The afternoon sun hit the glass storefront of Gemma's mother's art gallery in downtown Manhattan.

Gemma had barely reached the front door when two massive bodyguards stepped into her path.

A silver Porsche slammed on its brakes against the curb. Joseph practically fell out of the driver's seat, sweating through his expensive shirt.

He marched up to Gemma, his presence a wall of barely contained fury.

"Get in the car," Joseph demanded, his breathing heavy.

Gemma stood her ground, her skin crawling at his proximity. "The divorce agreement is signed, Joseph."

"I haven't filed it yet," Joseph sneered, stepping closer. "You are still Mrs. Roberson."

He lowered his voice, his tone turning vicious. "If you don't come to the Hamptons and play the perfect wife tonight, I will pull the financial guarantee on this gallery tomorrow. Your mother's legacy will be bankrupt by noon."

Gemma stared at the beautiful paintings displayed in the window. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms that she almost drew blood.

She swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

"Fine," Gemma said, her voice dead. "But the minute this dinner is over, you file the papers."

Joseph smirked and gestured sharply toward the backseat of the Porsche.

Two hours later, the car pulled through the massive iron gates of the Roberson estate in the Hamptons.

Security guards patrolled the manicured lawns with Dobermans.

Before Gemma could open her door, Joseph grabbed a heavy diamond necklace from a velvet box and forced it around her neck.

The cold stones covered the red marks left by the stranger.

"Smile," Joseph ordered, instantly shifting his face into the mask of a loving husband.

Gemma linked her arm through his. She walked into the grand ballroom, her face a perfect, emotionless mask.

For thirty minutes, she endured the fake smiles and hollow conversations of the elite.

Suffocating, she excused herself to the restroom and slipped down a quiet hallway.

She pushed open the glass doors leading to the back garden, desperate for the cold ocean air.

In the shadows near the stone fountain, the red cherry of a cigarette glowed in the dark.

Gemma wasn't paying attention. She stepped forward, her heel catching on the uneven stone, and stumbled directly into a solid, hard chest.

A large, warm hand immediately shot out, gripping her elbow to steady her.

A heavy, intoxicating scent of bergamot and cedarwood washed over her face.

Gemma's body went completely rigid. Her breath caught in her throat.

She snapped her head up.

The dim garden lights illuminated sharp jawlines, deep, dark eyes, and a mocking smirk.

Jakob Fuentes.

Gemma gasped, stumbling backward. "Tyrant?" she blurted out, using his old college nickname.

Jakob dropped his cigarette and crushed it beneath his expensive leather shoe. He took a slow, deliberate step toward her.

He looked down at her. His eyes swept over her conservative dress, a flicker of something akin to impatient scrutiny in their depths. It was the uniform of the constrained woman she seemed to have become, and he absolutely hated it.

"Playing the good little housewife?" Jakob's voice was a low, cruel rumble. "This performance is tiresome."

Gemma forced her spine straight, ignoring the strange panic fluttering in her chest. "My life is none of your business, Jakob."

Jakob didn't stop moving until he was inches away from her.

His gaze was a physical weight, dropping to the heavy diamond necklace at her throat and lingering there.

Gemma's stomach did a violent flip.

He leaned down, his lips hovering just above her ear.

"Is it?" Jakob whispered, his voice dark and heavy. "Because I have a feeling there's more to you than this carefully constructed facade."

The heat from Jakob's proximity sent a violent shudder down Gemma's spine.

She pushed against his chest, her palm flat against the hard wall of his suit.

"Don't touch me," Gemma hissed, her chest heaving. "Show some respect. You're standing on Roberson property."

Jakob let out a harsh, barking laugh. His eyes turned ice-cold.

"Roberson property?" he mocked, stepping even closer. "Do you even know whose money built the foundation of this trust fund, Gemma?"

The words hit her like a physical blow to the head.

Suddenly, the sound of the ocean wind morphed into a deafening, mechanical roar.

A phantom tremor shook her, a memory of distant, catastrophic sound.

Gemma's face lost all color. Her vision narrowed into a dark tunnel.

She felt the crushing weight of a past sorrow, heard echoes of a desperate plea.

She stumbled backward, her spine hitting the freezing marble of a Roman pillar. Her hands clawed desperately at the fabric of her dress.

Her lungs forgot how to pull in oxygen.

Jakob's mocking smile vanished instantly. He saw the pure, unadulterated terror in her eyes.

His jaw clenched. He took a quick step forward, his hand reaching out to grab her shoulder.

"Gemma?" his voice dropped, losing all its cruelty.

Before his fingers could make contact, the glass doors slammed open.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Joseph roared, storming out onto the patio.

The loud noise snapped Gemma out of her flashback. She gasped for air, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Joseph grabbed Gemma's arm firmly, pulling her behind him, glaring at Jakob like a rabid dog protecting its bone.

Jakob slowly lowered his hand. He slid both hands into his trouser pockets, his face returning to a mask of absolute indifference.

"Just catching up with my sister-in-law," Jakob drawled, his eyes flicking to Gemma's pale face. "She looks like she's going to pass out."

"Stay away from my wife," Joseph spat. "Your Silicon Valley money doesn't make you God here."

Jakob didn't even dignify that with a response. He let out a dark chuckle, turned his back, and walked toward the side entrance of the ballroom.

The second Jakob was gone, Joseph turned to Gemma, his face a mask of fury. "Are you trying to humiliate me?" he hissed, his voice tight with anger. "Don't you dare look at that bastard again."

Gemma winced and ripped her arm free. "I was just getting some air."

Joseph ignored her. He turned sharply, his menacing glare a command she felt compelled to obey, and led her back into the blinding lights of the ballroom.

He forced her to stand next to a group of Wall Street investors, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist in a fake show of affection.

Gemma stood there like a lifeless doll, nodding and smiling on command.

Just as the fake socializing reached its peak, the massive mahogany doors of the ballroom were thrown open.

The live orchestra abruptly stopped playing.

Kassandra Baird stood in the doorway, wearing a blindingly bright red, plunging evening gown.

A collective gasp echoed through the room. The wealthy socialites immediately began whispering behind their champagne glasses, their eyes darting between Gemma and the mistress.

Joseph's face turned a sickly shade of gray. He hadn't expected Kassandra to be this insane.

Kassandra ignored the stares. She lifted her chin and began walking directly toward Joseph and Gemma.

Gemma's grip on her champagne flute tightened until her knuckles turned white. Her eyes turned to sharp ice. The battle had come to her.

Kassandra stopped right in front of Joseph.

She reached out with her red-painted nails and slowly adjusted his bowtie, a blatant display of ownership.

"Joseph," she purred, her voice loud enough for the investors to hear.

Joseph stood completely frozen, too terrified of the board members watching to push her away.

Kassandra then turned her head, looking Gemma up and down with a pitying smirk.

"Gemma, you look so tired today," Kassandra said sweetly.

Gemma didn't even blink. She slowly took a sip of her champagne, refusing to give the woman a single word of acknowledgment.

Around them, the older women hid their mouths behind their hands, whispering about Gemma's pathetic lack of a spine.

Up on the second-floor balcony, Jakob stood in the shadows. He swirled the amber liquid in his whiskey glass, his eyes locked on Gemma's rigid posture. A dark scowl pulled at his lips.

Down below, Gemma felt physically sick. She placed her half-full glass onto a passing waiter's tray with a sharp clink.

Ignoring Joseph's panicked glare, she turned on her heel and walked away, heading straight for the quiet, narrow hallway near the coat check.

Once she was out of sight, she pulled her phone from her clutch. She needed to call the club again. She had to find that ring.

She dialed the number, but the line was busy.

Frustrated, she shoved the phone back into her bag.

When she looked up, a massive figure blocked the hallway.

Jakob stood there, the ice in his glass clinking softly.

"What a brilliant display of suffering in silence," Jakob mocked, his voice echoing in the narrow space. He took a step closer. "You allow yourself to be so easily diminished. You presented yourself as little more than an empty vessel out there."

Heat rushed to Gemma's face. "It's called keeping my dignity, Jakob. Not all of us like to scream like lunatics in public."

Jakob's eyes darkened. He leaned against the opposite wall, the narrow hallway suddenly feeling claustrophobic. His presence was an immovable object, a psychological cage.

He lowered his head, his gaze intense. A flicker of something unreadable-recognition? A predator's sudden, chilling satisfaction?-crossed his face before being instantly replaced by his usual cold mask.

Before he could push further, the sharp clack of stiletto heels echoed down the hall.

Kassandra marched around the corner. Seeing them standing so close, her face twisted in ugly jealousy.

Jakob let out a disgusted sigh. He pushed off the wall, didn't even glance at Kassandra, and walked away.

Kassandra stopped in front of Gemma, crossing her arms.

"Trying to seduce his brother now?" Kassandra sneered. "How pathetic."

Gemma calmly smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress.

"Joseph promised me," Kassandra bragged, stepping closer. "He's kicking you out of the penthouse by this weekend. And Arthur already knows about my baby boy."

Gemma looked at Kassandra's stomach.

Instead of crying, Gemma smiled. It was a terrifying, empty smile.

She leaned in close to Kassandra's ear.

"Then you better pray," Gemma whispered, her voice like crushed glass, "that Joseph's finances survive long enough for this baby to be born into wealth. Because I have the recording of you admitting to a malicious plot, and I assure you, his little empire is far more fragile than you think."

Kassandra gasped, stumbling backward, genuine fear flashing in her eyes at the pure darkness in Gemma's tone.