The iron gates of Riverside Correctional Facility closed behind me with a sound I'd been dreaming about for five years. Freedom. I stood on the cracked pavement, a plastic bag of belongings in one hand, and let the autumn wind hit my face. It felt like being reborn. Like crawling out of a grave I'd been buried in alive. My name is Elena Cross. I was twenty-two when they took everything from me. Now I'm twenty-seven, and I've come back to take it all back. The taxi pulled up exactly on time. I'd planned every detail of this day during those endless nights in my cell. Every single moment had been choreographed in my mind while my cellmate snored and the fluorescent lights hummed their mechanical lullaby. "Where to?" the driver asked. "The Ashford Estate," I said. His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. Everyone in this city knew that name. The Ashfords owned half of it—the hotels, the restaurants, the politicians. They were untouchable. They thought they'd destroyed me. They had no idea what they'd created instead. The driver shifted uncomfortably but said nothing. Smart man. I watched the city roll past the window. Five years changes everything. New buildings where old ones stood. Different shops. Different people walking streets I used to know by heart. But some things never change. The Ashford Estate still sat on the hill overlooking everything, a monument to wealth and power. I'd grown up in that house. I'd called those people family. And they'd thrown me away like garbage the moment it became convenient. My phone buzzed. A burner I'd had sent to a PO box. Only one person had this number. "It's done," the text read. "Everything you asked for. Welcome back." I smiled for the first time in five years. The taxi wound up the familiar roads. My heart should have been racing, but it wasn't. I'd gone cold somewhere in year three. The girl who used to cry herself to sleep had died in that place. What walked out was something else entirely. "You sure about this, miss?" the driver asked as we approached the gates. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life," I told him. The gates were open. They were having one of their famous garden parties. I could see the white tents from here, hear the string quartet playing something classical and pretentious. Perfect. I paid the driver and stepped out onto the cobblestone driveway. A woman in a catering uniform nearly dropped her tray when she saw me. Her face went white. "Elena?" she whispered. "But you're supposed to be—" "In prison?" I finished for her. "I was. Now I'm not." I walked past her, my cheap shoes clicking against the stone. I'd dressed carefully for this moment. Nothing fancy. I wanted them to see exactly what they'd reduced me to. The party was in full swing. Champagne flowed. Laughter echoed across the manicured lawns. The elite of the city had gathered to celebrate something—I didn't care what. They were about to get a different kind of entertainment. I stepped onto the terrace, and the first person to see me was Victoria Ashford. The woman who'd raised me. The woman who'd called me daughter. The woman who'd looked me in the eyes in that courtroom and said she believed I was guilty. Her champagne glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the marble. The sound cut through the music like a gunshot. Everyone turned. And there, standing next to Victoria with his arm around a blonde woman in a designer dress, was Marcus Ashford. My adoptive brother. The man I'd loved more than anyone in the world. The man who'd testified against me and put me in prison. Our eyes met across the terrace, and I watched the color drain from his face. "Hello, Marcus," I said, my voice carrying across the sudden silence. "Did you miss me?"