Behind an oversized painting in the Sterling mansion corridor, five-year-old Ethan pressed his weak fingers through a hidden wall vent, begging in a cracked, exhausted whisper to be set free.

Isabella took another aggressive step forward, her hand reaching out to tear the boy from Emma’s protective grasp.

"Don't you touch him!" Emma shouted, bracing herself to fight, preparing to throw herself and the boy backward to escape the woman's reach.

But before Isabella's hand could connect, a shadow fell over the top of the grand staircase.

William Sterling arrived.

He had sprinted up the stairs, drawn by the sound of the shattering crystal and Emma’s shout. He froze at the top of the landing, the breath leaving his lungs in a heavy rush. The tailored tuxedo he wore seemed completely at odds with the sheer devastation crashing over his features.

His eyes swept the corridor in a fraction of a second. He saw Emma, her uniform covered in dust, standing like a shield. He saw the filthy, terrified form of his missing five-year-old son clinging to the housekeeper’s neck. He saw the gaping, dark hole in the wall, the heavy iron vent, the fire poker on the floor, and the dog bowl resting in the shadows.

Finally, his eyes locked onto his wife. He saw the heavy brass key clutched tightly in Isabella’s hand.

The realization hit him with the force of a freight train.

William stepped forward. He didn't speak. He closed the distance between himself and Isabella in three massive, purposeful strides. Isabella turned, her icy facade instantly crumbling into panicked realization as she saw her husband’s face. She opened her mouth to speak, to spin a lie, to manipulate him as she always did.

"William, darling, it isn't what—"

William’s hand swung in a violent, unstoppable arc. He slapped Isabella hard across the face.

The sound cracked through the corridor like a gunshot. The force of the blow spun Isabella around, sending her crashing into the mahogany wall, her ruby satin gown twisting around her legs. The brass key flew from her hand, clattering uselessly against the floorboards.

William didn't step back. He advanced, bending down close to Isabella, trapping her against the wall. The color had completely drained from his face, leaving his fair skin ghostly pale. When he spoke, his American accent was thick with a dark, horrifying fury that made the air in the hallway turn to ice.