The Jilted Heiress's Spectacular High Society Comeback

The thick, metallic scent of blood mixed with the suffocating fumes of raw gasoline.

Elliana opened her eyes to a fractured world. The windshield of the SUV was a spiderweb of shattered glass. Rain lashed against the metal roof in a deafening roar. She tried to blink, but a warm, sticky liquid dripped from her forehead, stinging her left eye.

She attempted to move her legs. A sharp, blinding pain shot up her spine, stealing the breath from her lungs. She looked down through the darkness. The dashboard had crumpled inward like crushed aluminum, pinning her right calf completely. She could not feel her toes.

A weak, wet sound came from the back seat.

Elliana's heart stopped. The air in her throat turned to sandpaper. She jerked her head around, her neck muscles screaming in protest.

Clara.

Her six-year-old daughter was slumped sideways against the shattered window. Her tiny pink dress was stained dark. Her face was covered in a mask of red, surrounded by glittering shards of safety glass.

Elliana threw her upper body toward the gap between the front seats. She stretched her arm out, her fingers trembling violently.

She was half an inch away from Clara's small hand.

The jagged metal of the center console sliced into Elliana's forearm. She did not feel it. She pushed harder, tearing her own flesh, but her trapped leg anchored her in place.

She slammed her bloody palm against the driver's side window. She screamed for help. The sound tore her vocal cords, but the violent thunderstorm swallowed her voice whole. The dark woods surrounding the winding mountain road offered nothing but silence.

A blinding white beam of light suddenly pierced the darkness.

The heavy, rhythmic thud of helicopter rotors vibrated through the wet asphalt. A private medical helicopter touched down on a flat stretch of road fifty yards away. The Lancaster family crest was painted clearly on its side.

Elliana's chest he heave. Her lungs burned as she sucked in air. She slammed her fist onto the center of the steering wheel. The damaged horn let out a harsh, broken blare. She pressed it again and again, her blood smearing over the leather.

Three paramedics in neon jackets jumped from the helicopter. A man in a tailored suit-one of Devontae's personal fixers-intercepted them immediately on the wet tarmac. He pointed frantically at the sports car. "Over there! The SUV driver is fine, but we have a severe asthma attack and a potential cardiac event in the sports car! Hurry!" The paramedics, following the urgent misdirection of the family staff, did not look toward her crushed SUV. They ran straight past her, heading toward the sleek sports car that had rear-ended them and spun out into the guardrail.

Elliana pressed her face against the broken glass.

Sitting in the driver's seat of the sports car was Kyle. Devontae's mistress. In the passenger seat was Brielle, Kyle's daughter.

Kyle had a small scratch on her forehead. She was clutching her chest and