Victoria Windsor slammed on the brakes.

The screeching tires pierced the night air, making her eardrums throb.

Her car stopped just inches from the van in front.

Gasping for breath, she slumped over the steering wheel, her heart pounding wildly.

"Looking to die?" She rolled down the window and screamed, "How dare you drive like that in a piece-of-crap van!"

The van remained motionless, its interior eerily silent.

Victoria trembled with rage.

She flung open her door, her stilettos clicking sharply against the pavement.

"Get out and apologize!" She pounded on the van's door.

Suddenly, it swung open.

A rough hand clamped over her mouth.

Before she could react, she was dragged into a dark alley.

"Mmph!" She struggled desperately.

A brutal punch smashed into her face.

The metallic tang of blood flooded her mouth.

"Try screaming again." A man's menacing voice growled in her ear.

Victoria froze in terror.

The stench of cheap tobacco and sweat made her gag.

Calloused hands roamed freely over her body.

"Please don't..." she begged, her voice shaking.

Her plea only invited more violence.

Her designer dress was torn to shreds.

Jewelry worth millions was stripped from her.

Victoria was tossed beside a dumpster like discarded trash.

The van sped away.

Curled on the cold ground, every inch of her body throbbed with pain.

She lost track of time until a passerby's scream jolted her awake.

The hospital reeked of antiseptic.

"Rib fractures... extensive soft tissue damage..." The doctor's words drifted in and out.

Theodore Valentine arrived with a stormy expression.

"Call the police! I want them dead!" He punched the wall in fury.

Victoria clutched his sleeve. "No police..."

She remembered her secret rendezvous with Salvatore Lombardi three hours earlier.

If DNA evidence was collected...

Theodore narrowed his eyes. "Was it Ethan Sullivan?"

"Not him." She shook her head weakly. "They took all my jewelry..."

Then it hit her—the resentful gaze of Salvatore's wife.

Her nails dug into her palms.

This debt would be repaid tenfold.

Under the cover of night, Ethan Sullivan set down his phone.

The last message had been deleted.

He turned and pulled the sleeping Sophia Laurent into his arms.

His fingertips traced her peaceful face.

"Those who hurt you," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead, "won't escape justice."