Morning sun cut through the blinds. Clara woke first, stared at Julian's sleeping face with disgust, and got out of bed.

She walked into the closet and chose a sharp black Tom Ford suit. She pulled her dark hair into a tight bun and put on pearl earrings. In the mirror, she checked her neck. No red marks. She took a breath and walked out.

Julian sat up in bed. His eyes narrowed at her corporate look. A crease formed between his brows.

"Sweetheart, weren't we supposed to walk in Central Park today?" He moved to wrap his arms around her waist.

Clara sidestepped him and picked up her coffee. "Honeymoon's over. I'm going to the office."

Julian's face darkened, then he quickly masked it with a loving smile. "Back to work? You're too tired. The doctor said to rest and prepare for a baby."

A baby? With who? Clara kept her expression blank. "The company is pushing the AI medical project. I spearheaded it. I need to oversee it."

"Baby, making money is my job. I'll wire fifty thousand a month into your trust. Go shopping. Go to the spa."

Clara set her cup down with a sharp clink. "Fifty thousand? My mother's special care unit costs thirty. You want me to shop with the rest?"

Julian's jaw tightened. A flash of anger crossed his eyes. "You're too aggressive. What kind of wealthy wife shows her face in public like this?"

"I am the co-founder of Vance Tech. I own twenty percent of the original shares. I have the right to audit the books."

At the word "audit," panic flickered in Julian's eyes. His attitude softened instantly. "Okay, okay. If you want to go back, go back. I just worry about your health." He stepped forward and forced a kiss on her forehead.

Clara fought the urge to vomit. She forced a fake smile. "Thank you, husband."

Julian turned and walked into the bathroom. The second the door closed, he pulled out his phone and sent a text to Mitch. "Clara is coming back today. Stick her at the lowest desk. Make her life miserable so she quits."

Outside the door, Clara stared at the frosted glass. She ordered an Uber. She would rather walk than sit in his car.

Forty minutes later, she stood before the glass tower of Vance Group headquarters in Midtown. She inhaled the freezing New York air and walked in.

Heels clicking, she crossed the lobby. The receptionist's jaw dropped before she quickly bowed her head. Clara walked straight to the VIP elevator, pressed the button, and stared at her reflection in the metal doors.

Ding. The doors slid open.

Clara lifted her foot but froze. Her heel scraped against the tile.

Conrad Vance stood in the center of the elevator. Tall, broad-shouldered, in a perfectly tailored dark grey suit. His features were sharp and cold. A faint scar rested above his brow. His deep-set eyes locked onto her.

Julian's uncle. The CEO.

Her breath caught. Then her eyes dropped to his right hand. Three scabbed scratch marks tracked across the back. The same size and spacing as the scratches she had left on the man in the dark room last night.

Her mind reeled. The cedarwood scent seemed to rush out of the elevator and tighten around her throat.

The doors started to close. Conrad's scarred hand shot out and stopped them. His voice was low, slightly rough.

"Are you getting in?"

Clara stared at his hand blocking the door. Her scalp prickled. She forced her stiff legs to step inside and pressed herself into the far corner.

"Good morning, Uncle Conrad," she whispered. Her voice trembled.

Conrad pulled his hand back. He gave a low "Hmm" and turned to his assistant, Marcus, beside him.

The doors shut. The elevator shot upward.

In the small space, Conrad's cedarwood scent filled her lungs. Clara's stomach cramped. Cold sweat broke out on her back. Her hand flew to her high collar.

Marcus looked at his tablet. "Boss, the board members who drugged your drink at the Plaza last night have been dealt with."

Plaza Hotel. Drugged. The words hit Clara hard. Her legs buckled. Her heel twisted, and she slammed against the elevator wall.

The thud made Conrad frown. His gaze cut to her. "Are you sick?" His voice carried the weight of command.

"I'm fine. Didn't sleep well. Low blood sugar." She forced a smile.

Conrad's eyes lingered on her pale face and high collar.

Suddenly, a loud screech of grinding metal. The elevator jerked violently. The lights died.

Another blackout. The terror from last night surged. Clara let out a short scream and slid down the wall.

In the pitch black, a strong arm shot out and hooked around her waist. She was yanked against a broad, solid chest. Conrad.

She fought wildly, shoving at his jacket, nails digging in. "Don't touch me! Let go!"

Conrad's arm tightened. "Clara, calm down. It's just a power failure." His voice was right by her ear. His hot breath hit her neck.

His voice and the heat shocked her back. She stopped thrashing, breathing hard.

The backup generator kicked in. The lights flickered on.

Conrad's eyes narrowed. Clara's collar had shifted. The concealer had rubbed off against his suit. A dark, violent hickey was glaring on her collarbone.

His gaze turned dangerous. A flash of memory—a woman crying beneath him in the dark.

Clara saw his stare. She gasped, clamped her hand over the mark, and shoved him away. She backed into the corner, panting.

Ding. The elevator stopped at the fifteenth floor. Sales Department. The doors opened.

Clara bolted out without a word.

Conrad stood in the cabin, watching her terrified back disappear. He slowly raised his right hand and stared at the three scratches. His eyes went black.

"Boss, should I look into Julian's recent activities?" Marcus asked quietly.

Conrad dropped his hand. "Pull the security footage from the fifteenth floor of the Plaza last night. I want to know exactly who was in that room."

Clara ran into the women's restroom. She splashed cold water on her face and stared at her reflection. The real war had just begun.

Clara dried her face and walked into HR. The director handed her a transfer notice with a cold expression.

"Ms. Sterling, you've been away from frontline business too long. The company is reassigning you to Sales Department Two as a junior account manager."

Clara's eyes flicked to the approval line. Julian's signature. He wanted to humiliate her into quitting. She signed without a word and walked to Sales Two.

Mitch, the sales manager, saw her coming. He walked up with a mocking grin. "Well, well. The boss's wife, coming down to experience peasant life?" He spoke loudly. The entire open office turned to stare.

Clara looked at him with flat eyes. "Manager Mitch, in the office, it's Ms. Sterling. Where is my desk?"

Mitch's smile faltered. He pointed to a broken, dusty desk shoved into the back corner next to the trash cans.

Clara walked over and started cleaning. She needed this position to access the company's financial data.

She made it to five o'clock. She walked out of the building. A black Bentley pulled up. Julian. The window rolled down.

"Get in, honey. I'll take you home." He wore his loving-husband mask.

Clara got in, not wanting to tip him off. The car reeked of his cologne.

The Bentley merged onto the highway toward Long Island. Julian started complaining. "You really embarrassed me today. Everyone is laughing."

Clara stared out the window. "You demoted me from Vice Director to junior sales. Who's laughing at who?"

Julian's face darkened. Before he could snap, his phone vibrated on the center console.

The caller ID showed an unsaved number. Clara recognized the last four digits instantly. Sierra.

Julian glanced at the screen. Panic crossed his face. He hit decline.

"Why didn't you answer?" Clara turned, a cold smile on her lips.

"Spam," Julian lied.

A text popped up on the lock screen. [Julian, help me! My ex found me! He's smashing the door! I'm so scared!]

They both read it. Julian's face drained of color. He yanked the steering wheel, tires screeching, and slammed the brakes on the shoulder.

"Clara, I have an emergency. Get out and call a cab." He was already unbuckling his seatbelt.

"We're on a highway!"

"Stop being difficult! Someone's life is in danger!" Julian dropped his mask and roared. He leaned over, shoved her door open, and practically pushed her out.

The heavy door slammed. The Bentley roared back into traffic and disappeared.

Clara stood on the shoulder in her thin skirt and heels. Freezing wind whipped her dark hair. Massive trucks thundered past. She pulled out her phone. No service.

The sky turned dark. The cold seeped into her bones. Just as despair started to choke her, a black Maybach slowed and stopped.

The back window rolled down. The streetlights lit Conrad's sharp profile. His deep eyes swept over her purple lips and shivering frame. His brow furrowed. "Get in."

Clara hesitated, then pulled the heavy door open. She slid into the backseat, pressing herself against the door, as far from him as possible.

"Drive," Conrad ordered Marcus. He reached out and cranked the heat to maximum.

The cabin was silent except for the blowing air. Clara's frozen limbs slowly thawed, but her nerves stretched tight.

"Where is Julian?" Conrad asked. His deep voice vibrated in the enclosed space.

"He had a work emergency. I wanted to take a walk." She lied to save her last shred of dignity.

Conrad let out a low scoff. "Taking a walk on a sixty-five-mile-per-hour highway?"

Clara's face burned. She stared down, twisting her skirt fabric.

Suddenly, a white-tailed deer leaped into the road. Marcus slammed the brakes. The tires screamed.

The violent momentum threw Clara forward. In a split second, Conrad's arm shot out, wrapped around her waist, and yanked her back.

She crashed against his solid chest. He grunted. Two buttons on her thin silk shirt popped off with a snap.

The car jerked to a stop. Clara found herself straddling Conrad's lap, her hands on his shoulders, her shirt torn open, exposing her skin and the deep curve of her cleavage. The concealer on her neck was completely gone. The dark purple hickey was bare.

Conrad's eyes dropped to the bruise. His pupils went black. His breathing turned heavy.

Clara scrambled off his lap. "I-I'm sorry." She clutched her torn shirt, face burning.

Conrad's throat worked. He ripped his gaze away and stared out the window. His voice was hoarse. "Marcus, keep driving." He shrugged off his suit jacket and threw it over her head.

Clara pulled the oversized jacket around her shoulders, drowning in his scent. Neither spoke. The air inside the car felt thick and dangerous.

Thirty minutes later, the Maybach pulled up to the Vance estate.

Clara whispered a quick "Thank you," pushed the door open, and ran toward the house.

Julian's car was already parked. He stood by the door, his eyes locked onto the oversized men's jacket draped over her shoulders. His gaze was venomous.