deep breath, she opened her bedroom door and walked down the stairs to the first-floor dining room. Blaire entered the sun-drenched room. She forced back the nausea rising in her throat and managed a polite, submissive smile at her foster parents and siblings seated around the long table. "Good morning, Blaire." Clotilda's voice was sickeningly sweet. "Good morning." Blaire pulled out a chair and sat down. She deliberately picked up a slice of whole-wheat toast and chewed it slowly. The repetitive motion helped her hide the slight tremor in her fingertips. Clotilda set down her coffee cup. With a nauseatingly false, solicitous tone, she asked, "Blaire, dear, how did you sleep last night?" Yet her gaze swept over Blaire's abdomen like she was appraising a broodmare. Blaire took a deep breath and looked Clotilda straight in the eye. "Very well, thank you for asking," she replied calmly. Then she dropped the bombshell. "I have something to announce. I've decided to move into the university dorms." The air in the dining room froze instantly. Danita's knife screeched across her ceramic plate, leaving a harsh, unpleasant sound hanging in the air. Ewald set down his morning paper. His brow furrowed deeply as he asked in a low, serious voice, "Move out? Why? Isn't home comfortable enough?" Blaire recited the excuse she had prepared. "I need intensive, closed-door training to qualify for an MFA scholarship. The dorms are close to the studio, so I can practice several more hours each day." She used her academic ambitions as her shield. Clotilda immediately objected, a sharp edge creeping into her voice. "No. An unmarried girl living on campus? What would that look like? What about the family's reputation?" Blaire knew the real reason was Clotilda's fear of losing control over her "living organ bank." She didn't argue, just lowered her eyes. Calhoun, who had been silent, suddenly set down his utensils. He spoke in an authoritative tone that brooked no argument. "Let her go." Everyone looked at him. Clotilda opened her mouth to protest but was silenced by a single look from Calhoun. "But there's a condition." Calhoun stared at Blaire, his deep, bottomless black eyes devoid of any warmth. "Every weekend, you come home for dinner. Friday night through Sunday. No absences. Otherwise—" "I accept." Blaire met his gaze. She knew this was his absolute底线. She clenched her jaw and nodded. Danita, seeing the shift in power, rolled her eyes. In a fake, naive voice, she said, "Oh, speaking of which, Blaire, aren't you supposed to see Kamryn tonight? He specifically asked about you, you know." At the mention of that name, Blaire's stomach convulsed violently. She managed a bitter, strained smile. "No, I don't have time. My course load is too heavy this semester. Some other time." She refused flatly, leaving no room for negotiation in her voice. Breakfast ended in a suffocating, eerie silence. Blaire grabbed her backpack, muttered, "I'm going to the library," and practically ran out of the estate. She walked several blocks away from the giant iron gates before her tense shoulders finally relaxed. She quickened her pace and headed toward a small, unassuming CVS pharmacy on the corner. She pushed open the glass door. A blast of cold air hit her. Blaire pulled down the brim of her baseball cap and tilted her head away from the security cameras mounted on the ceiling. She hurried to the feminine hygiene aisle. Her eyes scanned the shelves until she found the small box of Plan B. She picked it up, but as soon as she turned around, she collided with a large, sturdy woman pushing a shopping cart. "Hey! Watch it!" the woman complained loudly. Several other customers turned to look. Panicked, Blaire hid the box behind her back and muttered a stream of apologies. "Sorry... I'm so sorry, I didn't see you..." "You got eyes in the back of your head or what?" the woman grumbled as she pushed her cart away. Once everyone's attention had shifted, Blaire quickly went to the self-checkout machine. She fed crisp new bills into the slot, took her change, and crumpled the receipt into a ball before tossing it into the nearby trash can. Leaving the pharmacy, Blaire ducked into a deserted alley. With trembling hands, she tore open the cardboard box. She popped the pill out of its blister pack and swallowed it dry, without any water. The chalky tablet scraped down her throat. A bitter taste coated her tongue, but a fierce sense of satisfaction lit up her eyes. She whispered to the empty alley, "Step one, complete." She had just sabotaged their elaborate plan. Blaire walked to a nearby park and sat down on a wooden bench. She pulled out her phone and started searching for high-paying part-time jobs. She scrolled past listings for coffee shops. Minimum wage would never be enough to fund her escape from New York. "Too little... not nearly enough," she murmured to herself. Her thumb moved faster. She entered a hidden, underground New York forum, searching for off-the-books work. A flashing neon banner caught her eye. Club Velvet was urgently hiring senior resident dancers. Daily cash payment. Strict privacy protection. "Club Velvet..." She bit her lip, hesitated for a few seconds, then clicked the link. The hourly wage displayed on the screen made her heart pound. It was the only way she could raise enough cash in a short amount of time. She read the job description. It required revealing clothing and soft-core, sensual performances. Years of conservative upbringing made her stomach clench with shame. Then, Clotilda's face, talking about draining her blood, flashed through her mind. "No." Blaire clenched her fists. "I won't let them slaughter me like livestock." The primal fear of death shattered all her moral hesitation in an instant. Blaire gritted her teeth. Her eyes turned as hard as cold steel. Without a moment's further hesitation, she clicked the apply button. An encrypted chat window popped up. "Applying for Club Velvet?" the other person asked. "Yes," Blaire typed back. "Tonight at ten. Wear a mask. Come to the back alley door. Bring your ID. Don't be late." "Got it." Blaire locked her phone screen. She stared at her pale reflection in the black glass. "Starting tonight, I'm no longer Blaire Terrell," she whispered, her voice carrying a grim, determined calm. To survive, she had to become someone else entirely.