Chapter 4

The glaring light of Hayes’s phone screen cut through the tense silence of the study, nearly blinding me as he shoved the device inches from my face.

My breath caught in my throat.

Twitter was exploding. The trending topics were a neon sign pointing straight to my humiliation:

#HoltFamilyScandal

#AdoptedObsession

Before I could process the sheer volume of notifications cascading down the screen, Hayes swiped to a photo.

It was my diary. The faded pink leather cover, the gold lock that had been forced open, and inside, my naive, looping teenage handwriting exposed for the entire internet to feast upon.

【Today is my sweet sixteen. He gave me a diamond necklace. When he fastened it around my neck, my heart wouldn't stop pounding. Is it wrong that I think I’m falling for him?】

【Seventeen today. I know the truth now. I love him. But he’s the man who took me in. He's my guardian. What am I supposed to do?】

【He patted my head today and smiled, telling me I’ve grown up. God, I wish he would look at me as a woman, not just a daughter...】

Page after page. Word after word. The deepest, most pathetic secrets I had buried in the darkest corners of my soul were now headline news.

"I didn't post this!" My voice came out as a ragged gasp, my hands trembling.

"Then who did?" Hayes’s voice was absolute zero. "It’s your diary, Hazel. That is your handwriting. Did someone hold a gun to your head and force you to scan the pages?"

My gaze darted to Josie. She stood half a step behind him, her shoulders trembling like she was horrified by it all.

"Hayes..." Josie murmured, her voice laced with perfect, hesitant vulnerability. "Do you think... maybe Hazel meant to use this to force your hand? After all, she’s made it clear she doesn't want you to marry me."

A bucket of ice water couldn't have shocked my system more effectively. She was flawlessly pinning her own masterpiece on me.

"That's a lie and you know it!" I screamed, the raw injustice tearing at my throat.

"Enough!" Hayes barked, cutting me off instantly.

He stared at me, and I saw it all in his eyes—disappointment, fury, and something else, something tangled and unnameable that flickered too fast to pin down.

“Hazel, I am so disappointed in you.”

Boom.

The exact same words. The exact same look. The phantom echo of my past life slammed into me with the force of a freight train. He had said those exact words to me right before he signed the papers to lock me away.

"You... you don't believe me?" I whispered, my voice so fragile it barely reached my own ears.

Hayes let out a harsh breath, looking away as if the sight of me pained him. "The press is having a field day. Holt Holdings' stock is already taking a hit in after-hours trading. The board is demanding an explanation, and our investors are threatening to pull out."

He paused, a flicker of something—cowardice? guilt?—flashing across his stoic features. "The PR crisis team has determined the most viable containment strategy."

"Which is?" I choked out, though I already knew the answer.

"We check you into a psychiatric facility. We release a statement saying you've suffered a severe mental break, that these entries are the tragic result of a young woman suffering from extreme delusions."

A psychiatric facility.

The nightmare was looping. The universe was playing a cruel, twisted joke, dragging me right back to the slaughterhouse.

My breath seized in my chest. My hands went ice cold.

I could taste it—sharp, bitter antiseptic, the acrid ghost of seared flesh, the low, thrumming hum of the ECT machine building in my ears. I could feel leather restraints digging into my wrists, my muscles locking up in seizures, the world blurring into static until everything went black.

"No... no, please..." I scrambled backward, my spine hitting the bookshelf with a hard thud. "I’m not sick! I won't go!"

Hayes furrowed his brow. "It’s only temporary, Hazel. Just until the news cycle dies down. I will bring you home once the dust settles."

It was the final nail in the coffin. He had made up his mind. "It's decided. I'm having my assistant contact the clinic now."

Right on cue, Josie stepped forward, the picture of a concerned future sister-in-law. "Hayes, my cousin is a senior attending at a private psychiatric facility in upstate New York. It’s highly discreet, exclusively for high-net-worth families. I can call him right now. He’ll make sure Hazel gets the best VIP suite and the most... effective doctors."

The best suite. The best doctors.

The exact same script from my previous life. The "best doctor" was a sadistic monster who claimed my "violent tendencies" required heavy sedation and isolation. He claimed my "delusions" required maximum voltage ECT. They tortured me in that VIP room until I broke, and then they kept going until I died.

"No! I'm not going!" I thrashed wildly, trying to dart toward the study doors.

Hayes lunged, his large hand clamping around my wrist like a steel vice.

"Hazel, stop making a scene!" he growled, the fatigue in his voice laced with sharp irritation. "If you keep fighting this, you're only going to make the fallout worse. Going to the clinic is what's best for you, for me, and for the family."

Better for me.

Better for him.

Better for the company.

Was any of this actually for me?

I laughed then. A sharp, bitter, broken sound that burned coming up my throat, and hot tears spilled over before I could stop them.

"Do you even remember what you promised me, Hayes?"

He froze, his jaw tightening.

"You told me you would protect me from the world," I whispered. "You told me as long as I was a good girl, you would never leave my side. You said I was the most important family you had."

"And now, you are personally dragging me back to hell."

All the color drained from Hayes’s face. The absolute conviction in his eyes fractured, and his fingers imperceptibly loosened around my wrist.

Before he could speak, a deafening roar shattered the heavy tension in the room.

Crunch.

The aggressive growl of a V12 engine cut through the night, tires tearing up the pristine gravel of the Holt estate driveway.

The doors of the study were thrust apart.

A man stepped out in a hand-tailored black suit, his features cut from cold, sharp stone, every line of him radiating the quiet, unshakable authority of someone who built empires and broke men without lifting a finger.

He walked straight up the steps, through the open front door, and positioned himself directly between Hayes and me.

His deep, graveled voice cut through the stunned silence.

"You don't have the authority to commit my wife, Mr. Holt." Lucien’s voice was a low, seismic rumble that vibrated through the floorboards.

"Now, I am Hazel's legal guardian."