At exactly eight o'clock, a massive black Rolls-Royce pulled up to the curb outside Clara's crumbling apartment building. Pedestrians stopped and stared at the vehicle that clearly didn't belong in this neighborhood.

Christal stood on the sidewalk, shivering violently in the crisp autumn air.

She was wearing the dress Ethan had sent. It was a dark, blood-red gown that plunged dangerously low in the front and left her entire back exposed. It wasn't elegant; it was designed to make her look cheap and available.

She swallowed her humiliation and pulled the heavy car door open.

Ethan sat in the back, wearing a perfectly tailored custom tuxedo. He swirled a glass of amber whiskey in his hand. His eyes dragged over her exposed skin, heavy with aggressive, toxic possession.

Christal refused to look at him. She slid into the seat, pressing herself as far into the opposite corner as possible, her knuckles turning white as she gripped her cheap clutch.

Ethan scoffed. He leaned across the leather seat, his hand shooting out to grab her jaw.

He pulled her face toward him, then grabbed her left hand. With brutal force, he shoved a ring onto her ring finger.

Christal winced as the metal scraped her knuckle. She looked down. It wasn't a diamond. It was a cheap, ugly plastic ring that looked like it came from a vending machine.

"What is this?" she asked, her voice shaking.

Ethan leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "It's your punishment. Tonight, every billionaire in New York will see exactly what you are. A cheap whore wearing garbage."

The car glided smoothly onto a massive private estate in Long Island. It was Gwendolyn Vasquez's birthday banquet, the social event of the season.

The car stopped at the red carpet.

The second the door opened, Ethan's face transformed. The psychotic monster vanished, replaced by the charming, elite lawyer. He reached in, grabbed Christal by the waist, and practically dragged her out of the car.

Camera flashes exploded like lightning. The paparazzi recognized the disgraced actress immediately. They surged forward, screaming her name.

Ethan smiled perfectly for the cameras. At the same time, his fingers dug brutally into the soft flesh of Christal's waist.

Pain shot through her side. She gasped, her face turning pale, and forced her lips into a stiff, dead smile to keep him from bruising her ribs.

They walked into the grand ballroom. It was dripping with gold and crystal.

The moment they stepped inside, the music seemed to quiet. Hundreds of eyes turned to look at them. The gazes were filled with mockery and disgust.

Across the room, Kellie was holding a glass of champagne, surrounded by socialites. She pointed at Christal and let out her signature, high-pitched laugh.

Ethan let go of Christal's waist instantly, as if touching her disgusted him. Without a word, he walked away, heading straight for Delphine March, a wealthy heiress.

Christal was left standing completely alone on the edge of the dance floor.

The guests physically stepped back from her, creating a ten-foot circle of empty space around her. She was a virus.

She watched Ethan lean in close to Delphine, whispering in her ear. Delphine giggled and shot a triumphant, mocking look directly at Christal. Christal felt nothing but deep, exhausting nausea.

The crowd suddenly parted.

Gwendolyn Vasquez walked through, looking like royalty in a custom haute couture gown. She stopped right in front of Christal, looking her up and down.

Gwendolyn's eyes locked onto the plastic ring and the revealing red dress.

"Christal," Gwendolyn said loudly, ensuring the entire room could hear. "That dress is so... fitting. It perfectly highlights your professional morals."

The crowd erupted into cruel laughter.

Kellie shouted from the back, "Well, she has to show off! Auditioning in hotel rooms takes a lot of physical labor!"

Christal bit the inside of her cheek. The metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth. She wanted to scream, to throw a glass at them, but she thought of Clara's frozen bank accounts. She forced her hands to stay at her sides.

She looked Gwendolyn dead in the eye.

"At least I don't have to rely on cheap schemes and dirty tricks to force a man to look at me," Christal said quietly, her voice trembling but laced with absolute defiance.

Gwendolyn's face went completely slack. The color drained from her cheeks, followed instantly by a flush of murderous rage. She touched her perfect nails, her chest heaving.

Gwendolyn tilted her crystal glass.

With a flick of her wrist, she threw the entire glass of dark red wine directly at Christal's chest.

Christal gasped, stumbling backward. The cold, sticky liquid soaked into the red fabric, dripping down her exposed cleavage and staining her skin. She looked pathetic and ruined.

"Oh, my hand slipped," Gwendolyn sneered, her eyes burning with hate. She turned around and walked away, her followers laughing behind her.

Christal looked across the room. Ethan was watching her. He didn't move to help. Instead, he raised his whiskey glass in a silent toast to Gwendolyn.

He brought her here to be slaughtered.

A suffocating weight crushed Christal's lungs. Tears burned her eyes. She covered her stained chest with her arms, lowered her head, and ran toward the hallway leading to the restrooms.

The air conditioning in the hallway hit her wet skin, making her shiver violently. She pushed into a bathroom stall, locked the door, and leaned against it, gasping for air. Despair swallowed her whole.

She hid in that stall for thirty minutes, staring at the floor.

Suddenly, the muffled sound of the orchestra outside stopped. It was replaced by a wave of panicked screams.

The lights in the bathroom flickered twice.

Then, they went out completely. The entire estate was plunged into absolute, suffocating darkness.

The sudden, pitch-black darkness hit Christal like a physical blow.

Her mild claustrophobia flared instantly. Her chest tightened, and her lungs refused to draw in air. She fumbled blindly for the lock, shoved the stall door open, and stumbled out of the bathroom into the pitch-black hallway.

At the end of the corridor, the ballroom was in total chaos. The sound of shattering glass echoed over the panicked screams of the guests as people shoved each other in the dark.

Christal pressed her hands flat against the cold wall, trying to feel her way toward the side exit door.

A group of terrified socialites rushed past her, their elbows hitting her ribs. Christal was thrown off balance.

Her ankle rolled sharply in her cheap high heels. A jolt of pain shot up her leg. She pitched forward, falling face-first into the dark void.

She didn't hit the floor.

She crashed hard into a wall of solid muscle. Her nose brushed against the rough, expensive fabric of a tailored suit jacket.

Christal gasped, her hands flying up to push herself away to apologize.

Before she could move, a massive, heavy arm wrapped around her waist like an iron chain. The grip was brutal and absolute, locking her flush against a rock-hard chest.

Then, the scent hit her.

Cedar wood. Faint tobacco. And the dark, metallic undertone of danger.

Christal's entire body went rigid. Her heart stopped beating for a full second before it exploded against her ribs.

It was him. The monster from the Zephyr Hotel.

In the pitch black, Abraham Bush had simply reacted to a body falling into him. He was about to shove the clumsy guest away when the scent invaded his senses.

Cheap floral perfume mixed with the salt of desperate tears.

Abraham's body reacted faster than his brain. His muscles coiled tight. His dark eyes, blind in the darkness, flashed with the ruthless instinct of a predator who had just caught its prey.

His large hand slid up her spine, feeling the violent trembling of her skin through the wet, wine-soaked fabric of her dress.

Christal shoved her hands against his chest, her fingers curling into fists.

"Let me go," she begged, her voice a broken, terrified whisper. "Please."

That broken plea was the exact sound she made in the hotel bed.

Abraham's Adam's apple bobbed. A low, dark chuckle vibrated deep in his chest.

His hand moved up, his long fingers finding her jaw in the dark. He pinched it, forcing her face tilt upward.

"Found you, little runaway," his rough, gravelly voice exploded against her ear, heavy with dark, predatory amusement.

Before Christal could scream, his mouth crashed down on hers.

It wasn't a kiss. It was a punishment. It was a claim. His hot lips devoured hers with terrifying dominance, stealing the air straight from her lungs.

The memory of the hotel room crashed over her. Her brain short-circuited. The heat radiating from his body was burning her alive. Her hands, pushing against his chest, slowly lost all their strength.

Just feet away, people were screaming in panic. But in this dark corner, they were trapped in a violent, secret collision.

"Christal!"

Ethan's furious, impatient voice echoed down the hallway. He was looking for her.

Hearing Ethan's voice snapped Christal back to reality. A wave of sickening humiliation washed over her. She was being assaulted while her psychotic fiancé was hunting her down.

She opened her jaw and bit down as hard as she could on the man's lower lip.

The sharp taste of copper flooded her mouth.

Abraham grunted in pain. His body jerked slightly, but his iron grip on her waist didn't loosen a fraction of an inch.

He pulled his head back just enough to speak. His thumb brushed over her swollen lips, smearing his own blood across her mouth.

"Biting?" he whispered, his voice dropping to a dangerous, lethal register. "You've grown claws."

A loud mechanical roar shook the floorboards. The estate's backup generators kicked in.

The emergency lights bolted on, bathing the hallway in a dim, blood-red glow.

Christal opened her eyes.

In the red light, she saw his silhouette. A razor-sharp jawline. A straight, aristocratic nose. And a pair of eyes that looked like a hawk staring at a dying rabbit.

He was standing with his back to the emergency light, his face still cast in heavy shadow. She couldn't see his exact features, but the suffocating, god-like aura radiating from him made her soul tremble.

At the far end of the hall, security guards burst through the doors, sweeping bright flashlights across the walls.

A beam of light swung toward them.

Adrenaline flooded Christal's veins. With a burst of hysterical strength, she shoved both hands hard against Abraham's chest.

She kicked off her high heels, leaving them on the carpet. Barefoot, she spun around and sprinted into the chaotic crowd, running like her life depended on it.

Abraham stumbled back half a step.

He didn't chase her. He stood perfectly still in the red light. He raised his thumb and wiped the fresh blood from his bottom lip. His dark eyes tracked her fleeing figure until she disappeared into the mob.

The main power grid finally rebooted. The crystal chandeliers blazed to life, flooding the hallway with blinding white light.

Avery Shaw pushed through the crowd, flanked by four massive bodyguards. He stopped next to Abraham, his eyes dropping to the blood on his boss's mouth.

"Sir," Avery said quietly. "Should I lock down the estate?"

Abraham looked down at the abandoned high heels on the floor. He slowly rolled his thumb over his index knuckle.

"No," Abraham said, his voice cold and absolute. "Just investigate."

Christal ran blindly until her lungs burned. She ducked behind a massive marble pillar at the far edge of the ballroom, pressing her back against the cold stone.

She gasped for air, her chest heaving. She raised a shaking hand and wiped the man's blood off her swollen lips.

The ballroom was painfully bright. Security guards were moving through the crowd, calming the panicked guests. The orchestra, trying to restore order, began playing a slow, classical waltz.

Ethan was marching through the crowd, his face purple with rage. He spotted the edge of Christal's red dress behind the pillar.

He lunged forward, grabbing her wrist and violently yanking her out of hiding.

Ethan's eyes dropped to her bare feet, her ruined dress, and her swollen, red lips. Pure, venomous jealousy exploded in his chest.

"Where the hell were you?" Ethan hissed, his grip bruising her bone. "Who were you screwing in the dark?"

Christal tried to rip her arm away, but his grip was like a vice.

"I fell in the dark," she spat coldly. "Why do you care? Weren't you busy entertaining your heiress friends?"

Before Ethan could scream back, the microphone on the center stage whined loudly.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the host's amplified voice boomed across the room. "Please direct your attention to the stage. We are honored to welcome our most esteemed guest tonight."

The chaotic ballroom went dead silent. The crowd parted instantly, creating a wide, clear path to the stage. The look on the billionaires' faces was pure, unadulterated fear and respect.

Christal looked at the stage.

The moment she saw the man's face in the bright light, her lungs stopped working. The blood in her veins turned to solid ice.

He was wearing a minimalist, bespoke black suit that screamed unimaginable wealth. His face was carved from cold marble, ruthlessly handsome and terrifyingly blank.

It was the man from the dark hallway.

And right there, on his bottom lip, was a fresh, angry red bite mark.

The guests noticed the blood. Whispers broke out like wildfire. People stared in shock, wondering what kind of suicidal woman would dare bite this man.

"Please welcome," the host said, his voice actually shaking with reverence, "the heir to the Bush empire, Mr. Abraham Bush."

A bomb went off inside Christal's brain.

The dark hotel room. The greasy face of Vice President Kramer. The terrifying man on the stage. The pieces violently crashed together, shattering her reality.

Kellie's plan had failed.

The man who took her virginity, the man she thought was a disgusting, low-level director, was Abraham Bush. The most powerful, ruthless billionaire in New York.

And he was Gwendolyn Vasquez's fiancé.

On stage, Gwendolyn smiled brightly, soaking in the envy of the crowd. She tilted her head and tried to slide her hand further up Abraham's arm to show possession.

Abraham smoothly stepped away, breaking the physical contact completely.

His deep, bottomless eyes scanned the massive room. They bypassed the billionaires, the politicians, and the cameras. His gaze locked with laser precision onto the marble pillar at the back of the room.

He found Christal.

Their eyes met across the sea of people. Abraham's gaze was heavy with dark mockery and an absolute, terrifying possessiveness. The corner of his mouth curved up into a dangerous smirk.

Christal was nailed to the floor. She started shaking violently. She had just bitten the one man in the world who could erase her existence with a single phone call.

Ethan felt her shaking. He frowned and followed her line of sight up to the stage. When he saw Abraham Bush staring directly at his fiancée, a cold sweat broke out on Ethan's neck.

Abraham reached out and took the microphone from the host.

"The sudden blackout tonight," Abraham said slowly, his voice a low, commanding rumble that sent shivers down the spine of every person listening. He didn't look at Gwendolyn. His eyes burned straight through the crowd, locking onto Christal with an intensity that sucked the air from the room. "It brought an unexpected... revelation."

The crowd gasped.

Gwendolyn's smile froze. Her head snapped toward Abraham, then followed his line of sight to the back of the room.

When Gwendolyn saw that Abraham was staring at Christal-the cheap whore she had just poured wine on-her eyes widened in horror. Toxic, murderous jealousy twisted her beautiful face into something ugly.

The pressure in the room was crushing Christal's chest. She couldn't breathe.

She ripped her hand out of Ethan's loosened grip. She turned around and sprinted toward the massive oak doors of the ballroom.

"Christal!" Ethan roared, his pride shattered by her public rejection.

He took a step to chase her.

Two men, who had been standing near a marble pillar looking like ordinary, unassuming guests just seconds prior, stepped smoothly into Ethan's path. They crossed their arms, their tailored suits stretching over massive frames, forming an impenetrable human wall.

"Mr. Bush requires a peaceful environment," the bodyguard said, his voice flat and threatening. "Do not cause a scene."

Ethan was trapped.

Christal burst through the front doors of the estate. The freezing night wind hit her wet dress. She ran barefoot down the asphalt driveway. Sharp rocks cut the soles of her feet, but she didn't feel the pain.

She flagged down a passing taxi and threw herself into the backseat. She curled into a ball, tears streaming silently down her face.

Back in the ballroom, Abraham watched the doors swing shut.

He tossed the microphone onto the floor. He ignored Gwendolyn's pale, shaking form and walked straight down the stairs.

He walked over to Avery, who was holding the pair of cheap high heels Christal had left behind.

Abraham stared at the shoes. He slowly rolled his thumb over his index knuckle.

"Ten minutes," Abraham ordered, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "I want to see her entire file on my desk."