Kamryn's fingers tightened around her throat. Just as the pressure became unbearable, the sound of heavy footsteps and voices bled through the thick door.

A deep, cold voice asked the bodyguards outside-specifically addressing Mitch Duggan-if Kamryn was in the room. It was Calhoun Terrell.

Blaire's pupils dilated. Her heart leaped into her throat, choking her. If her adoptive brother caught her dressed like a stripper in a VIP booth, her life was over.

Kamryn recognized his friend's voice too. He clicked his tongue in annoyance and released his grip on Blaire's neck.

He took a step back and adjusted the collar of his shirt. He glanced at the door, his mind calculating rapidly. Losing his temper over a bottom-tier dancer while Calhoun was waiting outside was beneath him. It was a waste of energy. He decided to handle this the way he handled all persistent annoyances-with overwhelming financial force.

Not wanting Calhoun to see him losing his mind over a club dancer, Kamryn reached into his suit pocket. He pulled out a thick stack of cash and a gold embossed business card.

He shoved the money and the card roughly into the deep V-neck of her bodysuit. He leaned in and whispered a harsh warning against her ear. He told her to call the number when she stopped being stupid, and then ordered her to get out.

Blaire felt like she had been granted a pardon from death row. She frantically shoved the cash down into her tall boots. She grabbed the card, kept her head down, and stumbled toward the door.

She yanked the door open. She came face to face with Calhoun standing in the hallway. He had one hand in his pocket, his eyes cold and indifferent.

Blaire's entire body went stiff. She instinctively pulled the red wig further down her face and bit her lip, terrified to make a single sound.

In her panic, her trembling fingers lost their grip. The gold embossed business card slipped from her hand and landed right next to Calhoun's polished leather shoe.

Calhoun frowned. His eyes swept over her revealing outfit and the overwhelming scent of cheap perfume. A look of pure, undisguised disgust flashed across his face.

He did not look closely at the face hidden beneath the heavy makeup. He simply bent down, picked up the card with two fingers, and held it out to her.

Blaire snatched the card from his fingers. She didn't even dare to whisper a thank you. She squeezed past him and sprinted down the hallway toward the employee exit like her life depended on it.

Calhoun watched her run away, his frown deepening. He dismissed the strange encounter, turned the handle, and walked into Kamryn's booth.

An hour later, Blaire had scrubbed her face clean and changed back into her jeans. She took a cab back to the Terrell estate, feeling like a walking ghost.

She pushed the side door open as quietly as possible. The moment she stepped into the dark hallway, a tall shadow detached itself from the wall, blocking her path.

It was Calhoun. He had beaten her home and had been waiting in the dark. The faint smell of tobacco and an overwhelming sense of oppression filled the air.

Blaire's heart started hammering all over again. She forced a polite greeting and tried to walk around him to get to the stairs. His hand shot out and clamped around her wrist.

His grip was bruising. He yanked her forward, closing the distance between them until it was dangerously intimate.

He leaned down. His nose almost brushed her hair. His dark eyes glittered with a terrifying intensity in the shadows.

Calhoun spoke in a slow, deliberate tone. He asked her where she had been so late, and why she smelled like an overwhelming mixture of cheap perfume and stale sweat.

Blaire's brain scrambled for an excuse. She stuttered out a lie about going to a classmate's birthday party at a local bar.

Calhoun stared at her. His fingers slowly slid up her arm. He reached her neck and casually brushed his thumb over the red marks Kamryn's fingers had left on her skin.

He pressed his thumb hard into the bruise. Blaire sucked in a sharp breath of pain, but she forced her feet to stay planted.

Calhoun leaned in until his lips were right next to her ear. His voice was a low, demonic whisper. He warned her to stay away from Kamryn Lane, telling her that Kamryn was not a predator she could handle.

The double meaning was clear. It was a warning about her supposed attempt to sleep with Kamryn, but it also dripped with a sick, possessive jealousy.

The coldness in his voice made Blaire shiver uncontrollably. She nodded frantically, promising she would never go near Kamryn.

Satisfied, Calhoun slowly released her. He took a step back, his face returning to the mask of a strict, emotionless older brother. He told her to go to bed.

Blaire practically ran up the stairs. She slammed her bedroom door shut and locked it. She realized with horrifying clarity that every man in this house was a monster. She had to leave tomorrow.

The morning sun filtered through the stained glass windows of the Terrell estate foyer. Blaire dragged two heavy suitcases down the grand staircase, her muscles aching with every step. She had just tapped the confirmation button on her ride-sharing app, ensuring a yellow cab would be waiting at the curb in exactly two minutes.

She wore a thick turtleneck sweater, making sure the red marks from Kamryn and the bruise from Calhoun were completely hidden from view.

Just as her foot hit the marble floor of the lobby, the butler pulled the heavy front doors open. Kamryn Lane strode into the house, wearing a sharp silver-gray suit and bringing the morning chill with him. He had come specifically to deliver a final, brutal warning to Ewald Terrell regarding his family's pathetic entrapment schemes, but his cold eyes immediately locked onto the girl standing by the stairs.

Blaire froze. The wheels of her suitcase hit the floor with a dull thud. She stared at the intruder with wide, panicked eyes.

Kamryn saw her standing there with her luggage. One eyebrow twitched upward. A look of dark amusement crossed his face. He walked straight up to her and arrogantly announced that he was driving her to campus.

Blaire's mind went blank. She didn't know if this was a test, or if Danita had orchestrated this. Her survival instinct kicked in, and she stuttered out a firm refusal.

Kamryn ignored her words completely. He reached out to grab the handle of her suitcase. The sheer physical dominance of his presence made it impossible for her to pull away.

Right before his fingers touched the plastic handle, another large, pale hand shot out from the side and clamped down hard on the other side of the suitcase.

Calhoun appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He wore casual loungewear, but his eyes were like blocks of ice. He stared Kamryn down without an ounce of retreat.

Calhoun's voice was freezing and absolute. He told Kamryn not to bother, stating that it was his responsibility as her older brother to take her to school.

Kamryn narrowed his eyes. He instantly picked up on the possessive undertone in Calhoun's voice that crossed the line of brotherly care. A hostile, mocking smirk twisted Kamryn's lips.

The two alpha males stood in the massive foyer, locked in a silent war. The air pressure dropped so fast it felt like a physical weight on Blaire's chest. The tension crackled like live electricity.

Caught between the devil trying to buy her body and the brother with a sick obsession, Blaire felt a wave of absolute despair.

Kamryn suddenly let out a short laugh. He let go of the suitcase. He leaned in close to Blaire's ear and whispered a promise that they had plenty of time.

The words made Blaire's skin crawl. She jerked backward, straight into Calhoun's solid chest.

Calhoun immediately wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him. It was a clear display of ownership. The heat radiating from his body through her sweater felt like a snake wrapping around her spine.

A loud, obnoxious car horn blared from the street outside, shattering the dangerous silence in the room.

Blaire looked past the open doors. A bright yellow New York taxi was idling by the curb. The driver was leaning out the window, smoking a cigarette.

The desperate need to survive overpowered her fear. Blaire violently shoved herself out of Calhoun's grip. She yelled that her cab was here and she didn't need either of them.

Before the men could react, adrenaline flooded her veins. She grabbed the smaller suitcase, abandoned the large one, and sprinted out the front door like a hunted animal.

Kamryn and Calhoun were stunned for a fraction of a second. By the time they reached the doorway, Blaire was already at the cab.

She yanked the back door open, threw her bag onto the seat, and dove in after it. She screamed at the driver to step on the gas.

Sal Petrovic, the driver, jumped at her screaming. He took one look at the two terrifying men standing on the mansion steps and slammed his foot on the accelerator.

The tires screeched against the asphalt. The cab shot forward like a bullet.

Blaire collapsed against the vinyl backseat. She looked through the rear window. Kamryn and Calhoun stood side by side, growing smaller in the distance.

Kamryn's face was black with rage. He kicked a stone pillar violently. Calhoun stood perfectly still, his eyes locked onto the back of the cab like a sniper.

Once they turned the corner, Blaire realized her clothes were soaked with cold sweat. She took deep, greedy breaths of the stale air inside the cab.

Sal looked at her in the rearview mirror. He handed her a napkin and used his thick Brooklyn accent to joke about her running away from a wedding.

Blaire took the napkin and wiped her forehead. She didn't say a word. She just stared out the window at the blurry city streets. She only had one suitcase, and she had no idea what her future held, but for this brief moment, she was free.

The yellow cab pulled up to the red brick dormitory of the arts college. Blaire paid the fare, grabbed her single suitcase, and walked into the loud, chaotic lobby.

She took the elevator to the third floor and unlocked room 302. A light, comforting scent of citrus filled the air, immediately easing the tight knot in her chest.

Her roommate, Phoebe Adler, was barefoot on a yoga mat. When she saw Blaire, she jumped up and threw her arms around her in a massive hug.

The genuine warmth melted the last of Blaire's defenses. She hugged Phoebe back, a real, exhausted smile touching her lips.

Blaire opened her suitcase and started unpacking. When she pulled out the black leather boots she wore at the club, her hands shook. She quickly shoved them into the darkest corner of her closet.

Phoebe noticed the single bag. She tilted her head and asked why the daughter of the wealthy Terrell family packed so light.

Blaire's fingers stiffened. She turned around and delivered her rehearsed lie. She smiled and said she wanted to try minimalism and didn't want to be weighed down by stuff.

Phoebe bought it completely. She handed Blaire a cold soda and casually asked why Blaire was always disappearing on the weekends.

Blaire looked down at the condensation on the can. She lied again, saying she was desperately saving money for a study abroad program in Paris.

To sell the story, she sighed heavily. She complained that the Terrell family had strict rules and demanded she become financially independent before they let her go abroad.

Phoebe was outraged on her behalf. She ranted about the twisted rules of rich families and promised to help Blaire find a good campus job.

Looking at Phoebe's innocent face, a heavy wave of guilt washed over Blaire. But she knew she could never tell anyone the truth about the surrogacy and the heart harvesting. It was too dangerous.

The scene shifted to the Terrell estate study. Danita screamed in rage, sweeping a delicate bone china teacup off the desk. It shattered against the floor.

Her shrill voice echoed off the walls. She yelled at Clotilda, complaining that Blaire running away had completely ruined her chances to bond with Kamryn.

Clotilda sat behind the massive oak desk. She watched her daughter throw a tantrum with cold, dead eyes. When Danita finally stopped to breathe, Clotilda handed her a tissue.

Clotilda's voice was a low, dangerous hiss. She warned Danita to control her temper, reminding her that her failing heart couldn't handle the stress. She told her not to die before the transplant.

The word "transplant" made Danita freeze. The fear of death and the desperate greed for life flashed in her eyes.

Clotilda walked around the desk and stroked Danita's hair. She whispered like a snake, assuring her that Blaire could not run far.

Clotilda sneered. She explained her plan. "I already made a phone call to Eleonora Finch at the arts academy this morning," she stated, swirling her wine. "I cut off her credit cards, and now I've severed her academic lifelines." She promised Danita that by systematically destroying every legitimate way Blaire had to make money, she would force Blaire to come crawling back to the estate like a starving dog.

Danita's angry face slowly twisted into a sick, triumphant smile. She could already picture Blaire begging on her knees.

Back in the dorm, it was late at night. Phoebe was fast asleep, her breathing slow and steady.

Blaire sat at her small desk. The light from her desk lamp cast long shadows. She was counting the cash she had made at Club Velvet.

The bills smelled like smoke and cheap perfume. They were dirty, but they were the only thing keeping her safe right now.

She carefully hid the stack of cash inside a false bottom of an old shoebox, then shoved the box deep under her bed.

She opened her banking app on her phone. Seeing the low balance made her stomach drop.

The club money was fast, but the risk of running into Kamryn or Calhoun again was too high. She needed a massive amount of clean money, and she needed it fast.

Her eyes landed on a thick dance textbook on her desk. An idea sparked in her mind.

She opened the book. Tucked inside was a flyer for the National Youth Dance Competition. The grand prize was a staggering five hundred thousand dollars.

If she won, she could pay back the Terrell family's "raising fees" and buy a one way ticket out of the country.

Blaire traced the numbers on the flyer with her fingertip. Her eyes hardened with absolute resolve. This was her only way out. She had to win.