Aubrey shoved her phone back into her Bottega Veneta clutch. The driver was waiting at the side gate.

She pushed off the wall and walked quickly down the long corridor toward the spiral staircase that led to the side exit.

The antique wall sconces cast a dim, yellow light, making the edges of the marble steps blur into the shadows.

Her mind was completely consumed by the oppressive weight of Callum's gaze. Her steps were frantic, lacking their usual practiced elegance.

She grabbed the hem of her red dress, lifting it slightly, and threw her right foot forward onto the first step.

Her four-inch stiletto slid perfectly into the narrow gap of the vintage metal anti-slip strip on the edge of the marble.

The heel snapped into the groove.

Aubrey's ankle twisted violently outward. A sharp, agonizing pain shot up her leg.

She lost her balance instantly. A short, panicked gasp ripped from her throat as her body pitched forward into the empty air above the steep staircase.

She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the impact of her neck snapping against the marble.

A solid, muscular arm shot out from the shadows behind her.

The arm, wrapped in a tailored suit, clamped around her narrow waist with brutal precision.

A terrifying force yanked her backward. She slammed hard into a broad, rock-solid chest.

Instantly, her lungs were filled with the sharp, clean scent of cedarwood mixed with a faint trace of tobacco.

The smell was carved into her bones. Aubrey's pupils dilated. Her heart simply stopped beating.

"Have you forgotten how to walk?"

The voice came from right above her head. It was incredibly low, dark, and laced with a dangerous rasp.

Aubrey's entire body went rigid. Her blood turned to ice.

She turned her head stiffly, her eyes traveling up the sharp line of his jaw until she met Callum's deep, freezing eyes.

The second Callum saw her face clearly, the careless indifference in his eyes shattered. A violent storm of raw, unhinged emotion exploded in his dark pupils.

The arm around her waist tightened. He squeezed her so hard her ribs ached, as if he wanted to crush her bones into his own.

Aubrey gritted her teeth against the throbbing pain in her ankle and the suffocating pressure on her waist. She slammed both hands against his hard chest, pushing with all her strength to create distance.

Callum didn't let go. Instead, he stepped forward, driving her backward until her spine hit the wooden banister. He pinned her completely between his body and the railing.

He lowered his head, his face inches from hers. His warm breath brushed her ear as he ground out her name through his teeth.

"Aubrey."

Aubrey dug her nails into her palms. She forced the cold, untouchable mask of a Hollywood actress onto her face. The corners of her lips curled into a mocking smile.

"Thank you for the save, sir," she said, her voice dripping with polite, distant unfamiliarity. "Now, let go of me."

That single sentence was a lit match dropped into gasoline.

Callum's suppressed rage from the last four years ignited.

His free hand shot up, his long fingers gripping her jaw. He squeezed hard, forcing her to look directly into his furious eyes.

"You drug me," he whispered, his voice vibrating with lethal anger. "You run away like a coward. And now you dare pretend you don't know me?"

Aubrey's heart was screaming, tearing itself apart in her chest. But her eyes remained dead, filled with nothing but cold disdain.

"I remember you," she mocked, letting out a dry laugh. "I'm just surprised the CEO of Wyatt Corp is still obsessing over a woman he slept with once."

Callum's jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. His eyes turned pitch black, looking at her like a predator ready to tear her throat out.

Before he could speak, the sharp clicking of heels and the sound of women laughing echoed from the other end of the corridor.

Aubrey's survival instinct kicked in.

She lifted her uninjured foot and stomped her stiletto heel down as hard as she could onto Callum's expensive leather shoe.

Callum winced, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second.

Aubrey shoved him hard, breaking free from his cage. She didn't look back. Dragging her throbbing ankle, she limped frantically toward the heavy side door and pushed it open.

Aubrey stumbled through the heavy door, the cold night air hitting her flushed skin.

She was in the Vance estate's sprawling French garden. The manicured hedges offered no place to hide.

The stabbing pain in her right ankle flared with every step. She couldn't walk anymore. She limped toward the large marble fountain in the center of the garden and collapsed against the stone edge, gasping for air.

She reached down, unbuckling the straps of her stilettos, and pulled them off. She dropped her bare feet onto the freezing stone path, the cold offering a tiny bit of relief to her swollen joint.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in."

The sharp, nasal voice cut through the sound of the running water.

Aubrey looked up. Kloe Holder was walking down the rose-lined path, wearing a blinding silver sequined dress and holding a glass of champagne.

Kloe wasn't alone. Three of New York's most notorious gossip socialites trailed behind her, their eyes raking over Aubrey's bare feet and disheveled hair with open disgust.

Aubrey cursed under her breath. She immediately straightened her spine, pulling a pair of oversized sunglasses from her clutch and sliding them onto her face to hide her red-rimmed eyes.

Kloe stopped a few feet away, her voice artificially loud.

"Aubrey! What happened?" Kloe gasped in fake concern. "Did your sugar daddy cut you off? You can't even afford shoes that fit anymore?"

The socialites behind her erupted into cruel, muffled giggles. The hostility in the air was thick enough to choke on.

Aubrey's lips curved into a sharp, bloodless smile.

"My acting fee for one episode could buy your entire closet of cheap knockoffs, Kloe. Don't project your financial insecurities onto me."

Kloe's face flushed an ugly shade of red. The malicious glint in her eyes sharpened into pure poison.

She turned away from Aubrey, addressing her friends loudly.

"Did you guys know?" Kloe sneered. "Her mother was a disgusting homewrecker. A cheap whore who tried to ruin a respectable family's marriage for a payout."

Kloe pointed a manicured finger at Aubrey. "She's nothing but a dirty little stray. A bastard child who shouldn't even exist."

The bomb dropped.

Guests strolling nearby stopped dead in their tracks. Heads turned. The music from the ballroom seemed a million miles away as the garden fell into a shocked silence.

The socialites stared at Aubrey like she was a diseased rat.

The whispers started immediately, washing over Aubrey in a suffocating wave. They judged her blood, her mother, her existence.

Aubrey's hands dropped to her sides. She clenched her fists so hard her fingernails broke the skin of her palms. A drop of blood welled up, hidden in the shadows.

The image of her mother, Lillian, coughing up blood on a white hospital bed flashed behind her eyes.

The urge to lunge forward and rip Kloe's throat out was blinding. But the cold logic of her revenge plan forced her feet to stay planted.

Kloe saw Aubrey's silence and assumed she had won. She took a step closer, her face twisted in a victorious sneer.

Kloe tilted her champagne glass, aiming the pale yellow liquid directly at Aubrey's red dress.

"Trash like you doesn't belong at a Vance party," Kloe spat.

Aubrey's eyes turned to ice. She didn't flinch. She lifted her chin, ready to take the humiliation.

Just as the liquid left the rim of the glass, a massive, knuckle-scarred hand shot out from the darkness.

The hand clamped down on Kloe's wrist with bone-crushing force.

Kloe shrieked in agony. Her fingers opened. The crystal glass dropped to the stone floor, shattering into a hundred pieces. The champagne splashed back, soaking the hem of Kloe's own silver dress.

The crowd gasped in horror. Every eye snapped to the man who had just materialized from the shadows.

Callum Wyatt stood right beside Aubrey.

He didn't look like a CEO. He looked like a god of war stepping onto a battlefield.

His dark eyes were fixed on Kloe, staring at her with the cold, empty look of a man staring at a corpse. The terrifying, suffocating pressure radiating off his body made the air in the garden impossible to breathe.

Callum violently shoved Kloe's wrist away, his face twisting in disgust as if he had just touched rotting garbage.

Kloe stumbled backward, her heels catching on the stone. She fell back into the arms of her terrified friends. Her face drained of all color.

"M-Mr. Wyatt," Kloe stammered, her voice trembling violently. She tried to force a sickeningly sweet smile. "This is just a misunderstanding. She was-"

Callum reached into the breast pocket of his suit. He pulled out a pristine white silk handkerchief. Slowly, methodically, he wiped the fingers that had just touched her skin.

He didn't even look at her.

"Is this the Holder family's upbringing?" Callum's voice was dangerously quiet, but it carried across the dead-silent garden. "Screaming like a rabid dog in public?"

Kloe's face turned a sickly shade of green.

Being questioned about her upbringing by Callum Wyatt in front of New York's elite was a social death sentence. There was no coming back from this.

The socialites holding Kloe instantly let go of her arms, taking massive steps backward as if her stupidity was contagious.

Aubrey stood behind Callum. She stared at the broad, immovable line of his shoulders. Her chest tightened with an agonizing mix of longing and panic.

She couldn't let him do this. She couldn't let him tie his name to hers.

Aubrey took a deep breath, ignoring the stabbing pain in her foot, and stepped out from behind him.

"My father died before I was born," Aubrey's voice rang out, clear and cold, cutting through the whispers. She stared directly into the crowd. "I am no one's illegitimate daughter."

A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers. This directly contradicted the rumors the Holder family had been feeding the press for years.

"You're a liar!" Kloe shrieked, desperate to regain control.

Callum tossed the silk handkerchief into a nearby trash bin. He let out a dark, terrifying scoff.

He turned his head, his eyes sweeping over the crowd like a blade.

"Miss Aubrey's words are the absolute truth," Callum declared, his tone leaving zero room for debate. "If I hear one more rumor about her bloodline, the legal department of Wyatt Corp will personally dismantle your family's assets. Are we clear?"

Absolute silence.

No one breathed. No one moved. No one in their right mind would risk their family empire to challenge the Wyatt monster.

Aubrey froze behind him, her blood turning to ice inch by agonizing inch. No... it wasn't supposed to happen like this. She had spent four grueling years pushing him away, tearing her own heart out just to keep him out of this exact mess. But now, in less than three minutes, he had leaped straight into the center of her meticulously built battlefield and detonated a bomb. He was tying his name to hers in front of New York's most dangerous predators. Her chest tightened with sheer panic. Her entire plan was spiraling violently out of control.

Kloe stood frozen, her whole body shaking. She knew she was ruined.

The sound of hurried footsteps broke the tension. Beatrice Vance rushed into the garden, followed by four massive security guards.

Beatrice took one look at Aubrey's pale face and bare feet, then glared murderously at Kloe.

"Escort Miss Holder out," Beatrice ordered the guards, her voice dripping with authority. "She is clearly unwell."

Two guards grabbed Kloe by the arms, half-dragging the humiliated, sobbing heiress out of the garden and into the night.

Beatrice turned to Aubrey, her eyes softening. "Aubrey, your foot. Let me call the family doctor right now."

"I'll take her home."

Callum's voice cut off Beatrice's sentence. It wasn't an offer. It was a command.

Aubrey's stomach dropped. "No," she said quickly, stepping back. "I can call an Uber. I don't want to bother Mr. Wyatt."

Callum didn't even acknowledge her refusal.

He stepped into her space, bent his knees, and scooped her up into his arms.

"Ah!" Aubrey gasped, her hands flying up to grip his broad shoulders to stop herself from falling. Her face burned hot with sudden embarrassment.

The crowd gasped again, eyes wide with shock. The untouchable, ruthless Callum Wyatt was carrying a controversial actress like a bride.

Callum ignored them all. He carried Aubrey across the garden with long, powerful strides, heading straight for the massive black Maybach idling at the estate gates.

The driver scrambled out, pulling the rear door open.

Callum practically shoved Aubrey onto the leather seat. He climbed in right after her.

The heavy car door slammed shut, sealing them inside.