Adrian Fletcher hung up the phone. He signaled the bodyguards, and they immediately locked the heavy glass doors of The Sargon Club.

The lobby manager sprinted over, sweating through his suit.

Adrian ignored the man's stammering. He bypassed the lobby and marched straight into the security control room.

Inside, a technician hammered on a keyboard. He pulled up the camera feed for the top-floor VIP corridor.

The screen showed nothing but static.

"The circuit blew last night," the manager wiped his forehead with a trembling hand. "The cameras were fried."

Adrian's eyes turned lethal. He grabbed the manager by the collar and slammed him against the monitors.

"If you don't find the woman who entered that suite, this entire club will be leveled by tomorrow."

The manager's knees buckled. "The schedule! Get the shift schedule from HR!"

An HR supervisor rushed in, handing over a crumpled piece of paper. The manager pointed a shaking finger at a highlighted row.

"Haleigh Delaney. Her shift schedule shows she was the primary staff assigned to the VIP suite's routine service last night."

Avery was just temporarily sent up to deliver wine and wasn't officially logged on the top-floor roster.

"We only found Haleigh at first glance, I swear it."

Adrian snapped a photo of the name. "Where is she?"

"Breakroom," the manager gasped into his walkie-talkie.

Down in the staff breakroom, Haleigh Delaney was applying bright red lipstick in the mirror. The intercom barked her name. She frowned.

The second she stepped out of the room, two massive men in black suits grabbed her arms. They dragged her toward the VIP elevators. Haleigh screamed, her face pale with panic.

Inside the top-floor suite, Cassius sat on the sofa. He wore a custom-tailored suit. Smoke curled from the cigarette between his fingers, failing to mask the violent impatience in his eyes.

The door opened. Adrian shoved Haleigh inside.

Haleigh looked up. When she saw Cassius's god-like, sculpted face, her breath hitched.

Cassius narrowed his eyes. He scanned her up and down, searching for that phantom scent of roses and rain.

Instead, a cloud of cheap, synthetic vanilla perfume hit his nose. His stomach churned with disgust. He crushed the cigarette into an ashtray.

"Were you in this room last night?" Cassius's voice was ice.

Haleigh opened her mouth to deny it. But then, her eyes darted to the coffee table.

Resting next to the ashtray was a silver necklace carved with a rose.

It was Ayleen's. Her roommate's most prized possession.

Greed swallowed Haleigh's fear in a split second. She bit her lip, forced tears into her eyes, and nodded slowly.

Cassius's expression darkened. He stood up and closed the distance between them. The sheer physical dominance radiating from him made Haleigh's legs give out. She dropped to her knees.

Cassius gripped her chin, tilting her face up. He studied her features. There was no spark. No peace. A violent surge of irritable confusion rose in his chest. He couldn't smell that unique scent of roses and rain on her at all. But the necklace was the only physical evidence left in his room. Could she have used a different perfume last night? Or... He forcibly suppressed his deep-seated suspicions, deciding to keep her close under his strict observation for now.

He picked up the necklace and tossed it into Haleigh's lap.

"Since it was you, I will take responsibility," Cassius said, his tone devoid of any human warmth. "But do not expect anything more than what I give you."

Haleigh clutched the necklace to her chest. She kept her head down to hide her manic smile and nodded weakly.

Cassius turned to Adrian. "Set her up in a high-end apartment. Put a detail on her."

He walked out of the suite without looking back.

Adrian gestured coldly toward the door. Haleigh stood up, straightened her spine, and strutted out of the corridor she used to clean.

Miles away, Ayleen dragged her broken body into her cramped apartment. She collapsed onto the narrow twin bed, shivering violently.

She forced herself into the bathroom. She turned on the shower, scrubbing her skin until it was raw. She stared at the red bruises on her neck in the mirror. Humiliation choked her.

She reached for her collarbone to find comfort.

Her fingers met empty skin.

The necklace. Her mother's only relic. It was gone.

All the blood drained from Ayleen's face. She ran to her torn uniform on the floor, ripping the pockets inside out. Nothing.

She dropped to her knees. It had to be in that suite. But the thought of going back to that monster made her stomach heave.

Suddenly, her cell phone screamed from the nightstand.

The caller ID flashed: Brenda. Her adoptive mother.

Ayleen swiped to answer.

Brenda's hysterical sobbing blasted through the speaker. "Ayleen! Your father was in a crash! The sky is falling!"

Ayleen didn't even grab an umbrella. She sprinted out of the apartment building and threw herself into a cab, screaming at the driver to get to Manhattan Central Hospital.

She burst through the emergency room doors. The sharp smell of bleach hit her nose. She scanned the chaotic crowd frantically.

At the end of the corridor, outside the surgical wing, Brenda was slumped on a plastic chair, shaking uncontrollably. Ayleen ran to her.

Brenda lunged forward, her fingernails digging deep into Ayleen's arm. "Duard hit a limited-edition sports car! He destroyed it!"

A man in a sharp suit stepped out from the shadows. He was a lawyer. He handed Ayleen a thick stack of papers.

"The damages exceed three million dollars," the lawyer said, his voice flat. "If the compensation isn't wired immediately, Mr. Avery will face bankruptcy and severe criminal charges for reckless endangerment."

Ayleen stared at the astronomical number. Black spots danced in her vision. Her knees buckled, and her back slammed against the wall to keep from falling.

Brenda burst into fresh tears. "We raised you! We fed you! It's time you pay us back, Ayleen! You have to save him!"

Ayleen bit her lip so hard it bled. The metallic taste grounded her. She pulled out her phone and dialed the investors of her small tech startup.

Call after call went to voicemail. The moment they heard the Avery name was tied to a multi-million dollar lawsuit, they vanished like ghosts.

Across town, Haleigh sat in the back of a luxury town car arranged by Adrian. She twirled the rose necklace around her finger, a vicious smile on her lips.

Her phone buzzed. It was a text from Ayleen: Did you see my necklace in the breakroom? Please.

Haleigh's eyes gleamed with malice. Despite being stung by Cassius's terrifying coldness just moments ago, the mere thought of trampling Ayleen under her six-inch heels gave her a sick, twisted sense of satisfaction. She needed Ayleen to know that even if she was currently being given the cold shoulder, her situation was still infinitely better than Ayleen's pathetic life. She blocked Ayleen's number immediately. She opened Instagram and posted a selfie with the caption: Living in the clouds.

The town car pulled up to a luxury high-rise on the Upper East Side. Haleigh stepped onto the plush lobby carpet, her vanity fully fed.

Back at the hospital, the red light above the operating room shut off. A doctor walked out. "He's stable. But we need the surgical fees paid in full right now."

Ayleen checked her banking app. A red banner flashed across the screen. The banking system had detected the massive liability lawsuit tied to the Avery group and, acting on strict risk control protocols, had unilaterally frozen all withdrawal privileges on the accounts. She had nothing.

Desperate, Ayleen decided to sell her personal patents. She turned and sprinted out of the hospital doors.

As her foot hit the bottom step, a massive black Rolls-Royce glided to a halt, blocking her path entirely.

The tinted window rolled down. Mr. Watts, the Doyle family butler, stared at her with dead eyes. "Get in."

Ayleen stepped back in panic. Two massive bodyguards materialized behind her. They grabbed her shoulders and shoved her into the spacious backseat.

The doors locked with a heavy thud. Ayleen beat her fists against the glass.

Mr. Watts handed her a tissue. "Madam Matilda wishes to see you."

The Rolls-Royce drove into a hidden, sprawling estate. Ayleen was marched into an antique study. The air was thick with the smell of sandalwood.

Matilda Doyle sat behind a mahogany desk. She calmly rolled a string of wooden prayer beads between her fingers. Her eyes dragged over Ayleen like she was inspecting a cheap piece of meat.

"Why did you kidnap me?" Ayleen demanded, her voice shaking.

Matilda laughed. It was a dry, venomous sound. She tossed a thick legal binder onto the desk.

"Marry my stepson," Matilda commanded. "And I will wipe the Avery debt clean."

Ayleen's eyes widened in horror. "No. I won't sell myself."

Matilda didn't flinch. She tapped a tablet screen. A security video played. It showed Duard Avery trying to flee the scene of the crash before collapsing.

"If you refuse," Matilda's voice dropped to a lethal whisper, "this video goes to the police. Your father will die in a prison cell."

Ayleen's fists clenched. Her nails dug into her palms until the skin broke. She stared at her pathetic father on the screen. Her mental defenses shattered into dust.

The study fell into a suffocating silence.

Ayleen closed her eyes. A single tear slipped down her cheek.

"I agree," she whispered. Her voice was completely broken.

Ayleen pushed open the heavy iron doors of the Doyle estate. She walked out like a corpse whose soul had been ripped away.

She stepped onto the Manhattan pavement just as the sky ripped open. Freezing rain battered her pale face. She didn't have an umbrella. She didn't care. Muddy water soaked the hem of her skirt as she dragged her feet forward.

A black, armored SUV tore around the street corner. Its massive tires hit a deep puddle, sending a violent wave of dirty water straight at Ayleen.

She tried to jump back, but her wet shoes slipped on the asphalt. She crashed hard onto the rough street. The skin on her palms tore open, bleeding into the rain.

The SUV's brakes shrieked. The tires skidded on the wet road, stopping mere inches from Ayleen's legs.

The driver, Arthur, threw his door open. He popped a black umbrella and rushed over to her.

Ayleen gritted her teeth and tried to stand. Pain shot up her right leg. Her ankle was swollen to the size of a baseball. She collapsed back into the freezing puddle.

Arthur hesitated. He walked to the rear window of the SUV and tapped respectfully on the tinted glass.

The window glided down an inch.

Cassius Doyle leaned his head against the leather headrest. His eyes were closed. His fingers rubbed his temples violently, trying to fight off a blinding migraine.

He didn't even open his eyes. "Put her in the car. Take her to a hospital. Don't leave a mess," he ordered, his voice laced with pure irritation.

Arthur nodded. He walked back, hauled Ayleen's shivering body up, and shoved her into the back seat.

The heavy door slammed shut. The cabin fell dead silent.

Ayleen pressed herself into the furthest corner of the leather seat. She kept her head down. The car was pitch black inside, illuminated only by the brief flashes of streetlights. All she could see were the razor-sharp creases of the man's suit pants next to her.

The AC blasted cold air. Ayleen's wet clothes clung to her skin. A violent shiver racked her body, and she let out a sharp, ragged gasp.

The sound echoed in the quiet car. Cassius's jaw ticked. He hated noise. He opened his mouth to tell her to shut up.

But then, the AC vents circulated the air.

A faint, delicate scent of roses mixed with rain drifted directly into Cassius's nose.

His entire body went rigid.

It was the scent. The exact same scent that had put him to sleep in the club.

His eyes snapped open. He whipped his head toward the corner, his gaze trying to pierce through the darkness.

Ayleen flinched at his sudden, aggressive movement. She shrank back, her wet hair falling forward to cover her face.

Cassius narrowed his eyes, trying to see her features. Just then, a massive bolt of lightning flashed outside. The blinding white light hit Cassius's eyes, causing a temporary blind spot.

When his vision cleared, Ayleen had buried her face deep into her arms. All he saw was her thin, trembling back.

The rage in Cassius's chest vanished. The scent wrapped around his brain, instantly killing his headache.

He didn't ask questions. He picked up a dry towel from the center console and held it out to her.

Ayleen saw the towel. She hesitated, then reached out.

Her freezing fingertips brushed against his knuckles.

An electric shock ripped through both of them. Cassius yanked his hand back as if he had been burned. His chest tightened.

"Thank you," Ayleen whispered.

Because of the fever and the crying, her voice was a harsh, broken rasp. It sounded absolutely nothing like the soft whimpers from that night.

Cassius heard the ugly voice. His brows furrowed deeply in the darkness. The scent was absolutely perfect, but the voice was entirely wrong. He didn't press her further, but a sharp seed of doubt had been planted firmly in his mind. He silently decided he would have Adrian run a full background check on this woman.

He leaned back, closed his eyes, and simply breathed in the scent.

The SUV pulled up to a subway station. Arthur opened the door. Ayleen clutched the towel and scrambled out of the car, limping heavily on her bad foot.

She stood under the station awning, her heart hammering against her ribs. The man in that car had terrified her.

Inside the SUV, Cassius watched her disappear. The scent in the cabin faded quickly. The sharp pain in his temples immediately flared up again.

He ripped his tie loose. "Drive to the office," he snapped at Arthur. A sudden, intense wave of disgust for Haleigh Delaney washed over him.