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.

The blizzard howled through the streets. June's lips turned a pale shade of blue. She dragged her suitcase down a set of concrete stairs into a dimly lit pedestrian underpass. The air smelled strongly of urine and damp trash.

She pushed her back against the cold tile wall. She rubbed her stiff hands over her frozen cheeks. Her legs shook violently. She had nothing left.

The sound of scuffing boots echoed from the far end of the tunnel. Two men in dirty, oversized hoodies walked into the light. Their eyes were glassy and erratic.

They spotted June. More importantly, they spotted the expensive brand logo on her suitcase. They looked at each other and split up, walking toward her from both sides.

June's heart slammed against her ribs. She gripped the handle of her suitcase and tried to back away toward the stairs. Her worn heels slipped on the icy concrete.

The man on the right lunged forward. He grabbed the handle of the suitcase, yanking it hard, spitting a foul curse at her.

June held on with everything she had. She threw her weight backward and slammed her elbow directly into the man's ribs.

The second man rushed in. He pulled his hand from his pocket. A rusty switchblade clicked open. The dull metal caught the flickering overhead light.

He swung the blade down. The metal sliced deep across the back of June's hand. Warm blood instantly poured from the wound, dripping onto the dirty snow.

The sharp pain forced June's fingers to open. The first man ripped the suitcase away. He raised his heavy boot and kicked June squarely in the stomach.

The force threw her backward. She hit the icy ground hard, splashing into a puddle of freezing slush.

The two men turned and sprinted up the stairs, vanishing into the blizzard with everything she owned. June curled into a tight ball. She gasped for air, the pain in her stomach and hand making black spots dance in her vision.

She tried to push herself up, but her arms gave out. She laid her cheek on the freezing concrete. She closed her eyes, waiting for the cold to take her.

Twin beams of blinding white light swept across the entrance of the underpass.

A massive, armored black Maybach rolled to a stop at the curb. The heavy tires crunched loudly against the packed snow.

The rear door swung open. A bodyguard stepped out and opened a large black umbrella. Gage Becker stepped out from the backseat. He wore a long, black cashmere coat. He looked like the devil stepping out of the shadows.

Gage ignored the puddles. He walked down stairs and stopped right in front of June's curled body. He looked down at her.

June blinked through the icy water dripping from her eyelashes. She saw his face. A violent tremor ripped through her spine.

Gage crouched down. He reached out and hooked his index finger under her chin, lifting her face out of the mud. He sneered, telling her she looked like a stray dog.

He told her this was what happened when she fought him. He said the world would watch her freeze to death and do nothing.

The absolute humiliation and the threat of death snapped something deep inside June's brain. A surge of wild, feral energy flooded her veins. She threw herself forward.

Before the bodyguards could even blink, June opened her mouth and clamped her teeth down hard onto Gage's extended forearm.

She bit down with every ounce of strength she had left. Her teeth tore through the expensive cashmere, ripped through his cotton shirt, and sank deep into his flesh. The hot, metallic taste of his blood flooded her mouth.

Gage let out a sharp grunt. His jaw clenched tight. But he did not pull away. He stayed perfectly still. His black eyes darkened, turning entirely pitch.

The bodyguard behind him drew his gun, aiming it at June's head. Gage raised his free hand and gave a sharp, immediate signal to stand down.

June held on until her jaw cramped. Her energy faded rapidly. Her teeth slowly slipped from his arm, and she fell back onto the ice, panting heavily.

Gage looked down at his arm. A deep, bleeding bite mark ruined his coat. Blood dripped from his sleeve. Slowly, a twisted, dark smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

He reached down with his good arm. He grabbed the collar of her soaked jacket and hauled her up from the ground like she weighed nothing.

June kicked her legs. She hit his chest with her bleeding hand, but she had no strength left.

Gage dragged her up the stairs. He shoved her violently into the back of the Maybach. She fell across the heated leather seats.

The heavy door slammed shut, cutting off the howling wind. Gage slid in next to her. He stared straight ahead and ordered the driver to take them to the Long Island estate.

The engine roared. June pressed herself against the far door, trapped in the moving cage with him.