The screen glowed a dim, suggestive red.Along the wall, racks held tools used for "punishment": whips, handcuffs, low-melt candles, and an assortment of phallic toys.I recognized it. It was that club. Of all the things to remember, why this.I saw myself bound to the bed, battered and exposed.And the fake heiress lay beside me, heavily pregnant and unconscious.There was no one else in the room but the two of us.So this was the moment we were rescued.The next second, the door crashed open and a squad of bodyguards stormed in, guns raised.Once the room was clear, my parents and my husband rushed inside.I stared at them, overwhelmed, twisting against the tape with everything I had, waiting to be saved.And in the middle of all that hope, the parents I revered and the husband I loved went right past me, straight to my sister. To Emma."God, Emma's barely breathing!" my mother screamed.Leo found a clean blanket and covered Emma with it, then scooped her up in his arms and ran out.
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