Brook pulled her BMW into the underground parking garage of her midtown apartment building.

Her shoulders ached with exhaustion.

She turned the steering wheel, preparing to back into her usual spot.

She slammed her foot on the brake pedal so hard the tires screeched against the concrete.

A heavy metal sign was bolted directly into the center of her parking space.

It read: Vaughn Capital Reserved. Unauthorized Vehicles Will Be Towed.

Right next to the sign sat a brand-new, silver Aston Martin, taking up the space she paid for.

Brook's hands started shaking with rage.

This was Damon's pathetic, aggressive way of punishing her for the lie she told that morning.

She threw the car into drive and parked in a dark visitor spot at the far end of the garage.

She stomped toward the elevator, her heels clicking angrily against the floor.

The elevator doors opened on her floor.

She stepped out and immediately saw a black velvet garment bag hanging from the handle of her apartment door.

Brook assumed it was another sick gift from Damon.

She reached out to rip it off the handle and throw it down the trash chute.

Her phone started ringing loudly in her purse.

The caller ID showed her mother, Helen Moore.

Brook answered the call, her voice still tight with anger.

Helen did not say hello.

Put on the Dior dress hanging on your door immediately.

Her mother's voice was a sharp, commanding whip.

Brook froze, her hand hovering over the velvet bag.

What are you talking about.

Helen let out a dry, calculating laugh.

I am not letting Bernard parade his new family around at that gala tomorrow without a fight.

Helen explained that she had pulled massive strings to get Brook a seat at a highly exclusive matchmaking dinner tonight.

She was set up with Dr. Julian Croft, the heir to New York's most prestigious medical family.

Brook felt the blood drain from her face.

The room spun slightly.

The lie she had thrown at Damon this morning to piss him off had just become a terrifying reality. Brook felt a wave of cosmic absurdity wash over her. The very lie she had crafted to wound Damon had, by some cruel twist of fate, been made real by her own mother. It was not just a trap; it was a sick joke, and she was the punchline, standing alone in her dim hallway.

I am not going. I am not a pawn for your divorce wars.

Brook snapped, her stomach churning with anxiety.

Helen did not miss a beat.

If you do not walk into that restaurant tonight, I will pull every cent of shadow funding from your tech incubator tomorrow morning.

Brook clamped her teeth together.

She knew her mother was a ruthless tech titan who never made empty threats.

Her startup would die in a day.

Fine.

Brook whispered, the word tasting like ash in her mouth.

She hung up the phone, ripped the garment bag off the door handle, and walked inside.

At that exact moment, in the penthouse office of Vaughn Capital, Damon was staring at M. Black.

M. Black handed over a printed guest list for a private room at a three-star Michelin restaurant.

Brook's name was printed clearly next to Julian Croft's.

The heavy crystal glass in Damon's hand cracked under the pressure of his grip.

Amber whiskey spilled over his fingers and dripped onto the expensive rug.

He had thought she was just lying to hurt him.

He never imagined she was actually going to sit across from another man.

Get the car ready. Cancel every video conference I have tonight.

Damon ordered, his voice dangerously quiet.

Back in her apartment, Brook pulled the black Dior gown over her head.

The deep V-neck cut low against her chest, the fabric clinging tight to her waist.

She looked at herself in the mirror and felt a wave of disgust.

She applied a dark, aggressive red lipstick and pulled her hair up.

She built a wall of cold indifference over her features.

At seven o'clock, Brook walked out of the lobby doors, her red-soled heels clicking on the pavement.

She pulled out her phone to call an Uber.

A massive, black bulletproof SUV rolled silently to a stop right in front of her.

The heavy tinted window in the back rolled down slowly.

Damon's face appeared in the shadows of the backseat.

His eyes were completely black, sweeping over the exposed skin of her chest and neck.

Get in. I am taking you.

His voice was a rough, gravelly demand that sent a violent shiver down her spine.

Brook stood frozen on the sidewalk.

The freezing night wind whipped her hair around her face.

She stared at Damon's dark eyes, shook her head, and turned to walk toward the corner.

Damon's expression darkened instantly.

He shoved the heavy car door open and stepped out.

His long legs ate up the distance between them in two strides.

His large hand shot out and wrapped completely around her thin wrist.

He pulled her backward, his strength overwhelming.

Brook stumbled, her back hitting his solid chest as he shoved her roughly into the back of the SUV.

M. Black slammed the door shut from the outside.

The thick, soundproof partition behind the driver's seat slid up with a soft hum.

Brook scrambled to sit up on the leather seat.

Are you out of your mind? This is kidnapping.

She yelled, her chest heaving as panic set in.

Damon ignored her words entirely.

He shifted his massive body, crowding her into the corner of the seat.

His eyes dropped to the deep V of her dress, a dangerous, possessive fire burning in his gaze.

He reached up and violently yanked his silk tie loose.

He wrapped the expensive fabric around his knuckles.

Who are you trying to seduce dressing like this.

His voice was a harsh, guttural whisper.

Brook forced herself not to shrink away.

I am showing respect to my future husband. It has nothing to do with you.

She spat the words at him, a cold smile on her lips.

That sentence shattered the last wall of Damon's control.

His hand shot up, his fingers clamping hard around her jaw.

He crushed his mouth against hers.

It was not a kiss; it was a brutal invasion.

It tasted like copper and rage, a desperate attempt to mark his territory.

Brook hit his shoulders with her fists.

She kicked her sharp heels against the floor mats, trying to break his hold.

He did not move an inch.

Damon's large hand slid down her bare spine.

He pinched the sensitive skin at her waist hard.

Brook let out a muffled gasp of pain against his mouth.

Hot, humiliating tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over her lashes.

Her body was betraying her, reacting to his physical dominance.

Damon felt the wetness on her cheeks and slowly pulled his lips away.

His body remained rigid, hovering over hers.

No other man is ever going to touch you.

He whispered the threat directly against the skin of her neck.

Brook sucked in a ragged breath.

She raised her hand and slapped him directly across the face with all the strength she had left.

The sharp crack echoed loudly in the sealed, silent cabin.

The air in the car instantly turned to ice.

Damon's head snapped to the side.

He pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, tasting blood.

He slowly turned his head back to look at her.

His eyes were terrifyingly calm, completely devoid of human emotion.

He reached down and slowly unbuttoned his suit jacket.

Brook felt her stomach drop.

She realized he was actually going to ruin her right here in the backseat.

Suddenly, the phone inside her clutch started vibrating aggressively.

Damon glanced down.

The screen glowed with the name Helen Moore.

He let out a dark laugh, reached out, and pressed the answer button, putting it on speaker.

If you are one minute late, I am pulling the funding for your incubator tomorrow.

Helen's sharp voice filled the car.

Damon's eyebrows twitched slightly.

He caught the word funding.

Brook shoved hard against his chest, using his moment of confusion to snatch the phone.

I am almost there.

She forced her voice to sound perfectly normal.

She hung up the phone and looked up at Damon.

Her eyes were completely exhausted, stripped of all their fight.

If you ruin my work tonight, I will hate you for the rest of my life.

The word hate pierced straight through Damon's chest like a physical blade.

His hands stopped moving.

A dark, unreadable emotion flickered in his eyes, making his expression even more terrifying. His jaw tightened, and the coldness in his eyes seemed to solidify into something sharp and dangerous.

He slowly pushed himself off of her and sat back against the opposite door.

He adjusted his suit jacket, his face returning to a cold mask.

He knocked twice on the glass partition.

Take us to the restaurant.

He ordered, his voice completely hollow.

The black bulletproof SUV rolled to a smooth stop outside the heavily guarded entrance of the Michelin-starred restaurant.

The doorman rushed forward and pulled the heavy door open.

Brook took a deep breath, preparing to step out into the freezing night.

Damon suddenly reached across the seat.

His large hand grabbed the thin strap of her Dior dress that had slipped down her shoulder.

He pulled it back up, his rough knuckles deliberately brushing against her cold collarbone.

Remember who you belong to.

He whispered, the warning vibrating with suppressed violence.

Brook did not turn her head.

She slapped his hand away.

She stepped out of the car, her heels clicking sharply on the pavement, and walked straight through the revolving glass doors.

Damon sat in the dark cabin, watching her back disappear.

The shadows in his eyes grew darker, swallowing all the light.

He did not tell M. Black to drive away.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Carmelo Woods.

Inside the restaurant, the hostess led Brook through the opulent, softly lit dining room.

They walked toward the highly exclusive VIP section in the back.

Brook immediately spotted Dr. Julian Croft sitting by the window.

He wore a tailored navy suit, his posture relaxed and elegant.

Julian stood up the second he saw her.

He pulled her chair out and offered a polite compliment about her dress.

Brook forced a professional smile onto her face and sat down.

She tried to push the physical memory of Damon's heavy body out of her mind.

As she reached for her water glass, her eyes caught movement at a booth diagonally across from them.

A woman in a custom Chanel suit was laughing loudly.

It was her half-sister, Aliyah Velazquez.

Brook's stomach dropped.

She looked at the man sitting across from Aliyah.

It was Carmelo Woods, Damon's best friend.

Aliyah turned her head, her eyes locking directly onto Brook.

A toxic, calculating smile spread across Aliyah's face.

She picked up her champagne flute and raised it slightly in Brook's direction, a silent declaration of war.

Brook's fingers tightened around her glass until her knuckles turned white.

This was not a coincidence.

The restaurant was a trap.

Julian noticed the sudden tension in her shoulders and asked if she was feeling cold.

Brook shook her head, forcing her eyes back to her date, trying to maintain the illusion of a normal conversation.

Outside on the street, Damon sat in the SUV, holding his phone to his ear.

Carmelo was giving him a live play-by-play from inside.

He is leaning in close. She is smiling at him. They look very comfortable.

Carmelo exaggerated the details, his voice dripping with amusement.

Damon's jaw locked so tight he felt a muscle pull in his neck.

His breathing turned heavy and ragged.

He pressed the lit end of the cigar directly against the car's custom leather armrest. The sickening smell of burning hide instantly filled the small space, matching the destructive urge clawing at his insides.

Carmelo casually added that Aliyah was dropping hints about Brook's mother doing dirty business.

Damon did not care about the Velazquez family drama.

His brain was entirely consumed by the image of Brook smiling at another man.

He shoved the car door open and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

He ignored M. Black's warning look and took three heavy steps toward the restaurant entrance.

His body was radiating pure violence.

But as his hand reached for the brass handle of the door, he froze.

I will hate you for the rest of my life.

Her voice echoed in his head, freezing the blood in his veins.

If he walked in there and dragged her out, he would lose her permanently.

Damon stepped back into the freezing wind.

He ripped his tie completely off and threw it onto the pavement.

He stared through the thick glass windows, his eyes wild and desperate like a starving wolf.

He turned to M. Black.

Call the security team. Lock down every exit on this block.

His voice was a low, terrifying growl.

He was not going to interrupt her dinner.

But he was going to make damn sure no other man took her home tonight.