Chapter 1

It was drizzling when Laurelle Fletcher left prison. Her bony figure was enveloped by a huge coat. When the icy winds swept over her, she trembled and wrapped her arms around herself. Three years had passed. Laurelle hadn't thought she would leave prison alive. She inched forward, holding the wall for support as she went. Her injured legs slowed her down significantly. It was as though knives were stabbing into the soles of her feet with every step she took. It was ironic that she'd once been a ballerina. At that moment, a Cayenne screeched to a stop before her, blocking her path. Upon seeing the plate number, Laurelle paled. Her eyes swirled with a mix of complicated emotions. The window rolled down to reveal a man's stately face. "Is that a limp I see?" Maverick scanned her legs. His tone carried no emotion. Laurelle felt her eyes well up, although she couldn't put her finger on why. This was her fiancé, whom she loved for seven years. He was also the one who'd sent her to jail. Was he expressing his concern for her? Yet, on her first day in jail, Laurelle had been beaten up by her cellmates. They'd said that he'd paid them to "show her a good time". "Get in." Maverick draped his arm over the window. His suit accentuated his poised figure. He looked classy and unapproachable. If not for that person's instructions, he wouldn't have driven here to fetch her. Laurelle could pick up on Maverick's impatience for her. He was just like her parents. When Laurelle had been 14, her parents had found her and taken her back home. Initially, they'd felt guilty and wanted to make up for their mistakes. However, they'd eventually pulled away from Laurelle because Bianca, their adopted daughter, had sown seeds of discord between them. On her 21st birthday, the emotions boiling under the surface had finally erupted. "Yes, Bianca isn't our biological daughter, but what has she done wrong? After all, we've raised her for all these years. We've already brought you home. What more could you want?" "Laurelle, how could you do this to Bianca? You bite the hand that feeds you. It's because you didn't grow up with us, isn't it? You're nothing in comparison to Bianca. She's obedient and mature." What had Laurelle done? Why wouldn't her parents trust her, not even once? "Get in!" Maverick studied her legs with furrowed eyebrows. There was a horrendous scar snaking across the pale skin of her ankle. It looked like a disgusting centipede. Maverick's secretary, Chester Anderson, got out of the driver's seat and said, "Ms. Fletcher, Mr. Gray has invited you into the car." When she didn't move, Chester reached out to pull her in. Laurelle reacted instinctively and knelt down with her arms over her head. She pleaded, "Don't … Please don't hit me…" Chester was dumbfounded by her reaction. She'd changed so much. He'd nearly failed to recognize her. She used to be naive, optimistic, and cheery. She'd been the woman of many men's dreams. But now… The light in her eyes had been extinguished. She was timid and easily spooked. She'd only been in jail for three years. She used to be the proud heiress of the Fletcher fortune. What had happened to make her like this? Chester turned back to glance at Maverick. The latter seemed extremely calm. Chester couldn't read his expression. "Laurelle, how long are you going to make me wait? Hasn't life in prison taught you anything?" Laurelle stood up slowly and got in. She read the room and kept her distance from Maverick. The heating was on in the car. She curled up in the corner. Perhaps because she'd been in the cold air, she felt as though her brain was mush. She tried to hold her sneeze back but ultimately failed. At the same time, the car went over a bump, and Laurelle was shaken out of her seat. She collapsed onto the mat of the car floor out of surprise. Maverick had been resting with his eyes closed. When he heard the noise, his eyes snapped open. He glared at her and commented, "Laurelle, you're in such a state." A state? Laurelle inhaled deeply. Hearing his remark, she felt as though her feet were on fire. She squirmed in her seat. She curled up once more to take up less space. Then, she said softly, "I'm sorry. I'll clean the mat later—" Before she could finish, Maverick interjected, "There's no need for that. I'll throw it away." Was he going to dump the mat just because she'd touched it before? Laurelle pursed her lips and frowned. Then, she turned to the window with red-rimmed eyes. In Maverick's eyes, everything she came into contact with was filthy, so they had to be thrown away. "Bianca is the only person who's pure to you, isn't she?" Maverick rarely got mad, but now his expression turned cold. He said, "You don't have the right to mention her. I'll give you one last chance. If you touch her again… I will hammer into you what jail has failed to teach you."