June sat at her tiny desk in the crowded architecture firm. Her hands shook so badly she could barely hold her pen. Cold sweat glued her blouse to her spine. She stared at the lines on the blueprint, but they blurred together.

The door to the manager's office slammed open. Martin Pryce marched across the floor. He slammed a sealed black blueprint tube onto June's desk.

Martin leaned over her. He spoke fast, spitting slightly. He ordered her to take the master designs to the Apex Club in Manhattan immediately. He told her the client was waiting and mistakes were not an option.

The word Manhattan made June flinch. She pressed her back into her chair. She told Martin her stomach was sick, begging him to send someone else.

Martin slammed his fist on her desk. He leaned closer, his face turning red. He told her if she lost this account, she could pack her desk and never come back.

June swallowed the bile rising in her throat. She needed this paycheck to survive. She grabbed the black tube, pushed her chair back, and ran out of the office.

The subway car was packed. Every time a man brushed against her shoulder, June's heart hammered against her ribs. She pressed herself into the corner by the door, wrapping both arms tightly around the tube.

The train stopped at Manhattan. June walked up the stairs to the street. She stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the massive, black marble facade of the Apex Club. It looked like a tomb.

She walked up to the entrance. Two men built like brick walls stepped in front of the heavy brass doors. They looked down at her cheap skirt and scuffed heels.

June gave them Martin's name. One of the men checked an iPad. He nodded once and pulled the brass door open.

June stepped inside. The heavy scent of expensive cigars and aged whiskey hit her face. Soft jazz music played from hidden speakers. The luxury made her skin crawl.

A waiter in a crisp white shirt motioned for her to follow. He led her down a dimly lit hallway lined with velvet wallpaper toward the VIP rooms.

June looked down at her phone to check the room number. She turned the corner without looking up.

A heavy oak door swung open right in front of her. A group of men in tailored Wall Street suits spilled out into the hallway. They surrounded a taller man in the center.

June looked up. Her eyes locked onto a pair of dead, black eyes. Gage Becker.

The blood stopped moving in June's veins. Her fingers went entirely numb. The black blueprint tube slipped from her hands. It hit the thick carpet with a dull thud.

Gage stopped walking. The men around him stopped. The hallway went completely silent.

Gage narrowed his eyes. He looked at her like she was a rat that had crawled out of the sewer into his dining room. Slowly, the corner of his mouth pulled up into a cruel sneer.

June's knees buckled. She spun around to run. Her heel caught on the edge of the carpet. She stumbled, her shoulder slamming hard into the velvet wall.

Gage lifted his chin. Two of his bodyguards stepped forward instantly. They blocked the hallway, cutting off her only exit.

Gage put his hands in the pockets of his custom trousers. He took a slow step forward. Then another. He stalked toward her, trapping her in the corner.

With every step he took, June smelled the motor oil and decay of the warehouse. Her chest he heave. Her breathing broke into ragged gasps.

Gage stopped right in front of her. His massive frame blocked out the light from the ceiling fixtures. He cast a dark shadow over her entire body.

The men in the hallway started whispering. They stared at the poor girl, wondering how she had managed to offend the head of the Becker empire.

Gage leaned down. He reached out and pinched June's trembling chin between his thumb and index finger. He forced her head up so she had to look at him.

June stared into his eyes. Tears burned the back of her throat. She dug her teeth into her lower lip, refusing to let the tears fall.

Gage leaned his face an inch from hers. His voice was a deadly whisper. He asked her how she had the nerve to show her face in his building.

June raised her hands. She grabbed his wrist, trying to pull his fingers off her jaw. Her voice was raw and broken. She begged him to let her go, telling him she was only here to deliver papers.

Gage glanced down at the tube on the floor. He let out a dark laugh. He did not let go. His fingers dug harder into her jawbone, bruising her skin.

He looked over his shoulder at his assistant. He snapped his fingers. He ordered the man to call Martin Pryce down here right now. He was going to break her in front of everyone.

Gage held June against the wall. The bodyguards stood like statues. They waited for Martin to arrive.

The elevator doors chimed and slid open. Martin Pryce practically fell out of the cab. Sweat dripped down his forehead. He saw Gage and immediately plastered a sickeningly eager smile on his face.

Gage let go of June's chin. He looked at his fingers in disgust. He took a white handkerchief from his assistant and wiped his hand, as if her skin had infected him.

Martin rushed forward, bowing his head. He completely ignored June, who was shaking against the wall.

Gage kicked the blueprint tube across the carpet. It rolled and hit Martin's shoe. Gage stared at Martin and stated the designs were garbage.

All the color drained from Martin's face. He stuttered, his hands shaking. He begged Gage not to pull the contract, pleading that his company would go bankrupt.

Gage turned his back. He walked into the massive VIP room and sat down on the center leather sofa. He waved his hand. The bodyguards shoved June and Martin inside.

A bodyguard pushed June hard between the shoulder blades. She stumbled forward and fell to her knees on the cashmere rug right in front of the glass coffee table.

Gage reached for a bottle of high-proof vodka on the table. He grabbed a massive crystal tumbler. He poured the clear liquid until it reached the brim. He pushed the heavy glass to the edge of the table, right in front of June's face.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He offered a deal. She drinks the entire glass right now, and the contract stays. If she refuses, they both get thrown out.

June stared at the massive amount of alcohol. Her stomach rolled. She had never been able to handle liquor. Drinking that much would make her pass out. She could not pass out in front of him again.

Martin snapped. He lunged at June like a rabid dog. He screamed at her, ordering her to drink it to save his company.

June looked up at Martin. She shook her head, her voice cracking as she told him it would poison her.

Martin grabbed June's arm, his fingers digging into her flesh. He leaned in, his voice a vicious, desperate hiss right by her ear. "Drink it, or I'll make sure your career is over before it even begins. I'll ruin you."

The sheer malice in his threat echoed in the large room. June's head snapped to the side. Her arm throbbed instantly. The metallic taste of fear filled her mouth.

On the sofa, Gage's eyes narrowed. A muscle in his jaw twitched. His fingers tightened around the armrest of the sofa, the leather creaking under his grip.

June pressed her hand to her stinging arm. She looked at Martin's furious face, then at the cold men watching her. She realized no one in this room viewed her as a human being.

She wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye with the back of her hand. She turned her head and stared directly into Gage's black eyes. A cold, dead resolve settled in her chest.

She spoke clearly, her voice no longer shaking. She told him she would rather be fired than drink it.

Gage let out a dry, mocking laugh. He found her sudden burst of backbone amusing. His eyes drifted to the heavy steel cigar cutter resting next to the bottle.

He leaned back against the cushions. He offered a second option. She didn't have to drink. She just had to take the scissors and cut off her hair.

A collective gasp rippled through the men in the room. It was an act of pure psychological humiliation.

June looked at the silver blades. Her long brown hair fell over her shoulders. Her grandmother used to brush it every night before she died.

Martin grabbed June's shoulder, shaking her. He yelled at her to do it, reaching for the scissors himself before a bodyguard shoved him back.

June closed her eyes. She took a deep breath that rattled in her chest. She reached out with a trembling hand and picked up the heavy steel cutter.

Gage's mocking smile faded slightly. He watched as June grabbed a thick handful of her hair near her jawline. Without a second of hesitation, she squeezed the blades together.

The harsh, crunching sound of steel slicing through hair filled the room. Thick locks of brown hair fell onto the expensive cashmere rug.

June moved fast. She hacked at her hair, her movements violent and jagged. She cut until her hair was a ragged, uneven mess around her ears.

She slammed the cutter down onto the glass table. Her eyes were red, but she refused to let a single tear fall. She stared Gage down and asked if he was satisfied.

Gage stared at the pile of hair on the floor. A sharp, painful tightness gripped his chest. A wave of intense frustration and anger washed over him. This wasn't the reaction he wanted.

He stood up abruptly. He leaned over the table, bringing his face inches from hers. He whispered directly into her ear, his voice like poison. "Don't forget the video. You can't run from me."

Those words shattered the armor she had just built. The memory of the red light flashed in her mind. She shoved Gage's chest, scrambled to her feet, and ran out the heavy oak doors.

June sprinted down the hallway, her chopped hair flying around her face, tears finally spilling down her cheeks as she ran for the elevator.

June sat on the hard plastic seat of the subway car. The train rattled through the dark tunnels. She stared at her reflection in the dirty window. Her hair was hacked into uneven pieces. Her arm was bruised and aching. She wrapped her arms around her ribs and shivered.

The next morning, June pulled a cheap gray beanie over her head to hide her hair. She pushed open the glass doors of the architecture firm.

The office was dead silent. Every person in the room looked at her with wide, terrified eyes. They shrank back in their chairs as she walked down the aisle.

She reached her desk. A cardboard box sat in the center of her chair. All her pens, notebooks, and a small framed photo were dumped inside.

Martin Pryce walked out of his office. He threw a single piece of paper on top of her box. He told her she was fired and ordered her to get out.

June grabbed the edge of the desk. She asked for her severance pay. Her rent was due in three days. Without that money, she would starve.

Martin laughed in her face. He told her she had pissed off the Becker empire and cost him his biggest client. He said she was lucky he wasn't suing her for damages.

The building security guard stepped up behind her. He grabbed June by the bicep, shoved the box into her chest, and physically pushed her out the front doors onto the sidewalk.

June stood on the concrete. The freezing wind whipped down the Manhattan street. She felt the crushing weight of Gage's power. He owned the city.

She set the box down. She pulled out her phone and dialed the numbers of three other firms that had offered her jobs last month.

The first two hung up the second she said her name. The third manager sighed heavily. "Listen, kid. The word is out from Becker Industries. No one in the city will touch you. You're blacklisted across all top firms." Then the line went dead.

June picked up her box. She took the train back to Brooklyn. She just wanted to crawl into her bed and pull the covers over her head.

She walked up the street to her apartment building. Her battered suitcase sat on the sidewalk next to the overflowing trash cans.

Her landlord, a heavy woman in a thick coat, stood on the front steps. She pointed a fat finger at June and started screaming. She called June a liability who brought gang members to her property.

June dropped her box. She ran to the steps, begging the woman to let her in. She reminded the landlord she had paid a security deposit.

The landlord pulled a check from her pocket. She ripped it into tiny pieces and threw them directly into June's face.

The woman told June if she stepped foot on the stairs, she would call the cops for trespassing. She turned around and slammed the heavy iron door shut. The lock clicked loudly.

The sky turned dark gray. The first snow of the New York winter began to fall. The temperature plummeted. June only wore a thin autumn jacket.

She crouched down next to her suitcase. Her fingers were stiff and bright red from the cold. She pulled out her phone and dialed the one number she swore she never would again.

The phone rang for a long time. Finally, Jessica Cole answered. The sound of crashing ocean waves played in the background.

June's teeth chattered. She told her mother that Gage had blacklisted her. She had no job, no apartment, and nowhere to go.

Jessica Cole sighed loudly. She called June an idiot for provoking a madman like Gage Becker.

Jessica Cole offered a cold solution. She told June to take a bus to a small town in upstate New York and hide for a few years. She demanded June stay out of the press so her new husband wouldn't find out.

June's chest tightened. She asked her mother how she could be so heartless. She reminded her that Gage had a video that would ruin her life.

Jessica Cole cut her off. She said she would wire five hundred dollars a month. Then, she hung up.

June listened to the dead silence on the line. The last ember of hope in her heart turned to ash.

She stood up. A raw, burning anger mixed with her despair. She pulled her arm back and hurled her phone directly at the brick wall of the apartment building. The screen shattered into a spiderweb of glass and plastic.

She grabbed the handle of her suitcase. She turned her back on her building and walked into the blowing snow.

The snow fell harder, sticking to her clothes. People rushed past her on the sidewalk, their heads down. No one looked at her.

Her stomach cramped violently with hunger. She dug her freezing fingers into her coat pockets. She pulled out three quarters and a dime. Not even enough for a cup of hot coffee.

The streetlights flickered on. The Brooklyn streets grew dark and empty. June dragged her suitcase behind her, walking blindly into the freezing night.

June pulled her suitcase through the heavy snow, her head bowed against the wind.