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.

The Maybach's engine let out a low, powerful growl as it pulled away from the Vance estate, merging into the dark Manhattan traffic.

With a soft mechanical hum, the privacy partition behind the driver's seat rolled up, completely sealing off the back of the car.

Aubrey pressed her back hard against the passenger door. She pulled her knees slightly toward her chest, trying to put as much physical space between them as the leather seat allowed.

The neon streetlights flashed through the tinted windows, casting harsh shadows across Callum's sharp jawline.

Callum reached up, his long fingers violently yanking his silk tie loose. He let out a dark, chilling laugh that made the hairs on Aubrey's arms stand up.

He suddenly lunged forward.

His large hand slammed against the window right next to Aubrey's head. His other hand gripped the edge of her seat. He trapped her completely in the cage of his arms.

The overwhelming scent of his cologne and the raw heat of his body sucked all the oxygen out of the small space. Aubrey couldn't breathe.

"Did you have fun?" Callum gritted out, his eyes burning into hers. "Hiding in Hollywood for four years? Playing your little games?"

Aubrey forced her chin up. She met his furious gaze, making her voice sound as bored as possible. "The weather in LA is nice. The parties are better."

The careless words snapped the last thread of his control.

Callum's hand dropped from the window, his fingers clamping around her jaw. He forced her face up, his grip bruising.

"Why?" he demanded, his voice cracking with a raw, violent pain. "Why did you drug me? Why did you throw me away like a piece of trash?"

A sharp ache pierced Aubrey's chest. She wanted to scream the truth, to tell him it was to save his life. But she swallowed the blood in her throat and forced a cruel smirk.

"It was a transaction, Callum," she whispered, making her eyes look empty. "We slept together. I used your family's name to get a few contacts. When I got what I needed, the transaction ended."

Callum's chest heaved. His eyes turned bloodshot, filled with a terrifying, primal rage.

He didn't speak. He crushed his mouth against hers.

It wasn't a kiss. It was an execution. His teeth scraped against her bottom lip, biting down hard enough to draw the metallic taste of blood.

Aubrey let out a muffled groan of pain. She brought her hands up, hitting his solid shoulders, trying to push him away.

Callum caught both her wrists in one hand. He slammed her arms up above her head, pinning them against the cold glass of the window. The old, faded white scars on his knuckles scraped roughly against her delicate skin, sending a sharp, grounding sting through her trembling pulse.

His mouth softened slightly, the brutal biting turning into a desperate, starving invasion. He kissed her like a dying man drinking water.

Aubrey felt the violent trembling of his chest against hers. The iron wall around her heart cracked. A single, hot tear escaped the corner of her eye, sliding down her cheek.

Callum tasted the salt.

He froze. His body went completely rigid. He pulled back just half an inch, his forehead resting heavily against hers. His breathing was ragged.

"Don't run again," he whispered hoarsely, sounding completely broken. "If you run again, Aubrey, I will burn your entire world to the ground just to keep you."

Aubrey turned her face away, breaking the contact. "It's over, Callum. There is no starting over."

Callum let out a cruel, breathless scoff. "In this game, I'm the only one who gets to say when it's over."

The Maybach glided to a smooth stop outside her luxury apartment building in Brooklyn.

Callum released her wrists. He sat back in his seat, instantly pulling the cold, untouchable billionaire mask back over his face.

"I'm sending a doctor tomorrow morning for your ankle," he stated, looking straight ahead. "Do not refuse him."

Aubrey didn't say a word. She shoved the door open and scrambled out of the car, limping wildly into the bright lobby of her building like a fugitive.

Inside the dark car, Callum watched her disappear through the glass doors. The obsession in his eyes was absolute.

He pulled out his phone and dialed his executive assistant.

"Helen," Callum ordered, his voice like ice. "I want a full background check on Aubrey. Every person she talked to, every place she went for the last four years. I want it on my desk by morning."