Johana stared at the ceiling of her dorm room. The clock on her nightstand said 1:00 AM. The building was dead quiet.

She picked up her phone and called Hazelle again. It rang once, then went to voicemail.

"Hey, it's me again," Johana said, her voice tight. "Just... call me when you get this. Please."

She hung up and opened her contacts. She scrolled through Hazelle's friends, sending texts to anyone she could think of. Have you seen Hazelle? Is she with you?

Nothing. No replies.

The door banged open. Chloe stumbled in, giggling, leaning heavily on the doorframe. The smell of expensive perfume and vodka wafted in with her.

"Chloe!" Johana sat up. "Have you heard from Hazelle? She's not answering her phone."

Chloe kicked off her heels, wobbling slightly. "Who? Hazelle?" She waved a hand dismissively. "I don't know. She's been weird lately. Secretive."

"What do you mean, secretive?"

Chloe flopped onto her bed, not bothering to take off her dress. "She thinks she's moving up in the world. She met some guy. Some finance guy." Chloe rolled her eyes. "She wants to play with the big dogs. She's going to get bitten."

Johana's stomach dropped. "What guy? Where?"

"I don't know, Johana. Some Hamptons crowd. Hedge fund guys. The kind of guys who eat girls like her for breakfast." Chloe pulled a pillow over her head. "Go to sleep."

Hamptons. Finance guys. The words echoed in Johana's mind.

A hundred miles away, in the Hamptons, the party was roaring.

The glass house was packed with bodies, the bass thumping so hard the windows vibrated. Dalton Black stood on the edge of the terrace, a glass of whiskey in his hand, looking out at the black ocean. The cold sea breeze was a relief after the stifling heat inside.

Zane Croft stumbled through the sliding doors, a model on each arm. He was already sweating, his shirt unbuttoned to his sternum.

"Dalton, my man!" Zane clapped him on the shoulder. "Why do you always look like you're at a funeral? Loosen up."

"Where's Kamren?" Dalton asked, ignoring the question.

Zane jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "In the den. Doing his mentor thing. He's got that new assistant practically in tears."

Dalton looked past Zane, into the house. Through the glass walls of a side room, he could see Kamren Hubbard sitting on a couch, leaning forward, talking intently to a young woman. She was sitting very still, her hands clasped in her lap, her face pale.Something was off. The way she wasn't blinking. The way her head was starting to tilt, just slightly, as if she was losing control of her muscles.

Dalton didn't recognize her.He watched for a second longer, then looked away. Kamren was always collecting strays. And strays always came with problems he didn't need to solve.

"I'm getting another drink," Zane said, dragging his entourage back inside.

Dalton stayed on the terrace. He pulled out his phone. He opened his email, scrolling past the financial reports, until he found the one from Johana Neal. He opened the PDF again. In the middle of this chaotic, loud, meaningless party, her words were the only thing that made sense. Order out of chaos.

Johana was pacing now, a frantic energy thrumming through her. The silence in the room was louder than any party. She was about to dial campus security—

In the Hamptons, the sliding doors to the terrace slammed open. A high, keening scream cut through the thumping bass of the music. It wasn't a scream of fun. It was a scream of pure terror.

Dalton looked up from his phone. Inside the house, by the pool, a crowd was gathering. Someone was shouting for a doctor.

The two worlds had just collided.

—when her phone buzzed in her hand, the screen lighting up with an unknown number. Her heart leaped into her throat.

Before she could second-guess it, she answered.

"Hello?"

A man's voice, tense but controlled, came through the line. "Is this Miss Johana Neal?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"My name is Kamren Hubbard. I'm a friend of Hazelle's. There's been an incident. She's unwell, and we're on our way to Stony Brook Southampton Hospital. I think it would be best if you met us there."

The world tilted. "An incident? What happened? Is she okay?"

"She's stable," the voice said, offering no real comfort. In the background, Johana could hear muffled shouting, the thump of music abruptly cut. The chaos was leaking through the line. "We can discuss the details when you arrive. Please, come as quickly as you can."

The line clicked dead.

Johana stared at the phone, the name 'Kamren Hubbard' echoing in her mind. She turned to a now-sober Chloe.

"Southampton Hospital," Johana said, her voice a raw whisper. "We have to go. Now."

The phone slipped from Johana's hand. It bounced on the rug, the screen glowing.

"Sibley Memorial," she said, her voice hollow. "Chloe, we have to go. Now."

Chloe was already on her feet, the last traces of vodka gone from her eyes. "I'll get a car. Get your coat."

They scrambled. Johana's hands were shaking so badly she couldn't grip the zipper of her jacket. She yanked it hard, the metal teeth scraping her chin, not caring about the sting.

Chloe was on her phone, swearing. "Surge pricing is insane. Two hundred bucks just to get across town."

"Just pay it!" Johana yelled.

They ran down the stairs, bursting out of the dorm into the freezing night. The snow had stopped, but the streets were slick and empty. The wait for the car was three minutes. It felt like three hours.

Johana stood on the curb, her breath coming out in white puffs. She pulled up Hazelle's contact and hit call. It rang. And rang. Voicemail.

"Hazelle, please," she whispered into the phone. "Please be okay."

The car pulled up. They dove into the back seat.

"Sibley Memorial," Chloe told the driver. "Fast. Please."

The driver looked in the mirror, saw their faces, and hit the gas. The city blurred past the windows. The streetlights smeared into streaks of yellow and white through the tears Johana was trying to blink back.

She remembered yesterday morning. Hazelle at the mirror, putting on lipstick, a smile on her face that Johana had never seen before.

"I'm going to meet someone," Hazelle had said. "Someone who can change my life."

Johana had laughed. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

The memory was a knife in her chest. She should have stopped her. She should have asked more questions.

"She probably just drank too much," Chloe said, gripping Johana's hand. "You know how she gets. She's not used to the hard stuff."

"It wasn't just drinking," Johana said, staring at the seat in front of her. "That man on the phone... he was too calm. It was wrong."

The drive stretched on—through snarled traffic on the bridge, past a fender-bender that had two lanes blocked, the minutes bleeding into each other. By the time the hospital came into view, nearly an hour had passed since Kamren's call. More than enough time for a helicopter to cross the hundred miles from the Hamptons.

Her phone rang. It was the same unknown number. She snatched it up.

"Hello?"

"Miss Neal," Kamren Hubbard's voice was still maddeningly level. "Just to let you know, we've arrived. We're in the emergency room waiting for you."

"Who are you?" Johana demanded. "Why are you the one calling me?"

"I am handling the situation," Kamren said smoothly. "Just focus on getting here safely. We will talk when you arrive."

The line went dead.

Johana stared at the screen. "Kamren Hubbard," she said slowly. "Do you know that name?"

Chloe frowned, thinking. Her face went pale. "Hubbard? Like... the Hubbard family? The hedge fund?"

The car screeched to a halt in front of the Sibley Memorial emergency room. The lights were blindingly bright, a harsh contrast to the dark street.

Johana threw open the door before the car fully stopped. She ran across the sidewalk, her boots slipping on the ice, and shoved through the double doors of the ER.

The waiting room was bright and cold, smelling of disinfectant and anxiety. And sitting in the plastic chairs, looking completely out of place, was a group of men in expensive coats.

One of them was Kamren Hubbard, his dark hair perfectly styled, his face calm.

And sitting next to him, his long legs stretched out, his pale blue eyes lifting to meet hers, was Dalton Black.

The smell of rubbing alcohol hit her like a slap. They had driven through the night—four hours from D.C. to the South Fork, Chloe gripping the wheel while Johana stared at her phone, willing it to ring. By the time they pulled into the Southampton Hospital parking lot, the first gray light of dawn was bleeding into the sky. Johana stopped dead in the doorway of the ER, her chest heaving.

Dalton's eyes locked onto hers. For a fraction of a second, something flickered in them-surprise, maybe. But it was gone instantly, replaced by that same cold, hard mask he wore in the driveway.

Kamren Hubbard stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. He walked toward her, his hand extended. "Miss Neal. I'm Kamren. We spoke on the phone."

Johana ignored his hand. She looked past him, at the other men in the room. One of them was pacing, his phone pressed to his ear. He was tall, with slicked-back hair and an open collar. Zane Croft.

"...I don't care about the optics," Zane was hissing into the phone, his back half-turned. "Just handle it. I want a full-spectrum sweep. No digital ghosts, you understand?"

Johana's blood ran cold. She stepped around Kamren and confronted Zane. "What did you do to her?"

Zane glanced at her, annoyed. "Who the hell are you?"

"Where is Hazelle?" Johana demanded, her voice rising. "What did you do?"

Kamren stepped in, his hand lightly touching her elbow. "Miss Neal, please. Lower your voice. The doctors are working."

"Don't touch me!" Johana yanked her arm away. She pointed at Zane. "I heard him. He's talking about a digital sweep. You're covering something up."

The waiting room went quiet. A nurse at the station looked up, frowning.

Dalton stood up. He moved slowly, his presence commanding the space. He walked over until he was standing right in front of Johana, looking down at her.

"This is a hospital," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Not a courtroom. Making a scene won't help your friend."

"Help her?" Johana's voice cracked. "You people did this to her. You're destroying evidence."

"We are ensuring her privacy," Dalton said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Unlike you, we are trying to keep this out of the news."

Before Johana could scream at him, the ER door swung open. A young man in a rumpled suit hurried in, followed by a woman carrying a briefcase.

The man in the suit walked straight to Dalton. "Mr. Black. We've retained Dr. Feldman. He's the best trauma specialist on the East Coast. He's been consulted via teleconference and has already arranged for Miss Olson's immediate transfer to a private suite at a facility upstate,where he will personally oversee her case."

Dalton nodded once. "And the hospital?"

"Taken care of," the assistant said. "No records will leak. Mr. Croft's team is handling the digital footprint as we speak."

Johana listened in horror. It was all true. They were erasing the night. They were making Hazelle disappear.

"You're monsters," she whispered.

Zane Croft hung up his phone and sneered at her. "Listen, sweetheart, you don't know who you're dealing with. Back off."

Dalton's head snapped toward Zane. One look. Just one icy glare. Zane's jaw tightened. He shot a look back that was half defiance, half grudging respect, before turning away and muttering under his breath.

Dalton turned back to Johana. "We are providing your friend with the best medical care money can buy. If you care about her at all, you will let us do our jobs."

His words were logical. His tone was infuriating. He was treating her like a problem to be managed.

The door to the treatment rooms opened. A nurse stepped out, holding a clipboard. "Family of Hazelle Olson?"

"I'm here," Johana said, pushing past Dalton. "How is she?"

The nurse looked at her sympathetically. "She's been sedated. She was highly agitated. The doctor will come out to speak with you shortly."

Johana's knees buckled. The adrenaline was crashing. She reached out for the wall, missing, and started to fall.

A hand caught her arm. Firm, warm, steadying her. Dalton.

She looked up at his hand on her skin, then up at his face. The disgust in her eyes was absolute.

She ripped her arm out of his grip. "Don't touch me."

She steadied herself against the wall, breathing hard. "I don't want your money. I don't want your doctors. I want the truth. And I will find out what you did to her."

Dalton let his hand drop to his side. He stared at her, his expression unreadable. He didn't defend himself. He didn't argue. He just watched her, his blue eyes dark and intense.

"Okay," he said quietly.