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.

Jarrett carried Alexis down the hallway, away from the staring eyes and the covered gurney. He found a quiet, empty waiting alcove near the elevators and gently set her down on a vinyl chair.

Before Alexis could even process the numbness spreading through her limbs, the rapid clatter of hard-soled shoes echoed down the corridor.

Case Bridges, the Mills family's corporate lawyer, sprinted toward them. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his tie loosened, and he clutched a thick leather briefcase to his chest like a shield. He had received the automated emergency alert from the Mills Corporation's executive health protocol the moment August was admitted, and he hadn't stopped running since. He spotted Alexis slumped in the chair and Harriette standing a few feet away, sobbing hysterically. He rushed over, his breathing ragged.

Case unzipped his briefcase with shaking hands. He pulled out a massive stack of financial documents and shoved them toward Alexis.

"The accounts," Case gasped out, his voice trembling. "All the corporate accounts are frozen. The bank initiated a total lockdown an hour ago."

Alexis stared at the papers. She reached out mechanically and took them. The sharp edge of the top page sliced the pad of her index finger, but she didn't feel the cut. She looked at the bold red numbers. Massive deficits.

"This isn't mismanagement," Case said, his voice dropping to a horrified whisper. "It was a coordinated short squeeze. Someone drained the core assets from the inside out."

He reached over and tapped a specific signature line on the third page.

"It was Dollie Warner. Your aunt," Case said, looking at Alexis with pity. "And she had an inside partner who provided the proprietary data to trigger the margin calls."

He flipped the page. "Carlos Martin."

Alexis stared at her ex-husband's name printed in stark black ink. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin broke, warm blood seeping into the creases of her hands.

The cheating. The fake photos. The sudden, brutal divorce. It wasn't about another woman. It was a smokescreen to distract her while Carlos and her own aunt butchered her father's company and drove him off a roof.

Harriette heard the lawyer's words. The realization that her own sister-in-law and son-in-law had murdered her husband snapped the final, fragile thread of her sanity. She turned her wild, bloodshot eyes to her daughter. "Did you know?" Harriette hissed, taking a trembling step forward. "Did you know about this and say nothing? !" Alexis was too paralyzed by shock to form a single word. Her silence was the spark that ignited the powder keg. Harriette let out a screech that sounded barely human. Her eyes rolled wildly. She lunged past the lawyer, throwing her entire body weight at Alexis.

Harriette's hands clamped down around Alexis's throat.

"You brought him into this family!" Harriette screamed, spit flying from her lips, her face contorted into a demonic mask. "You married that monster!"

Alexis couldn't breathe. Her airway was crushed shut. Her face rapidly turned a deep, mottled purple. But she didn't raise her hands to fight back. Her arms hung limp at her sides, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. She wanted the pain to stop. She wanted it all to end.

Jarrett's eyes flared with pure violence.

He closed the distance in a fraction of a second. His large hand clamped around Harriette's wrist like a steel vice. With one brutal, calculated yank, he tore the crazed woman off Alexis and threw her backward.

Harriette hit the floor hard. She scrambled wildly, her hand blindly grasping the base of a heavy metal IV pole standing near the wall.

With a feral shriek, Harriette swung the solid steel base upward, aiming directly for Alexis's skull.

Jarrett threw his arm out to block it, but the angle was too tight. The heavy metal edge scraped violently against the back of his hand, tearing the skin, before slamming sickeningly into the side of Alexis's forehead.

The skin split open instantly. Bright red blood gushed from the wound, streaming down the side of Alexis's pale face, dripping onto her collar.

The world spun violently. The screaming, the fluorescent lights, the smell of blood-it all blurred into a dull hum. Alexis's eyes rolled back, and her body went entirely limp, sliding sideways off the chair.

Jarrett caught her before she hit the ground. He pulled her bleeding head against his chest, his heart slamming against his ribs.

"Get a fucking gurney!" Jarrett roared, his voice shaking the glass windows of the alcove.

Three hospital security guards finally rushed in, tackling the screaming Harriette to the floor and pinning her down.

Nurses ran over with a crash cart. Jarrett lifted Alexis onto the flat mattress. As they wheeled her away, he stood in the hallway, blood dripping from his own torn hand.

He looked down at the scattered bankruptcy documents on the floor. He stared at the names Dollie Warner and Carlos Martin. A cold, lethal shadow fell over his face.