Alexis hurried down the long, carpeted hallway of the penthouse level, her heels in her hand. She pressed the elevator button, her heart hammering against her ribs until the doors opened and she stepped inside.

Back in the suite, the harsh sunlight finally reached the pillows.

Jarrett's brow furrowed. He opened his eyes. He reached his heavy arm across the mattress, expecting to pull warm, soft skin against his chest. His hand hit flat, cold sheets.

He sat up abruptly. The blanket pooled at his waist. His dark eyes scanned the massive, empty room. The silence grated on his nerves.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. He walked toward the nightstand to grab his watch. That was when he saw it.

Underneath a half-empty glass of water sat a neat stack of twenty and fifty-dollar bills.

Jarrett stared at the money. A muscle in his jaw ticked. He reached out and snatched the bills. He thumbed through them. Eight hundred dollars.

A harsh, humorless laugh ripped from his throat. The heir to the Aurelian Group. The man who moved billions with a signature. He had just been given a price tag.

He grabbed the hotel phone and hit the speed dial.

"Get up here. Now," he barked into the receiver, his voice dripping with ice.

Less than a minute later, the suite door clicked open. Bruno rushed in, out of breath. He took one look at the rumpled bed, the scattered clothes, and the terrifyingly dark expression on his boss's face, and snapped his mouth shut.

Jarrett threw the wad of cash onto the glass coffee table. The bills scattered.

"Pull the hotel security footage," Jarrett ordered, his chest rising and falling with controlled anger. "Find out exactly who she is. I want her entire life on my screen before I finish my coffee."

Miles away, a yellow cab pulled up to the curb in the Upper East Side.

Alexis pushed the door open and stepped out onto the freezing pavement. She stood in front of the massive, multi-story townhouse she used to call home. Her stomach churned with nausea.

She pressed her thumb to the biometric lock. It clicked green. She pushed the heavy door open and walked into the pristine, silent living room. She needed to pack her remaining personal items before Carlos changed the locks.

She pulled a suitcase from the hall closet and began shoving her coats and shoes inside.

The front door suddenly slammed open, hitting the wall with a loud crack.

Carlos strode into the foyer, a triumphant, cruel smirk on his face. He wasn't drunk, but his eyes held the manic gleam of a predator who had just savored a kill. His face was flushed with the thrill of victory. He saw Alexis kneeling by the suitcase. The veins in his neck bulged. He crossed the room in three long strides and kicked the suitcase. It flipped over, spilling her clothes across the hardwood floor.

Alexis froze. She slowly lifted her head, her eyes cold and dead. She reached out to pick up a fallen sweater.

Carlos lunged. He grabbed her wrist, his fingers digging brutally into her skin, and yanked her upward.

The sudden, violent pull caused the collar of her trench coat to slip down her shoulder.

Carlos's eyes dropped. Right on the pale skin of her collarbone was a dark, purple bruise. A fresh hickey.

His pupils dilated. The muscles in his face contorted with a sickening mix of jealousy and rage.

"Where the hell were you last night?" Carlos spat, his saliva hitting her cheek. "Who were you spreading your legs for?"

Alexis didn't flinch. She stared right into his bloodshot eyes. "Let go of me. My private life is none of your business anymore."

The words snapped the last thread of his sanity. Carlos raised his free hand and swung.

The loud smack echoed in the large room. The force of the slap threw Alexis's head to the side. A sharp, metallic taste flooded her mouth. Blood pooled in the corner of her lips.

She didn't cry. She just slowly turned her head back, her eyes burning with pure hatred.

Carlos let out a guttural yell. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her toward the grand staircase. He dragged her toward the master bedroom.

"I'm going to make you regret you were ever born!" he roared.

Alexis gasped in pain as her scalp burned. She twisted her body, lifting her leg, and drove the sharp heel of her shoe directly into his shin.

Carlos grunted in pain, but his grip on her hair only tightened.

At that exact moment, back in the penthouse, Bruno handed a sleek tablet to Jarrett.

Jarrett swiped the screen. His eyes scanned the detailed background check. He saw the marriage certificate. He saw the divorce filing from yesterday. He saw the name of the ex-husband.

Carlos Martin.

Jarrett's thumb stopped moving. A slow, dark smirk curled the corners of his mouth. The woman who had bought him for eight hundred dollars was his own nephew's discarded wife.

He tossed the tablet onto the sofa and grabbed a fresh, perfectly pressed white shirt.

"Get the car ready," Jarrett commanded, buttoning his cuffs with lethal precision. He glanced at the address on the screen. "We're going to the Upper East Side."

Carlos dragged Alexis to the top of the stairs. He shoved her hard.

Alexis lost her balance. She crashed onto the thick Persian rug in the second-floor hallway, her shoulder taking the brunt of the impact. Pain shot down her arm.

She scrambled backward, her palms burning against the carpet fibers, trying to put distance between herself and the madman.

Carlos reached into the inner pocket of his tailored suit jacket. He pulled out a thick stack of glossy photographs. He raised his arm and hurled them directly at her face.

The heavy paper hit her cheeks and fluttered to the ground, scattering across the intricate patterns of the rug.

Alexis looked down. Her breath caught in her throat.

The photos showed her in various hotel beds, tangled in the sheets with different, faceless men. The images were explicit, raw, and entirely fabricated.

"This is why you get nothing!" Carlos screamed, pointing a shaking finger at her. "You filthy whore! You thought you could play me?"

Alexis grabbed one of the photos. Her eyes, trained for years in architectural design, instantly caught the unnatural lighting on the collarbone, the pixelated blurring where her neck met the stranger's shoulder.

She let out a dry, harsh laugh. She gripped the edges of the photo and ripped it straight down the middle.

"This is a pathetic photoshop job, Carlos," she spat, throwing the torn pieces at his shoes. "You're delusional."

"Shut up!" Carlos roared. He stepped forward, raising his heavy leather shoe, aiming a kick at her ribs.

The sharp clack of high heels on the hardwood stairs interrupted him.

Bernice, Carlos's mother, walked up the steps, followed closely by Josie, Alexis's cousin.

Bernice looked at the photos littering the floor. Her face twisted in disgust. "Look at this filth. I always knew you were a slut, Alexis. You've dragged the Martin name through the mud."

Josie hurried forward. She placed a delicate hand on Carlos's chest, leaning her soft body against his rigid muscles.

"Don't be angry, Carlos," Josie cooed, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "She's not worth raising your blood pressure. We finally got the trash out of the house."

Alexis stared at the three of them. The puzzle pieces slammed together in her head. The sudden divorce. The fake photos. The absolute lack of alimony. It was a coordinated slaughter, and her own cousin was sleeping with the butcher.

Alexis placed her hands flat on the floor and pushed herself up. Her knees shook, but she locked them. She wiped the blood from her lip with the back of her hand, lifting her chin with the ingrained pride of her upbringing.

Josie saw her standing tall. A flash of irritation crossed Josie's eyes. She stepped away from Carlos and walked toward Alexis, extending a hand as if to help her brush off her coat.

Josie leaned closer to Alex, lowered her voice, and whispered maliciously in a voice only Alex could hear, "You're a curse to everyone who comes near you. Luckily, Carlos wisely left. Guess what surprises await you next?"

Alexis didn't blink. She raised her right hand and brought it across Josie's face with every ounce of strength she had left.

The loud crack echoed off the high ceilings.

Josie shrieked. She threw herself backward, collapsing dramatically into Carlos's arms, clutching her rapidly reddening cheek and sobbing loudly.

"You bitch!" Carlos bellowed. He lunged past Josie, his fist pulled back, aiming straight for Alexis's face.

Alexis didn't retreat. She ducked to the side, her hand shooting out to grab the heavy bronze vase sitting on the hallway console table. She swung it downward with brutal force.

A sickeningly sharp crack ripped through the air as a shard tore Carlos's ankle. Carlos let out a painful howl and collapsed to the ground, clutching his leg.

Bernice screamed, clutching her pearls. "Call the police! Arrest this psycho!"

Alexis dropped the vase. It hit the floor with a heavy thud. She looked down at the writhing man and the screaming women.

"I am done with this family," Alexis said, her voice eerily calm and cold.

She turned on her heel. She stepped over the scattered, fake photos, ignoring Carlos's groans. She walked down the stairs, her spine perfectly straight.

She pushed open the heavy front door. The morning sun had already been swallowed by a sudden, heavy wall of snow clouds, plunging the city into a premature, bruised twilight.

A blast of freezing New York winter wind hit her instantly, biting through her thin trench coat.

Alex stepped down the stairs onto the cold street. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, shivering. She reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, her fingers stiff with cold. She needed to call an Uber. She had to get out of this neighborhood.

She tapped the screen. The battery icon flashed red once, twice, and then the screen went completely black.

Dead.

Alexis stood under the flickering yellow light of a streetlamp that had hummed to life in the midday gloom. The wind howled around her. She had no money. No phone. No home. Her chest tightened, panic finally clawing its way up her throat as the freezing gloom swallowed her.

Alexis rubbed her numb hands together, her breath puffing into white clouds in the freezing air. She stepped closer to the edge of the curb, desperately scanning the empty street for the glowing light of a taxi.

A few cars sped past, their tires slicing through the icy slush. A spray of dirty water splashed up, soaking the hem of her trench coat. She shivered violently, her teeth chattering so hard her jaw ached.

Headlights cut through the darkness. A massive, pitch-black Maybach glided down the street. The engine was completely silent.

Instead of driving past, the luxury vehicle slowed down and stopped precisely in front of her, the sleek tires resting inches from the puddle.

The tinted rear window rolled down with a soft hum.

Alexis squinted against the glare of the streetlamp. The sharp, flawless profile of a man emerged from the shadows of the backseat.

Her frozen brain stuttered. It was him. The gigolo from the hotel.

She stared at the multi-million dollar car, then back at his face. Her mind scrambled for a logical explanation. A sugar mommy, she concluded instantly. He must have a very wealthy, very generous client who lets him drive her car. His services were... exceptional, after all.

Jarrett turned his head. His dark eyes locked onto her shivering frame, lingering on her blue-tinted lips. A cold, mocking smirk touched the corner of his mouth.

He pushed the heavy door open. He stepped out onto the street, his long legs closing the distance between them in two strides.

Before she could speak, Jarrett shrugged off his heavy, cashmere overcoat. He stepped into her personal space and draped the coat over her shoulders.

The fabric was thick and radiated his body heat. Alexis instinctively flinched, raising her hands to push it off.

Jarrett's large hands clamped down on her shoulders, his grip like iron. He held the coat in place, trapping her arms beneath it.

He leaned down, his face inches from hers. "Eight hundred dollars?" he asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Is that what you think I'm worth?"

Alexis swallowed hard, intimidated by the sheer physical dominance he projected. "That was... that was all the cash I had on me."

Jarrett took a half-step forward, forcing her back until her spine hit the cold metal of the Maybach's door. He boxed her in with his arms.

"My rate is one million dollars," he stated, his eyes boring into hers.

Alexis gasped, her eyes widening in shock. "One million? That's extortion! You're insane!"

Jarrett didn't blink. He calmly reached into his suit pocket with one hand, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen.

A high-quality audio recording played from the speaker.

"You're mine for the night. I bought your time. I'll pay whatever it takes, just take me upstairs." Her own drunken, slurred voice echoed in the quiet street.

Alexis's face burned. The heat rushed to her cheeks, completely overriding the winter chill. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

In the driver's seat, Bruno's shoulders shook almost imperceptibly. He bit the inside of his cheek, staring intently at the road ahead as if the fate of the world depended on it, though a faint tremor at the corner of his mouth betrayed his struggle to suppress a laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

Jarrett slipped the phone back into his pocket. "You owe me a million dollars. You will sign a debt contract, and you will pay it off in installments."

Alexis clenched her jaw. She looked down the empty, freezing street. She had nowhere to go. If she stayed out here, she would freeze to death.

She looked back up at his hard, unyielding face. "Fine," she whispered, the word tasting like ash in her mouth.

Jarrett's eyes gleamed with dark satisfaction. He reached past her and pulled the car door open.

Alexis ducked her head and climbed into the back seat, pulling his oversized coat tight around her.

Jarrett slid in right beside her. The door shut, sealing them inside the warm, leather-scented cabin. The sudden shift in temperature made Alexis's skin tingle.

The car pulled away smoothly. Jarrett reached into the center console, poured a cup of steaming black tea from a thermos, and handed it to her. His movements were fluid, practiced.

Alexis took the cup. As he pulled his hand back, the interior lights caught the edge of his sleeve. A massive, flawless blue sapphire cufflink glinted in the light.

She stared at it. Definitely a sugar mommy, she thought, her grip tightening on the warm cup. No gigolo buys that for himself.

Jarrett leaned back against the headrest, turning his head to watch her sip the tea like a frightened animal.

"Give me your address," he said lazily. "I'll drop you off."

Alexis opened her mouth to give him Ayla's address.

Suddenly, a piercing ringtone shattered the tranquility inside the car.

Alexis dug into her purse and pulled it out. The screen flashed brightly in the dim car.