“I sat in a private hospital suite that cost more than a luxury car, watching the green line on my daughter's heart monitor struggle to climb. Everything shattered when a hospital administrator accidentally dropped a folder, revealing a document with my husband's unmistakable signature. Darius Brandt had personally authorized the "reallocation" of our daughter's donor kidney to his mistress's son just to secure a multi-million dollar corporate merger. When I confronted him, Darius didn't even blink, calling our daughter's life a "liquidated asset" before offering me a five-million-dollar settlement for my silence. In a blind rage, I set our penthouse on fire, choosing to burn with the proof of his betrayal rather than live another day as his puppet. As the flames consumed the room, I couldn't understand how a father could put a price tag on his own child's life. How could he look at our dying daughter and see nothing but a resource to be traded for a European distribution network? But the heat suddenly vanished, replaced by the scent of expensive perfume and the muffled sound of a string quartet. I opened my eyes to find myself staring into a gold-framed mirror at the Brandt Charity Gala, exactly eight years in the past. It was the night my nightmare first began, the night I was framed and forced into a marriage that would eventually kill my child. "I see you, Darius," I whispered to my reflection as I applied a coat of blood-red lipstick. "And this time, I'm not the prey."”