My husband be@t me mercilessly for 3 hours and left me to d!e in the basement, ignoring that with my last breath I would call the one person I vowed never to see again in 30 years to unleash the perfect revenge.

Elena Morrison lay face down on the freezing concrete floor of the basement beneath the sprawling Whitmore estate in the wealthy hills of Beverly Hills, California. The back of her silk blouse was soaked so deeply in blood that the fabric had fused to her torn skin. Crimson streaks still seeped slowly from her shattered ribs, pooling beneath her body in a thick, dark stain.

She could no longer feel pain.

Maybe after the first brutal blow, her nervous system had simply surrendered. For three endless hours, she had endured savage beatings at the hands of the man who once swore to protect her. Every bone in her body felt pulverized. Breathing itself had become torture. Even opening her eyes required strength she no longer possessed.

The heavy steel basement door screeched open.

Elena didn’t move.

Footsteps approached cautiously before someone knelt beside her.

“Mrs. Whitmore…” a trembling voice whispered.

It was Daniel, the family’s longtime chauffeur.

Elena’s fingers twitched weakly against the icy floor.