Captive by the Billionaire Uncle

The crystal flute slipped from her fingers.

A wave of heat, sudden and suffocating, washed over Fiona Donaldson. It started in her stomach, a sick, coiling warmth that climbed up her throat and made the air thick as water. Her vision swam, the glittering chandeliers of the Park Avenue hotel blurring into a smear of painful light.

She reached out, steadying herself on the back of a velvet armchair.

"Fiona, darling, are you alright?"

It was her fiancé, Chip Ball. His voice, usually smooth and practiced, held a strange edge. She looked at him, past the perfect blond hair and the bespoke suit. There was no concern in his eyes, only a flicker of something else.

Her heart began to hammer against her ribs, a frantic, trapped bird.

"You've had too much to drink," her adoptive sister, Bette Coleman, said, gliding to her side. Bette's touch was cool on her arm, but it made Fiona's skin crawl. The scent of her cloying floral perfume was suddenly nauseating.

Fiona's gaze drifted to the table. To the champagne glass with her lipstick stain on the rim. The one she'd only taken a single sip from.

Understanding hit her like a physical blow.

They drugged me.

The thought was so cold, so sharp, it cut through the fog in her head for a single, terrifying second. The floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet.

The drug was a fire in her veins, a heavy poison pulling her down. But a deeper, more primal instinct screamed at her. Run.

With a surge of adrenaline, Fiona shoved Bette away. The smaller girl stumbled back with a surprised cry.

"What the hell, Fiona!" Chip lunged for her.

His hands were almost on her arm. Fiona's hand shot out, grabbing the first thing it found-a heavy, abstract metal sculpture from a side table. It was cold and solid in her palm. She swung it, not at his face, but at his reaching hand.

There was a sickening crunch of metal on bone.

Chip howled in pain, cradling his hand.

That was all the time she needed. Fiona turned and ran. She threw her entire body against the heavy, ornate door of the suite. It swung open, and she stumbled into the brightly lit hallway.

The corridor stretched before her, a dizzying tunnel of polished marble and gold fixtures. The lights warped and twisted in her blurry vision. Her legs felt like lead, each step a monumental effort.

Behind her, she heard them. Chip's pained curses and Bette's shrill voice. "Get her! Don't let her get away!"

Their footsteps echoed, getting closer.

Panic clawed at her throat. There was nowhere to go. The elevator was too far. Her mind was a maelstrom of fear and chemical confusion.

Then she saw it.

A few yards ahead, a single black door was slightly ajar. A sliver of cool, calm light spilled out from the crack. It was different from the harsh, glittering lights of the hallway.

She didn't think. Her body moved on pure survival instinct.

She launched herself at the door, pushing it open with the last of her strength, and fell inside.

The world shifted.