Kaylee clutched the tissue in her fist. She stumbled after Ernest's broad back as they exited City Hall. The heavy rain had reduced to a steady drizzle.

Edson was already holding the door open. Ernest slid into the backseat. Kaylee climbed in right after him. The heavy door slammed shut, sealing them inside.

The Maybach pulled away from the curb like a ghost. The silence inside the cabin was thicker and more oppressive than before.

Kaylee twisted her fingers together in her lap. She kept her head bowed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Blackwell," she whispered, guilt gnawing at her insides. "I shouldn't have dragged you into this mess."

Ernest leaned his head back against the leather headrest and closed his eyes. He didn't even look at her. "Call me Ernest. Remember your position."

Kaylee choked on her words. She swallowed hard. "Okay... Ernest. But I can go back and get it myself. You don't need to-"

Ernest's eyes snapped open. His gaze pierced straight through her. "Go back yourself? So they can pack you up like trash and throw you into that old man's bed?"

The words were brutal. They sliced right through Kaylee's desperate facade. Her face went completely white. She bit down on her lower lip, tasting blood again. She had no argument. It was the truth.

Ernest saw the color drain from her face. He realized his words were too harsh. A flash of irritation crossed his features. He aggressively yanked his tie loose and turned his head to stare out the tinted window.

He pulled a heavily encrypted phone from his inner pocket. His thumbs flew across the screen. He sent a direct order to Edson in the front seat.

"Edson. Three minutes. I want the preliminary financial data on the Fletcher Corporation, and run a surface sweep for any immediate red flags regarding her mother's estate."

In the driver's seat, Edson's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. He immediately steered the car with his left hand and pulled up a tablet with his right, his fingers flying across the digital keyboard.

The only sound in the car was the tires splashing through the puddles on the road. Kaylee stared out the window. The scenery was becoming familiar. They were heading back to Long Island. Her body started to tremble uncontrollably.

Two minutes and fifty seconds later, a secure file pinged onto Ernest's tablet. Edson's voice came through the intercom. "Boss, the deep dive will take hours, but I pulled their immediate financials and a flagged asset log."

Ernest opened the document. His eyes scanned the Fletcher Corporation's financial statements. A cold sneer touched his lips. "Insolvent. A pile of garbage. They are drowning in debt."

He scrolled down to the asset log. The notes on the crystal box were brief, pulled from an old probate record: Belonged to biological mother, Ione Dale. Material unknown. Currently in Donita Fletcher's possession.

Ernest locked the tablet. He turned his head and looked at Kaylee. She was curled up in the corner of the seat, shivering. A strange, violent urge to protect her flared up in his chest. He didn't bother analyzing it.

The Maybach turned onto the wealthy streets of Long Island. The massive iron gates of the Fletcher estate came into view.

The gates were wide open. Parked right in the middle of the driveway was a tacky, oversized stretch Lincoln. Mitch Ziegler's car.

Kaylee saw the vehicle. Her pupils shrank. Her breathing turned into rapid, shallow gasps. She pressed her back hard against the leather seat, trying to put distance between herself and the house.

Ernest noticed her panic. His voice cut through the air like a blade. "Edson. Drive straight through. Ram anything in the way."

The Maybach's engine growled. The car didn't slow down. It shot through the gates, swerved violently around the Lincoln, and slammed on the brakes right in front of the main doors.

Kaylee sucked in a lungful of air. She put her hand on the door handle. She had to face those monsters alone.

"What are you doing?" Ernest's voice was freezing.

Kaylee looked back at him. She forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. "I'll just run in and grab it. I'll be fast. You don't have to-"

Before she could finish her sentence, Ernest pushed his door open. He stepped out, walked around the back of the car, and yanked her door open from the outside.

"Get out," he commanded. "I am walking in with you."

Kaylee walked through the grand double doors of the Fletcher estate. Ernest’s steadying hand pressed against the small of her back—not pushing, but anchoring her. She had been trembling so violently on the driveway that he had simply taken her elbow and told her, “I’ll see this through with you.” Now his touch was the only thing keeping her legs from giving out. Her muddy bare feet left dark prints on the pristine marble floor of the foyer.

In the center of the massive living room, Donita was pacing furiously. Kallie sat on a velvet sofa, reapplying her lipstick with an annoyed expression.

Hearing the footsteps, Donita whipped her head around. When she saw Kaylee standing there, soaking wet, her face contorted with rage. She shrieked like a stepped-on cat.

"You little bitch! You finally decided to drag yourself back?!" Donita stormed forward. She was so blinded by anger she completely ignored the massive man standing right next to Kaylee.

Kallie stood up and crossed her arms. "Mr. Ziegler has been waiting in the upstairs guest room for an hour. Go wash the mud off and get up there!" she sneered.

Hearing the old man was upstairs made Kaylee’s stomach heave. Pure revulsion washed over her. The only reason she had come back at all was the promise Ernest Blackwell made her on the stone steps outside—that he would not let them sell her off to that man. She instinctively shrank back, pressing her shoulder against Ernest’s chest.

Donita saw Kaylee cowering and lost her mind. She raised her right hand high in the air and swung it down with all her strength, aiming a vicious slap right at Kaylee’s face.

The sound of the wind whipping off Donita’s hand rushed toward Kaylee. She squeezed her eyes shut and braced for the impact.

The slap never landed.

A sickening crack echoed through the large room. Bone snapped.

Donita let out a blood-curdling scream.

Kaylee’s eyes flew open. Ernest had caught Donita’s wrist mid-air. His massive hand was clamped around her arm like a steel vice. His eyes were dead, staring at Donita as if she were a corpse.

With a brutal flick of his wrist, Ernest shoved Donita backward. The older woman flew back two meters and crashed hard onto the marble floor, her dress tangling around her legs.

"Who the hell are you?!" Donita shrieked, clutching her dislocated wrist. Her face was twisted in agony. "How dare you walk into my house and assault me! This is a private residence!"

Kallie dropped her lipstick. She ran over and helped her mother sit up. Only then did she look up to inspect the man who had just broken her mother’s arm.

When Kallie’s eyes locked onto Ernest’s face, she stopped breathing. The color drained from her face. The compact mirror in her hand slipped and shattered on the marble floor. At the exact same moment, the arrogant fury vanished from Donita’s face. As a woman who spent her life trying to claw her way into high society, she recognized the ruthless billionaire who graced the covers of every financial magazine. The realization hit her like a freight train.

"Blackwell... Mr. Blackwell?" Kallie’s voice shook violently. Her knees buckled.

Donita’s screaming stopped instantly. It was replaced by sheer, unadulterated terror. She looked like she was going to throw up, realizing she had just raised her hand against a woman standing under the protection of the most dangerous man in New York.

Ernest didn’t even look at them. He pulled a pure white, monogrammed handkerchief from his breast pocket. He slowly and meticulously wiped the fingers that had touched Donita’s arm.

When he was done, he dropped the expensive fabric onto the floor right at Donita’s feet. The gesture was dripping with disgust.

He shifted his body, stepping slightly in front of Kaylee, shielding her completely from their view. His deep voice boomed through the room, carrying absolute authority.

“You will listen carefully because I will not repeat myself.” He let the silence stretch, making sure every syllable landed like a hammer. “This woman walked up that driveway half-drowned, barefoot, and too terrified to knock on her own door. I stopped my car because no one else did. What I saw in her eyes told me everything I needed to know about the people inside this house.”

He took another step forward, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop. “I do not care about your family squabbles. I do not care about the old man you’ve got stashed upstairs. But I have a very low tolerance for cowards who beat on vulnerable women. Touch her again, threaten her again, and I will dismantle your lives piece by piece.”

Donita and Kallie stared, mouths open. Kaylee felt her heart hammer against her ribs. Ernest Blackwell hadn’t called her his wife. He hadn’t claimed any formal tie. He was simply standing there like a stone fortress, refusing to let the world take another swing at her, and that alone made tears burn behind her eyes.

Kallie forced a trembling smile. “Mr. Blackwell, you don’t understand. Kaylee is our family. She’s just being dramatic. There’s no need for you to involve yourself—”

Ernest shot a single, lethal glare at Kallie. The look was so terrifying that Kallie choked on her own words and clamped her mouth shut.

Donita swallowed hard. She tried to stand up, attempting to salvage some authority. "Mr. Blackwell, this is a private family matter, and frankly it has nothing to do with you..."

“It became my concern the second I watched two grown women try to sell a girl to a predator in exchange for social standing,” Ernest cut her off ruthlessly. “I have heard enough.”

He took a slow step forward. His presence suffocated the room. “I understand you are holding property that belongs to Kaylee. A crystal box. Something her mother left behind. You will return it immediately.”

Donita took a step back, trembling. “I... I was just keeping it safe for her... it’s in the study, but surely you can see this is an internal family—”

Ernest let out a dark chuckle that held no humor whatsoever. “You have three minutes. Hand over the crystal box. If you don’t, the Fletcher Corporation will enter bankruptcy liquidation at exactly eight o’clock tomorrow morning. I will personally call the heads of both lending banks before I walk out that door, and by sunrise your credit lines will be frozen.”

He stated the exact, down-to-the-cent figures of their two overdue bank loans.

Donita's psychological defenses shattered completely. She collapsed back onto the floor.

The living room was dead silent. Donita sat on the floor, her chest heaving in panic. The threat of total financial ruin broke her completely.

She turned her head and screamed at Kallie. "Go! Go up to my room and get the box out of the safe! Now!"

Kallie gritted her teeth. She shot a venomous glare at Kaylee, but she didn't dare disobey. She turned and ran up the grand staircase.

Two minutes later, Kallie practically ran back down. She was holding a polished rosewood box. She slammed it down onto the glass coffee table.

Kaylee saw the box and her eyes burned. She rushed forward and flipped the lid open. Inside rested the custom-made crystal box. It was untouched.

She pulled the crystal box out and hugged it tightly against her chest. It felt like she was holding her own heart. The crushing tension in her muscles finally released.

Ernest looked down at Donita. His voice was ice. "Remember this. If you ever harass her again, I will personally ensure the Fletcher name is erased from New York."

He placed his hand on Kaylee's shoulder and guided her toward the door. They walked out of the suffocating mansion without looking back.

Back in the Maybach, Kaylee sat in the corner, clutching the crystal box. Silent tears of relief slid down her cheeks. She looked at Ernest. "Thank you," she whispered.

Ernest pulled a clean tissue from the console and handed it to her. His tone was flat, devoid of the anger from earlier. "It's a transaction. Don't overthink it."

The motorcade sped back to Manhattan. It pulled into the underground garage of an ultra-luxury high-rise in the billionaire's row.

They entered a private elevator. Ernest pressed his thumb against a biometric scanner. The elevator shot up to the penthouse. The metal doors slid open silently.

Before Kaylee could even take in the sheer scale of the apartment, a heavy, expensive rose perfume assaulted her nose.

Sitting gracefully on the Italian leather sofa in the center of the living room was a stunning woman. She wore a silk slip dress that clung to her curves. It was Genevieve Mckinney.

Genevieve held a glass of red wine. When she heard the elevator, she stood up with a flawless smile. "Ernie, you're finally home."

She walked toward them, acting entirely like the lady of the house. But as her eyes landed on Ernest's hand resting on Kaylee's shoulder, her smile froze.

Kaylee felt the woman's gaze rake over her body. It was sharp, calculating, and dripping with hostility.

Ernest saw Genevieve, and his jaw clenched instantly. A dark wave of annoyance and disgust flashed in his eyes.

"Who let you in?" Ernest's voice was dangerously low. He showed zero warmth toward his childhood friend.

Genevieve put on a pathetic, wounded expression. "Agnes opened the door for me. I heard about the blind dates tomorrow. I was worried about you..."

She reached out, attempting to loop her arm through Ernest's.

Ernest shifted his weight and stepped back, dodging her touch as if she were carrying a disease. Genevieve's hand grabbed empty air.

Embarrassed, Genevieve quickly recovered. She turned her beautiful, calculating eyes to Kaylee, looking her up and down. Kaylee was covered in mud and wearing an oversized men's jacket.

"Ernie, who is this?" Genevieve asked, her tone laced with a perfectly crafted blend of innocent curiosity and subtle condescension. "You didn't introduce us. Did she get lost in the lobby?"

The insult hit Kaylee hard. Her face paled. She squeezed the crystal box tighter against her chest.

Ernest's face turned thunderous. He grabbed Kaylee's arm and pulled her firmly against his side, physically blocking Genevieve's view of her.

"Drop the act, Genevieve," Ernest warned, his voice vibrating with anger.

He pointed a finger at Kaylee. He enunciated every word clearly. "This is my wife. The mistress of this house."

The wine glass in Genevieve's hand shook violently. Dark red liquid splashed onto the pristine white rug. Her eyes widened in absolute shock, instantly filling with unshed tears. "Wife? Ernie... what kind of joke is this?" she asked, her voice trembling with a masterfully executed display of heartbreak. "We... we grew up together. You bring a stranger into your home and tell me she's your wife? Why are you doing this to me?" she pleaded, maintaining her elegant, wounded composure while subtly trying to make Kaylee feel like an intruder.

Hearing the words "doing this to me," Kaylee remembered the contract. She was supposed to act as his wife. She needed to earn her keep. She made a split-second decision.

She reached out and wrapped her arms around Ernest's solid waist. She leaned into him and flashed Genevieve a flawless, confident smile.

"Hello. I am Kaylee Blackwell."