That night, at the Pinecrest estate in Saint Paul, a maid found blood staining the back of the white dress.

Rosalie locked herself in her room and refused to see her father’s personal physician, who had somehow already arrived at the house.

Manuel knocked softly.

“I won’t come in without your permission,” he said through the door. “But I need to know if you’re hurt.”

After a long silence, the lock turned, and the door opened.

Rosalie stood by the bed with her dress unbuttoned, showing where the metal key had cut through the lining and into her skin. But that small wound wasn’t what stopped his breath.