The silence in the opulent suite was deafening, broken only by the frantic beat of Irene Spencer's own heart. Rose petals, scattered in a perfect heart on the king-sized bed, mocked her. It was her wedding night, yet her groom was nowhere to be found. Humiliation burned a fierce path through her, but it was a familiar ache, one she'd carried since birth.

Her life, a tapestry woven by others, had culminated in this arranged marriage to Isaac Jefferson, a transaction orchestrated by her father's desperate greed. A family debt, a failing company, and a ruthless proposition had sealed her fate. Isaac, clearly repulsed by the union, hadn't even graced the ceremony with his presence, demanding she remain nameless outside the family.

Her fingers, trembling slightly, traced the delicate lace of her untouched bridal gown. Just as she wondered how she would endure the endless hours of this lonely night, her phone buzzed. A text from a colleague: an urgent request to cover a shift at the hospital. A lifeline. Swiftly, Irene shed the white gown, trading it for the familiar comfort of her white lab coat, and hailed a cab into the rain-slicked night.

Later, the clinic door exploded inward. Irene looked up, her breath catching as the lights flickered and died. A chill snaked up her spine, fear gripping her. "Who—" she began, but before she could finish, she was slammed against her desk, the sharp press of a blade against her throat. In the dimness, a man's blood-streaked face loomed, his eyes like shards of ice. "Be quiet!" he hissed.