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.

Alexis stared at the glowing screen. The caller ID displayed the main number for New York-Presbyterian Hospital.

Her stomach dropped. A cold sweat broke out across the back of her neck. She pressed the green button and brought the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" she whispered.

"Is this Alexis Sweet?" a frantic female voice asked over the line. "Your father, August Mills, was just brought into the ER. He jumped from the roof of his office building. You need to get here right now."

The phone slipped from Alex's numb fingers and landed heavily on the thick floor mat.

All the air vanished from the car. Alexis couldn't breathe. Her chest seized, and violent tremors racked her entire body.

Jarrett saw the color drain completely from her face. He leaned forward instantly, scooping the phone off the floor. He pressed it to his ear just in time to hear the dial tone.

He looked at Alexis. Her eyes were wide, unblinking, staring at nothing.

Jarrett didn't ask questions. He kicked the back of Bruno's seat. "New York-Presbyterian. Now. Don't stop for anything."

The Maybach's engine roared to life. The massive car surged forward, throwing Alexis back against the leather seat. Bruno slammed his foot on the gas, blowing through three red lights in a row, the tires screeching violently around the corners.

The interior of the car was dead silent, save for the sound of Alexis's shallow, ragged breathing. She gripped the seatbelt across her chest, her knuckles white, tears spilling silently down her cheeks.

Jarrett reached across the console. His large, warm hand clamped over her icy, trembling fingers. He squeezed tightly, anchoring her to reality.

The car slammed to a halt directly in front of the brightly lit emergency room doors.

Alexis shoved the door open before the car even fully stopped. She threw herself out into the cold air. Her legs, weak from shock, gave out the second her foot hit the concrete steps.

She pitched forward, her knees slamming hard into the rough stone. The skin tore, blood instantly welling up.

Jarrett was out of the car in a flash. He grabbed her by the waist, hauling her up against his side. He half-carried, half-dragged her through the sliding glass doors into the blinding white light of the ER.

Alexis pushed away from him, sprinting down the linoleum hallway toward the flashing red light above the trauma room.

Just as she reached the doors, the red light snapped off.

The heavy doors swung open. A surgeon walked out, pulling off a blood-soaked surgical mask. He looked at the small group of people waiting and slowly shook his head.

The world tilted on its axis. Alexis's knees buckled. She collapsed onto the cold, hard floor, all the strength leaving her bones.

A piercing, guttural scream ripped through the hallway.

Harriette, Alexis's mother, sprinted from the waiting area. Her hair was wild, her face twisted in absolute agony.

Alexis forced herself up onto her hands and knees, reaching out, wanting to hold her mother, wanting to share the unbearable grief.

Harriette didn't hug her. She lunged forward and shoved Alexis violently in the chest.

Alexis fell backward. Before she could process the rejection, Harriette swung her arm. Her palm connected with the exact same spot Carlos had hit earlier.

The crack of the slap echoed down the quiet corridor. Alexis's head snapped to the side. Her ear rang with a high-pitched whine.

"You did this!" Harriette shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at Alexis's face. "You and your filthy divorce! The scandal ruined the company! You killed your father!"

Patients and nurses in the hallway turned to stare. Whispers broke out.

Alexis sat on the floor, clutching her burning cheek. The physical pain was nothing compared to the sensation of her heart being ripped out of her chest. She couldn't speak. The guilt her mother projected onto her felt like a physical weight crushing her lungs.

From the shadows of the hallway, the temperature plummeted.

Jarrett stepped forward. His eyes were pitch black, radiating a lethal, silent fury.

He walked directly in front of Alexis, his broad back forming an impenetrable wall between her and the staring crowd. He looked down at Harriette. He didn't say a word, but his stare was a physical threat, promising violence if she moved another inch.

Jarrett bent down. He ignored Alexis's weak protests, sliding one arm under her knees and the other behind her back. He lifted her off the floor effortlessly, holding her tight against his chest.

Behind them, the trauma room doors opened again. Two nurses wheeled out a gurney. A crisp white sheet covered the body from head to toe.