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.

The sharp, chemical stench of bleach dragged Alexis back to consciousness.

She opened her eyes slowly. The harsh overhead light stabbed at her retinas. A dull, throbbing agony pulsed in her forehead with every beat of her heart.

She turned her head slightly. She was in a standard hospital room. The scratchy sheets smelled like industrial detergent. She reached up and felt a thick wad of gauze taped over her temple.

Then, she saw him.

Jarrett sat in a cheap vinyl armchair in the corner of the room. His long legs were crossed at the ankle. He was watching her, his dark eyes unreadable, his presence entirely too large for the sterile, depressing room.

The memories of the night crashed down on her. Her father's death. The bankruptcy. Her mother's hands around her throat.

Alexis gripped the thin blanket. A fierce, irrational surge of pride flared in her chest. She refused to let this man-a gigolo she had hired for a one-night stand-see her broken, destitute, and pathetic.

She forced herself to sit up, ignoring the wave of nausea. She pointed a trembling finger at the door.

"Get out," she rasped, her throat bruised and raw. "I don't want you here."

Jarrett didn't flinch. He didn't look angry. He simply uncrossed his legs and stood up. He smoothed the front of his ruined, blood-stained suit jacket with slow, deliberate movements.

He walked to the door, paused, and looked back at her. "You still owe me a million dollars. Don't think you can die to get out of it."

He stepped out, letting the door click shut behind him.

Less than a minute later, the door swung open again.

Carlos walked in. He wore a fresh, custom-tailored navy suit, looking like he had just stepped off a yacht. A smug, victorious smile stretched across his face.

He looked at the bandage on Alexis's head and chuckled.

Alexis grabbed the plastic water pitcher from her bedside table and hurled it at his face.

Carlos easily dodged it. The pitcher hit the wall, shattering and spilling ice water everywhere. Carlos stepped over the puddle, walking right up to the edge of her bed. He looked down at her like she was an insect.

"I did it," Carlos said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "I drained the accounts. Dollie and I took everything. Consider it payment for you whoring around and humiliating me."

Alexis's chest he heave. "Where is my mother?" she demanded, her voice shaking with rage.

Carlos reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper bearing the hospital's official seal. He flicked it open and held it in front of her face.

"Since she assaulted you in the ER, the doctors deemed her a danger to herself and others," Carlos smiled, his teeth showing. "As your concerned former family member, I signed the authorization. She's been heavily sedated and transferred to a closed psychiatric facility upstate."

Alexis felt the floor drop out from under her. She lunged forward, grabbing the IV line taped to the back of her hand, and ripped it out.

Blood instantly spurted from the vein, dripping onto the white sheets. She tried to swing her legs over the bed to attack him.

Carlos shoved her hard in the chest, forcing her back against the pillows.

"Stay out of New York," Carlos whispered, leaning in close. "If you try to fight me, I will make sure your mother rots in a padded cell for the rest of her miserable life."

He straightened his tie, laughed out loud, and walked out of the room.

Alexis lay there, panting, the metallic taste of blood in her mouth again. She bit her lower lip until it split. She couldn't cry. Crying was for the weak.

Outside the room, Jarrett had just returned with a fresh bottle of water from the cafeteria when he heard Carlos's smug voice echoing from inside. He paused by the door, leaning against the cold corridor wall. His grip tightened on the plastic bottle as he stood perfectly still, his expression turning glacial. He had heard every single word.

He pulled out his phone and sent a text to Bruno: Find out which psych ward Harriette Mills was taken to. I want the director's name in five minutes.

Inside the room, Alexis threw off the covers. Her bare feet hit the cold linoleum. She walked to the small closet and pulled out her dirty, blood-stained trench coat. She shoved her arms into the sleeves, pulling it tight over her thin hospital gown.

She pressed a wad of tissues against her bleeding hand, leaned heavily against the wall, and began the agonizing walk out of the hospital. She had to get her mother back.

Alexis shuffled down the long hospital corridor, keeping her shoulder pressed against the wall for balance. She stopped at the nurses' station, signed the Against Medical Advice discharge papers with a shaking hand, and accepted the massive bill she had no way of paying.

She pushed through the revolving glass doors of the main entrance.

From his vantage point in the Maybach parked securely across the street, Jarrett watched the hospital entrance, his jaw tight. He had instructed Bruno to wait here, a grim premonition telling him her ordeal was far from over.

The harsh afternoon sun hit her eyes, making her head throb violently. The cold wind whipped around her bare legs beneath the hospital gown. She took a deep breath of the freezing air, trying to clear the dizziness, and stepped onto the sidewalk.

A screech of tires shattered the street noise.

A cherry-red Porsche Macan swerved sharply toward the curb, cutting off her path. The car jerked to a halt.

The driver's side door popped open. Josie stepped out. She was dressed in a pristine white Chanel winter coat, her hair perfectly blown out, oversized designer sunglasses hiding half her face.

Josie pulled off the sunglasses and looked Alexis up and down. A loud, exaggerated scoff escaped her glossy lips.

"Look at you," Josie sneered, waving a manicured hand in front of her nose as if Alexis smelled. "You look like a diseased stray dog."

Alexis stared at her with dead eyes. She didn't have the energy for this. She stepped to the side, attempting to walk around the front of the Porsche.

Josie moved quickly, side-stepping to block her again. She reached into her expensive leather tote bag and pulled out a thick legal document.

She slapped the paper hard against Alexis's chest.

"Sign the NDA," Josie demanded. "You agree to never speak to the press about the divorce, the bankruptcy, or Carlos. You disappear quietly."

Alexis looked down at the paper. A cold, bitter laugh scraped its way up her throat. She grabbed the document, gripped the edges, and ripped it in half, then in quarters. She let the pieces fall from her hands, scattering into the dirty slush on the sidewalk.

Josie's face tightened with fury. Then, a cruel, wicked smile spread across her lips.

She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her phone. She tapped the screen and shoved it inches from Alexis's face.

The screen displayed a high-resolution photo of a black marble urn sitting on a metal table.

"Aunt Dollie bought off the funeral home," Josie said, her voice dripping with venom. "We have August's ashes."

Alexis felt a physical blow to her stomach. Her eyes widened in absolute horror. She lunged forward, her hands shooting out to grab the lapels of Josie's pristine white coat.

"Give him back!" Alexis screamed, her voice cracking, her fingers twisting the expensive fabric. "Give my father back!"

Josie shoved her violently.

Alexis, weak from blood loss and shock, stumbled backward. Her heel caught on a crack in the pavement. She fell hard, her knees slamming into the concrete, the wound on her forehead throbbing as fresh blood began to seep through the gauze.

Josie stood over her, adjusting her coat. "Sign the new papers I send you, and leave the state. Or I swear to God, I will dump this urn straight into the Hudson River."

Alexis sat on the freezing ground, her whole body shaking uncontrollably. The absolute despair threatened to crush her chest.

Fifty feet away, sitting in the back of the parked Maybach, Jarrett watched the entire scene through the tinted glass. The leather steering wheel creaked under the pressure of his grip.

He pushed the heavy door open and stepped out into the cold.

Josie didn't notice the towering figure approaching. She opened her designer wallet and pulled out a thick stack of crisp, hundred-dollar bills.

She held the money out, pinching it between two fingers.

"Here," Josie mocked, opening her fingers.

The green bills fluttered down, raining over Alexis's head and shoulders, landing in the dirty puddles around her knees.

"Pick it up, beggar," Josie commanded sharply. "Crawl on your knees and pick it up."