The yellow cab jerked to a halt in front of the luxurious Upper East Side apartment building.

Abigayle tapped her phone against the payment terminal, shoved the heavy door open, and stepped out into the freezing puddles.

The icy water stung the deep cuts on her bare feet, sending sharp jolts of pain up her calves.

She dragged her soaked, shivering body through the grand glass doors of the lobby.

Normally, the doorman would rush forward with a warm smile and an umbrella. Today, he kept his head down, aggressively studying the visitor log, refusing to make eye contact.

A cold knot of unease tightened in Abigayle's stomach.

She limped past the front desk and stepped into the private elevator.

She pressed the button for the penthouse. The mirrored walls of the elevator reflected her disastrous state-her hair plastered to her skull, her black trench coat dripping water onto the pristine floor.

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open.

Instead of the quiet, scent-filled foyer of her home, she was hit with a wall of chaotic noise.

The heavy double doors of the penthouse were propped wide open.

Four men in dirty, scuffed work boots were aggressively hauling her mother's priceless antique console table out of the living room.

"Hey!" Abigayle screamed, her voice cracking as she stumbled out of the elevator. "What are you doing? Put that down!"

A massive man with a thick neck and a clipboard turned around. He looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on her wet, clinging coat with a disgusting smirk.

"We're the repo team, sweetheart," the boss grunted, tapping his clipboard.

He shoved a crumpled piece of paper toward her face. It was a court-issued asset freeze order.

"The news broke this morning. Pena Group has filed for bankruptcy protection. Everything in this unit belongs to the bank now."

Abigayle felt the blood drain from her head.

The floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet.

Bankrupt? It was impossible. Her family's company was a titan.

"Miss Abigayle!"

A frail, panicked voice broke through the noise.

Thaddeus, the family's loyal butler who had practically raised her, stumbled out of the hallway.

His uniform was torn, and a dark purple bruise was already swelling on his cheekbone.

He rushed forward, catching Abigayle by the arms just as her knees began to buckle.

"Thaddeus, what happened to your face?" Abigayle gasped, gripping his sleeves. "Where are my parents? Where is Miles?"

Thaddeus's eyes filled with tears, his hands shaking violently.

"The stock crashed at the opening bell, Miss," Thaddeus sobbed, his voice breaking. "A massive short sell. The funds are gone."

Abigayle couldn't breathe. Her lungs felt like they were packed with cotton.

"My father..." she choked out.

"Mr. Pena had a heart attack in his office when the news broke," Thaddeus wept. "He's in the ICU. And Miles... Miles was rushing to the office. His car was run off the road. He's in a coma, Miss."

The words hit her like physical bullets.

Her father dying. Her brother bleeding. Her family destroyed.

Abigayle swayed, her vision going black at the edges. She leaned heavily against Thaddeus, a strangled, animal-like sound escaping her throat.

"Alright, enough of the soap opera," the repo boss barked, waving his hand dismissively. "Get those paintings off the walls. Move it!"

Two men walked toward the original Monet hanging above the fireplace.

The grief inside Abigayle instantly mutated into a blinding, white-hot rage.

She pushed off Thaddeus and threw herself in front of the fireplace, spreading her arms wide to block the painting.

"Don't touch it!" she screamed, her chest heaving. "Until the final court ruling, these are personal effects. You have no right to take them!"

The repo boss chuckled, a nasty, grating sound.

He walked slowly toward her, his heavy boots thudding against the hardwood floor.

"You ain't a princess anymore, honey," he sneered, stopping inches from her face.

He smelled like stale tobacco and sweat.

His eyes dropped to the V-neck of her trench coat, where the fabric had slipped, exposing the bruises on her collarbone.

"Tell you what," he whispered, reaching out a filthy, calloused hand to grab her chin. "You be nice to me, and maybe I'll leave a mattress for you to sleep on tonight."

Bile rose in Abigayle's throat.

She jerked her head away, raising her hand and slapping his thick wrist hard.

"Don't touch me, you piece of trash," she spat, her eyes blazing with fury.

The boss's face darkened. The smirk vanished, replaced by violent anger.

"Stupid bitch," he growled.

He shoved both hands hard against her shoulders.

Abigayle flew backward.

Her bare, bleeding feet slipped on the polished wood. She crashed violently into the solid marble wall beside the fireplace.

The impact knocked the wind out of her lungs. She slid down the wall, gasping for air.

"Miss Abigayle!" Thaddeus screamed.

The old man threw himself at the boss, trying to punch him.

The boss didn't even flinch. He simply raised his heavy work boot and kicked Thaddeus squarely in the stomach.

Thaddeus collapsed to the floor, curling into a tight ball, wheezing in agony.

Abigayle watched the old man fall.

The world narrowed down to the pounding of her heart and the heavy footsteps of the repo boss as he closed the distance, trapping her in the corner of her own ruined home.

The repo boss loomed over Abigayle, his massive frame blocking out the light from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The stench of his unwashed body and cheap cologne made Abigayle's stomach churn.

He reached down, his thick, dirty fingers grabbing the lapels of her black trench coat.

With a brutal yank, he hauled her up from the floor, pinning her back against the cold marble wall.

Abigayle was forced onto her tiptoes.

The glass cuts on the soles of her feet tore open further, fresh blood sliding down her heels and pooling on the hardwood floor.

"Let's see what you're hiding under here," the boss sneered, his hot breath fanning across her face as his hand moved toward the buttons of her coat.

Abigayle didn't scream. She didn't beg.

She locked her eyes onto his, her jaw tight, and drove her right knee upward with every ounce of explosive force she had left.

Her knee connected solidly with his groin.

The boss let out a high-pitched, guttural shriek.

His hands instantly released her coat as he doubled over, clutching himself, his face turning a mottled purple.

Abigayle hit the floor. Ignoring the agonizing pain in her feet, she spun around and sprinted toward the open double doors of the penthouse.

She only made it three steps.

Two of the other repo men tackled her from behind.

The heavy weight of their bodies slammed her face-first onto the floor.

The rough wood scraped the skin off her cheekbone, sending a sharp sting through her face.

She thrashed wildly, kicking her legs and twisting her torso like a trapped animal.

She sank her teeth into the forearm of the man holding her right shoulder.

The man cursed loudly, ripping his arm away, and delivered a vicious backhand slap across her face.

The blow made Abigayle's ears ring, black spots dancing in her vision.

The boss, still wheezing, limped over to where she was pinned.

His eyes were bloodshot with rage. He grabbed a fistful of her wet hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to look up at him.

"I'm gonna ruin that pretty face," he hissed, spit flying from his lips.

He grabbed the collar of her trench coat and pulled hard.

The sound of fabric tearing filled the room as three buttons popped off, scattering across the floor.

"Stop! Please!" Thaddeus cried out.

The old butler dragged his battered body across the floor, desperately wrapping his arms around the boss's thick ankle.

The boss looked down in disgust.

He raised his steel-toed boot and brought it down hard on Thaddeus's chest.

Thaddeus let out a weak, agonizing grunt as the breath was forced from his lungs. He collapsed onto the hardwood floor, curling inward before going completely limp.

"Thaddeus!" Abigayle shrieked, the sound tearing her vocal cords.

The last thread of her sanity snapped.

She twisted violently, her hand blindly sweeping across the floor until her fingers wrapped around the heavy base of a solid brass sculpture that had fallen from a side table.

With a scream of pure rage, she swung the brass statue upward, aiming directly for the boss's skull.

The boss reacted just in time.

He caught her wrist mid-swing. His massive hand clamped down on her delicate bones and twisted sharply.

The sickening sound of cartilage grinding made Abigayle gasp.

Her fingers went numb, and the heavy brass statue slipped from her grasp, crashing onto the floor and leaving a deep dent in the wood.

The boss dropped his weight onto her, pinning her completely. His hand reached for the edge of the towel hidden beneath her torn coat.

Despair, cold and absolute, finally washed over her. Her struggles weakened, hot tears finally spilling over her eyelashes.

Just as his filthy fingers brushed her skin, a heavy, synchronized sound of boots marching down the hallway vibrated through the floorboards.

Outside the open doors, the screams of the remaining repo men erupted, followed by the heavy thuds of bodies being slammed into the walls.

The men pinning Abigayle froze. The boss stopped, his head snapping toward the entrance.

A tall, broad-shouldered silhouette stepped into the doorway, blocking the light from the corridor.

Donovan Sullivan stood there.

He looked like a god of war stepping onto a battlefield. His custom suit clung to his muscular frame, and the aura of pure, unadulterated violence radiating from him instantly dropped the temperature in the room to freezing.

Behind him, Kevin Rich and four heavily armed security contractors flooded the room, their weapons drawn and leveled at the repo men.

Donovan's dark, lethal eyes scanned the room.

They locked onto Abigayle-pinned to the floor, her coat torn, her cheek bleeding, tears tracking through the dirt on her face.

Donovan's pupils dilated into black voids.

He slowly reached up with one hand and unbuttoned his suit jacket.

He stared dead at the repo boss still hovering over Abigayle, his voice a quiet, terrifying rumble.

"Death wish."

The repo boss scrambled backward, his hands held up in a pathetic gesture of surrender.

"Hey, man, I'm just doing my job," he stuttered, his eyes darting to the guns pointed at his men. "The bank ordered the-"

He didn't get to finish the sentence.

Donovan closed the distance in three massive, terrifying strides.

His expensive leather shoe slammed against the floor before his hand shot out, grabbing the thick fabric of the boss's work shirt.

With a display of terrifying core strength, Donovan lifted the two-hundred-pound man entirely off his feet with one arm.

Donovan's face was a mask of absolute, icy fury.

He pulled his right arm back and drove his fist directly into the center of the man's face.

The crunch of the nasal bone shattering was deafening.

Blood exploded from the boss's nose, splashing across his dirty shirt. He screamed, a wet, gargling sound of agony.

Donovan didn't drop him. He slammed the man's massive body against the marble wall, shaking the entire room.

Then, Donovan raised his long leg and delivered a brutal, calculated kick to the side of the man's knee.

Crack.

The joint snapped backward at a horrifying, unnatural angle.

The boss collapsed to the floor like a sack of wet cement, howling and clutching his ruined leg.

The other repo men, trembling in terror, were swiftly struck in the back of the head with the butts of the security team's rifles. They dropped like stones and were dragged out into the hallway by Kevin's men.

Donovan stood over the weeping boss.

He slowly lifted his foot and placed the heel of his handmade Italian leather shoe directly over the boss's right hand-the same hand that had tried to tear Abigayle's coat.

Donovan shifted his weight, pressing down.

The sound of individual finger bones popping and crushing under the pressure filled the silent room.

The boss passed out from the sheer pain, his head lolling to the side.

"Crush the rest of the hand," Donovan ordered Kevin without looking away. "Make sure he never works in this city again. And for that hand... ensure he understands the price of touching what's mine."

Kevin nodded sharply, grabbing the unconscious man by the collar and dragging him out, leaving a smear of blood on the floorboards.

The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.

Donovan shrugged off his dark suit jacket.

He turned and walked slowly toward Abigayle, who was still sitting on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, trembling violently.

He crouched down in front of her.

With movements that were shockingly gentle compared to the violence he had just unleashed, he wrapped his warm, heavy suit jacket around her shaking shoulders.

The fabric was still radiating his body heat, carrying the sharp, masculine scent of cedar and expensive tobacco.

Abigayle flinched, pulling the jacket tighter around herself. She stared at him with wide, terrified eyes, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Donovan reached out. His large, calloused thumb gently brushed against her cheek, wiping away the smear of blood near her mouth.

The heat of his skin sent a strange, phantom shiver down her spine.

Abigayle jerked her head away from his touch.

"Who are you?" she rasped, her throat raw. "Why did you do that?"

Donovan let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated in his chest.

He didn't answer. Instead, he slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her effortlessly off the floor.

"Put me down!" Abigayle gasped, instinctively grabbing his broad shoulders to steady herself.

"Stop moving," Donovan commanded, his voice vibrating against her chest. "My medical team is already treating your butler in the hallway. He will live."

He carried her across the ruined living room and set her down gently on the only piece of furniture left intact-a large leather sofa.

Abigayle sank into the cushions, pulling his jacket tightly around her neck.

Donovan didn't step back.

He leaned forward, placing both hands firmly on the armrests on either side of her, trapping her completely within the cage of his arms.

He stared down at her, his dark eyes burning with a possessive fire that made it hard for her to breathe.

"Abigayle Pena," Donovan declared, his voice a low, absolute command. "From this second forward, you, and your entire family, belong to me."

Abigayle froze.

The sheer arrogance of his words snapped her out of her shock.

A bitter, incredulous laugh escaped her lips.

"Are you insane?" she spat, glaring up at him. "I don't need your charity. Get out of my house."

Donovan leaned in closer, his face inches from hers.

"I am the only man in this city who can pull you out of the hell you just fell into," he whispered, his breath brushing her lips.

He looked at her not like a victim, but like a prize he had already claimed.

"Pena Group is dead," she fired back, her hands balling into fists in her lap. "We have nothing left to sell. So whatever you want, the answer is no."