Juston's cigar slipped from his fingers, dropping onto the glass table with a dull thud.

Panic flashed across his features, fast and ugly, before he scrambled to paste on his usual charming smile. He stood up, smoothing the front of his tailored suit.

"Addie, baby," Juston said, taking a step toward her. His voice was coated in fake honey. "What are you doing here? You heard all that out of context. The guys were just messing around."

Adela raised her free hand. Just an inch.

It was a small movement, but it carried enough absolute rejection to make Juston stop dead in his tracks.

She didn't look at Brock. She didn't look at the other men shifting uncomfortably in their seats. She kept her dead, flat gaze entirely on Juston.

She lifted the black velvet box into the light.

Juston's eyes flicked to the box. He swallowed hard. He knew what it was. She had talked about it for weeks, her fingers covered in tiny cuts from working the raw stone.

"Addie, come on," Juston lowered his voice, trying to sound authoritative and gentle at the same time. "Don't do this here. Let's go outside and talk."

Adela popped the lid open.

The obsidian necklace rested on the white satin. It caught the low light of the chandelier, gleaming with a dark, heavy beauty.

"I spent three months on this," Adela said. Her voice wasn't loud. It didn't shake. It cut through the silent room like a scalpel. "I sourced the rarest obsidian. I polished every single bead with my own hands."

Juston's jaw tightened. He looked around at his friends, his embarrassment quickly morphing into irritation.

Adela held his gaze. "You said it was garbage."

"Adela-"

"You said I was stupid," she continued, her voice dropping a fraction of a degree colder. "You said I was obedient."

She took a slow step into the room.

"You said I was a pawn."

Juston's face flushed a deep, angry red. The mask was slipping. His pride was bleeding out onto the floor in front of his audience.

Adela smiled. It was a terrifying, hollow thing that didn't reach her eyes.

"You were right about one thing, Juston," she whispered.

She reached into the box and pulled the necklace out. She wrapped the heavy silver chain around her fists.

"I am done being obedient."

With a final, desperate surge of strength, she pulled her hands apart.

Snap.

A sharp snap echoed in the silent room as the delicate silver clasp gave way, the sound sharp and final.

The heavy obsidian beads exploded outward. They rained down on the floor like black hail, bouncing off the glass table, rolling across the Persian rug. One heavy bead struck Juston's expensive leather shoe and spun away into the corner.

Juston stared at the broken chain in her hands, his mouth slightly open. He had never seen her like this. He expected tears. He expected begging.

Adela tossed the broken chain and the empty velvet box directly at his feet.

"We are done," Adela said. The ice in her chest was spreading to her vocal cords. "Do not ever speak to me again."

She turned on her heel. She didn't wait for a response. She walked out the door, her spine rigid, her shoulders pulled back.

The silence in the Peacock Room shattered the second she was in the hallway.

"Adela Richmond!" Juston roared, his voice cracking with humiliated rage. He stormed toward the door. "You walk out that door, you don't come back! You are nothing without the Richmond name! Nothing!"

Adela didn't break her stride.

"Let her go," Juston spat to his friends, loud enough for her to hear. "Give it three days. The second her daddy cuts off her credit cards, she'll be crawling back on her knees."

"Yeah, man," Brock chimed in, eager to soothe Juston's bruised ego. "She wouldn't last a day in the real world."

Adela walked faster. The adrenaline that had kept her entirely numb was crashing.

Her chest burned. Her vision began to swim as the tears she had fought so hard to hold back finally flooded her eyes. The dim hallway blurred into streaks of gold and brown.

She just needed to get to the exit. She needed fresh air.

She rounded the corner toward the lobby, her vision completely obscured by hot tears.

She didn't see the long leg stretched out from the leather sofa in the shadows.

Her heel caught hard against a solid dress shoe.

Adela's ankle twisted sharply.

The floor rushed up to meet her. A short gasp tore from her throat as she lost all balance. She braced herself for the brutal impact of the marble floor, squeezing her eyes shut.

The impact never came.

Instead, a strong, unyielding arm wrapped tightly around her waist. She was yanked sideways, crashing into a solid wall of muscle and expensive fabric.

A sharp, clean scent of cedar and bergamot flooded her senses. It instantly overpowered the stale cigar smoke and cheap cologne clinging to her clothes from the hallway.

Adela gasped, her hands instinctively grabbing onto a broad shoulder to steady herself.

She opened her eyes.

She was staring directly into a pair of eyes as cold and deep as a frozen lake.

The man holding her was striking. His jawline looked like it had been cut from glass. He wore a charcoal suit that fit him with lethal precision.

He helped her stand upright, but his hand didn't leave her waist. His fingers pressed firmly against her spine, a silent, heavy weight making sure she didn't fall again.

"My apologies," his voice was a low, magnetic rumble that vibrated in his chest. "I didn't see you coming."

Adela blinked, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. She looked down. It was his leg she had tripped over.

She took a quick step back, forcing his hand to drop from her waist. The loss of his body heat made the cold hallway air bite at her skin.

"No," Adela said, her voice trembling slightly. She wiped roughly at her wet eyes, hating that he was seeing her like this. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

She needed to leave. The humiliation of Juston's words was still burning a hole in her stomach. She couldn't deal with a stranger right now.

She gave a stiff nod and turned toward the glass exit doors.

"Adela Richmond, isn't it?"

The man's voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

Adela's entire body went rigid. She spun back around, her nails digging into her palms again. How did he know her name?

The man stood up. He was incredibly tall, his broad shoulders blocking out the light from the lobby lamps. He cast a long shadow that completely swallowed her.

He extended a large, steady hand toward her.

"Harmon Holland."

The name hit Adela like a physical blow to the chest.

Harmon Holland. The ruthless heir to the Holland Group. The ghost of Wall Street.

And the man her grandfather had signed a trust agreement with. The man she was legally bound to marry if the families demanded it.

Juston's mocking voice echoed in her skull. Keeping her pisses off Harmon Holland.

Adela stared at his outstretched hand. Her stomach churned violently. He was here. He had probably heard everything. He was probably laughing at her just like Juston was. He was looking at the pathetic, boring pawn who couldn't even keep a fake boyfriend.

She didn't take his hand.

She pulled her shoulders back, wrapping her arms around her own waist defensively.

Harmon didn't look offended. He slowly lowered his hand, his expression unreadable. He let his gaze drop to her red, tear-stained eyes, then back up to her face.

"You look like you're having a terrible night," Harmon stated. It wasn't a question. It was a cold, clinical observation.

Adela's jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached.

"That is none of your business, Mr. Holland," she snapped, the words tasting like ash in her mouth.

Harmon didn't flinch at her tone. He glanced toward the glass doors. "It's raining. Do you have somewhere to go?"

Adela finally heard the heavy drumming of rain against the glass. A storm had rolled in. Perfect. Just perfect.

She looked back at Harmon. His face was a mask of polite indifference, but she felt trapped under his gaze. She refused to be pitied by the man she was supposed to be sold to.

"I don't need anything from you," Adela said harshly.

She turned her back on him and marched toward the exit.

The doorman pulled the heavy glass door open. A blast of freezing wind and rain hit Adela in the face, soaking her hair instantly. She shivered violently but stepped out into the storm anyway.

Just as her heel hit the wet pavement, her phone vibrated in her purse.

The rain was freezing. It plastered Adela's dress to her skin and sent violent shivers down her spine. She stood under the small awning of the Elysium club, the wind whipping her wet hair across her face.

She didn't care about the cold. The cold was better than the suffocating air inside.

Her phone buzzed again. A harsh, continuous vibration against her hip.

Her fingers were numb as she dug into her leather purse and pulled the device out. The bright screen illuminated her pale, wet face in the darkness.

A text from Juston.

She wanted to throw the phone into the street. She wanted to block him. But her thumb hovered over the screen, and before she could stop herself, she opened the message.

Don't think you can play the victim and blame this all on me. Your precious family is a hundred times sicker than I am.

Adela frowned. Her brow furrowed as rain dripped from her eyelashes onto the screen. What was he talking about?

A second text popped up immediately.

Remember the charity gala two years ago? The 'accident'? The one where you almost died?

Adela's breath caught in her throat. The memory hit her with physical force.

The swelling in her throat. The desperate gasping for air. The terrifying darkness closing in as the anaphylactic shock took over. She had eaten a seafood risotto. She was deathly allergic to shellfish.

A third text arrived. It felt like a physical strike to her face.

You think your family is any better? I was there when Kayden planned the menu for that gala. I heard him tell the chef to 'add a little something' to your risotto. He wanted to hurt you, Addie.

The phone slipped in Adela's wet hands. She gripped it tighter, her knuckles turning bone-white.

He wanted to kill you, Addie. And your parents covered it up as a kitchen mistake. You have no one. You have nothing. You'll be back.

Adela stopped breathing.

The streetlights blurred. The sound of the rain faded into a high-pitched ringing in her ears.

She remembered the fight she had with Kayden that afternoon. He had mocked her design portfolio, calling her a useless leech. She remembered how he smiled at the gala, handing her the plate of risotto himself. Try this, it's the chef's special.

It wasn't an accident.

Her own brother had tried to murder her. And her parents had swept it under the rug to protect the family name. Kayden hadn't even visited her in the hospital.

The betrayal from Juston was a cut. This was a bullet to the chest.

A violent wave of nausea hit her. Adela stumbled backward, her shoulders hitting the cold stone pillar of the club's exterior. She slid down the wall, her legs giving out completely.

She sat on the wet concrete, gasping for air as if her throat was swelling shut all over again.

Her family. Her own blood. They didn't just hate her. They wanted her gone.

Juston was right. She had absolutely no one.

A pair of bright headlights swept across the wet pavement, blinding her for a second.

A massive, black Maybach pulled up silently to the curb, stopping exactly in front of where she sat shivering on the ground.

The rear window rolled down with a soft hum.

Harmon Holland sat in the back seat. The interior light cast sharp shadows across his face. He looked down at her, his expression entirely unreadable. He didn't look surprised to see her on the ground. He looked like he had been waiting for it.

The driver's side door opened. Donovan Tate stepped out into the rain, holding a large black umbrella.

He walked over to Adela and looked down at her with professional pity.

"Miss Richmond," Donovan said, his voice cutting through the rain. "Mr. Holland insists you get in the car."

Adela looked from Donovan to the open door of the Maybach. It looked like the entrance to a vault. A dark, terrifying unknown.

But as she looked down at the text message still glowing on her phone, she realized the unknown was better than the hell she came from.