Chapter 1 - THE WHISPERS BEHIND THE LINEN CLOSETThe metallic hum of the industrial laundry cart vibrated through the basement service corridor, but Sarah Merritt’s voice cut through it like a scalpel.
"She’s still up there?" Sarah demanded, leaning against the damp brick wall with her arms crossed tightly over her immaculate, starched manager's uniform. Her blonde chignon was pulled into a severe knot, every hair lacquered into submission.
Lauren, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, nodded. "Twenty minutes past her shift. Paige checked the service monitor. The light in Suite 3201 is still active."
Sarah let out a cold, sharp laugh, the sound bouncing off the concrete floor. "Let her stay. By the time Kane finishes shredding her to pieces, the little charity case will pack her bags herself. She thinks because she keeps her head down and never complains, she’s invisible. Let’s see how invisible she feels when she’s crying in my office by noon."
Down the hall, hidden behind a stack of folded duvet covers, nineteen-year-old Nova Callaway felt her chest tighten so hard it hurt to breathe.
She had slipped into the employee annex twenty minutes ago to drop off her sister’s spare house key, only to overhear Sarah, Lauren, and Paige mapping out Odessa’s destruction. They were treating her older sister’s life like a spectator sport—a cruel game invented to amuse the bored, petty tyrants of the Whitcomb Grand Hotel.
Nova’s fingers curled into the rough fabric of her denim jacket. Odessa had spent four years sacrificing her youth, her sleep, and her own peace of mind just to keep them afloat after their mother passed away. She absorbed every insult, every grueling double-shift, and every sneer from Sarah Merritt without a single word of protest, all so Nova could stay in college and keep a roof over their heads.
And now, Sarah wanted to break her completely.
Not if I can help it, Nova thought, her pulse hammering against her ribs.
She pulled out her phone, her thumb flying across the screen to type a frantic warning to Odessa. But before she could hit send, a heavy hand clamped down onto her shoulder.
"Lost, little girl?"
Nova whipped around. Standing right behind her was Marcus Vance, the hotel’s head of security. His heavy gold corporate ring gleamed under the flickering fluorescent light—the exact ring Nova had heard tapping against the wall outside the penthouse just an hour earlier.
His smile was predatory. "Employees only down here. And you look entirely too lost to belong to the Whitcomb family."
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Nova forced her chin up, hiding her terror behind a glare that mirrored her sister’s quiet defiance. "I'm looking for the exit."
"Then let me walk you out," Marcus murmured, his grip tightening just enough to bruise. "Before you go digging around in places that can swallow you whole."
