At ten o'clock the next morning, Christi walked into a private, high-end cafe in Midtown Manhattan. The two Blackwater guards flanked her, stopping at the entrance to secure the perimeter. The entire cafe had been cleared out.

Silas Croft sat in a leather booth in the far corner. A silver, blast-proof briefcase rested on the table in front of him.

Christi slid into the booth opposite him. She didn't bother with pleasantries. "Show me the file on Cornelius Gregory."

Silas opened his leather satchel and handed her a thick dossier. The Apex Group logo was stamped in gold on the cover. The very first page was a grainy, long-distance paparazzi photo of Cornelius sitting in a high-tech wheelchair.

Christi flipped through the pages quickly. The reports detailed his reclusive lifestyle. The crash had allegedly destroyed his legs, left him with severe psychological trauma, and rendered him sterile.

She dropped the file on the table and let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "So the David family wants to use fifty billion dollars to buy me as a glorified, lifelong nurse for a cripple?"

"Legally, it is termed a 'care-oriented companionship agreement'," Silas corrected her smoothly. "The Gregory family needs a woman with a clean background and zero ambition to pacify their board of directors."

Christi narrowed her eyes. She traced the edge of the file with her index finger. "If I'm a fifty-billion-dollar heiress, how do I qualify as having 'zero ambition'?"

"The David family's identity remains highly classified," Silas explained. "To the outside world, and to the Gregory family, you are still the penniless, discarded partner of Jensen Rivera."

Christi's mind raced. She had to wear two masks. To Cornelius, she would be the desperate, poor girl. To Jensen, she would pretend she didn't know about the cheating or the fake marriage. It was a high-stakes game. Refuse, and she'd be left with a few photos to fight a losing legal battle. Accept, and she'd gain the power to crush the Riveras, at the cost of being tied to a disabled man with no sexual function.

Her phone buzzed on the table. A text from Jensen.

*Make sure you go to the private clinic at 2 PM for your routine checkup. We need to start prepping for the baby.*

The text was the final straw. The audacity. He was kissing Fallon in a wrecked car last night, and today he wanted her to prep for a baby to secure his trust fund.

A cold, hard knot formed in her stomach.

She reached into her purse and pulled out her Montblanc pen. She didn't hesitate for a single second. She flipped to the last page of the contract and signed her name in bold, sharp strokes.

Silas's eyes gleamed with approval. He pulled the silver briefcase closer and punched in a code. It clicked open.

Inside lay a solid black Centurion card and a heavy set of keys to a Fifth Avenue penthouse.

Silas stood up and bowed deeply. "Miss David. You now have emergency authorization."

Christi picked up the heavy metal card. The cold weight of it sent a thrill of raw power straight into her veins.

"Freeze every joint account I have with the Rivera family," Christi ordered, her voice completely steady. "Cut all financial ties."

She stood up. "Tell the guards to fall back. I'm going to meet Jensen alone. The show starts now."

At that exact moment, in the penthouse office of the Apex Group building.

Leo Vance, the Chief of Staff, placed a signed copy of the marriage agreement on the massive mahogany desk.

Behind the desk, a tall, broad-shouldered man stood facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at the Manhattan skyline.

He turned around. His strides were long, powerful, and perfectly steady. There was absolutely nothing wrong with his legs.

Cornelius Gregory picked up the contract. His dark eyes locked onto Christi's elegant signature. His thumb rubbed slowly over the ink. A dark, possessive smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

"Do we need the medical team to continue the paralysis protocol, sir?" Leo asked respectfully.

"Of course," Cornelius murmured, his voice a low rumble.

He walked over to the custom-built wheelchair sitting in the corner of the office. He sat down and expertly adjusted the metal braces around his muscular thighs. His eyes darkened, turning dangerous.

"Monitor her trip to the clinic this afternoon," Cornelius ordered, his fingers gripping the armrests of the wheelchair tight enough to turn his knuckles white. "Do not let anyone touch my prey before I close the net."

Christi pushed open the frosted glass door of the VIP waiting room at the Manhattan West Private Clinic. She wore an old, seemingly cheap but well-tailored trench coat, deliberately looking small and out of place in the luxurious room.

Jensen was sitting on the plush velvet sofa, typing rapidly on his phone. When he heard the door, he immediately dropped the phone and manufactured a look of deep, exhausted affection.

He stood up and reached out to hug her. "Where were you last night? You didn't come back to the estate. You know how worried my mother gets." His tone carried that familiar, subtle layer of guilt-tripping.

Christi expertly twisted her shoulder, dodging his embrace. She made her eyes wide, forcing her breathing to become shallow and erratic. She let her body tremble visibly.

She reached into her cheap handbag, pulled out her phone, and slammed it onto the glass coffee table. The screen displayed the high-definition photo of him kissing Fallon.

Jensen's pupils contracted to pinpricks. The color drained from his face for a fraction of a second, but his narcissistic brain instantly kicked into survival mode.

He stepped closer, grabbing Christi's shoulders tightly. "Christi, look at me. This is a misunderstanding. Fallon was drunk from the gala. She tripped, and I caught her. It's just business etiquette."

Christi laughed internally, but outwardly, she let two perfectly timed tears roll down her cheeks. "Do you think I'm stupid, Jensen?"

Jensen's grip tightened, his fingers digging painfully into her collarbone. He adjusted his silk tie with his free hand. "You're stressed. You've been acting paranoid lately. Are you sure you're taking your anxiety meds? If this gets out, it ruins the family stock. It ruins the life I provide for you."

Christi forced her shoulders to shake harder. She grabbed the hem of her coat, twisting the fabric in her fists, playing the role of the terrified, dependent woman perfectly.

Seeing her physical submission, a flash of arrogant triumph crossed Jensen's eyes. His voice softened into a sickeningly sweet purr. "I'll make it up to you, baby. What do you need?"

Christi looked up, her eyes red. She kept her voice meek, trembling. "I need security. I want an independent trust account in my name."

Jensen frowned instantly. His hand dropped from her shoulder. He never allowed her to have financial independence. That was how he controlled her. "We share everything, Christi. You don't need-"

Christi immediately reached for the phone on the table. "Maybe I should ask Gilda about this 'business etiquette'. Or the New York Times."

Jensen's jaw clenched. He was in the middle of a massive C-round merger. A scandal right now would cost him billions.

"How much?" he hissed through his teeth.

Christi looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. She held up her fingers. "Six million."

Jensen almost choked. Six million was exactly the budget he had set aside to buy Fallon a high-end piece of jewelry at tonight's auction.

"That's just a fraction of your bonus from last year," Christi whispered, her voice cracking. "Is my peace of mind not worth that much?"

Jensen stared at her. He calculated the risk. He firmly believed Christi was too stupid and too cowardly to actually leave him. Giving her the money would shut her up until the merger was done.

He pulled out his checkbook, his fingers stabbing aggressively at the paper. He wrote out a six-million-dollar cashier's check and tore it out. "Keep your mouth shut."

Christi took the check. She inspected the signature and amount carefully. Then, right in front of him, she tapped the screen of her phone and hit 'Delete' on the photo.

Jensen let out a heavy breath, adjusting his cuffs. "I have a board meeting. Do your checkup." He turned and practically ran out of the room.

The second the door clicked shut, the pathetic, trembling look vanished from Christi's face. Her features turned to ice.

She reached into her bra and pulled out the physical SD card. She had only deleted the cloud copy.

She took a photo of the check and dialed her private assistant, Mia Stone. "Mia. Route this into an offshore account and wash it into my personal ledger. Keep it off the Rivera radar."

In the upper corner of the room, the security camera silently rotated, zooming in on her face.

Miles away, in the Apex building security room, Cornelius watched the monitors. A low, dark chuckle vibrated in his chest as he watched his 'poor, helpless' fiancé extort six million dollars in under five minutes.

He pressed the intercom button. "Leo. Call the Bvlgari flagship on Fifth Avenue. Tell them a very important guest is about to arrive. Give her whatever she wants."

At two o'clock in the afternoon, Christi pushed open the heavy glass doors of the Bvlgari flagship store on Fifth Avenue. Her red-soled heels clicked sharply against the marble floor.

The store manager rushed forward immediately. Having received the covert directive from Apex Group, he bowed deeply to the woman in the plain trench coat. "Welcome, madam. How may I assist you?"

Christi walked straight to the center display case. She pointed her finger at the velvet bust holding the "Heart of Eternal Love" limited-edition ruby necklace. "I want that. Wrap it up."

Just as the manager reached for his keys, a loud, shrill laugh echoed through the store.

Fallon Ratcliff strolled in, her arm linked with Gilda Rivera.

Gilda stopped dead when she saw Christi. Her perfectly Botoxed face twisted into a sneer. She looked Christi up and down like she was staring at a rat. "What are you doing here? This isn't a thrift store."

Fallon touched her diamond earrings, feigning surprise. Her voice was dripping with fake sweetness. "Oh, Christi. You shouldn't be looking at that. Jensen promised to buy me that exact necklace as a 'welcome to the firm' gift." She emphasized the word gift, rubbing her status in Christi's face.

Gilda waved a dismissive hand at the manager. "Take it out for Fallon to try on. Put it on the Rivera family account."

The manager broke out in a cold sweat. He glanced nervously at Christi, then bowed apologetically to Gilda. "I am so sorry, Mrs. Rivera. But this lady has already claimed the piece."

Fallon's smile vanished. She let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Claimed it? With what? Is she going to pay in installments? Or did she steal one of Jensen's credit cards?"

Christi didn't blink. She didn't raise her voice. She simply pulled out the six-million-dollar cashier's check Jensen had just signed and placed it face-up on the glass counter.

Gilda and Fallon stared at the numbers. Their eyes widened in absolute shock.

Christi smiled at Fallon. Her voice was soft, but it cut like a surgical scalpel. "Jensen told me to use this money to buy whatever you had your eye on. He called it 'mental compensation' for having to deal with you."

Fallon's face turned a violent shade of red. Her chest heaved. Jensen had given her jewelry budget to this Rust Belt trash?

Gilda was shaking with rage. "You little leech! You extorted my son!"

Christi held her hands up in mock innocence. "He signed it willingly. Call him and ask."

Fallon frantically dug her phone out and dialed Jensen. It went straight to voicemail. He was in his merger meeting. The silence in the store was deafening. The other socialites browsing nearby were whispering and pointing.

Humiliated, Gilda slammed her black Centurion card onto the glass. "I will pay double. Give it to me now."

The manager wiped his forehead. "Ma'am, Bvlgari does not operate on auctions-"

Suddenly, the store's private elevator chimed open. A young woman in a Chanel haute couture suit, flanked by bodyguards, walked out. It was Cordelia Gregory, Cornelius's sister and the darling of Manhattan's elite.

Gilda's face immediately shifted to a fawning smile, but Cordelia walked right past her. She pointed a manicured finger at the ruby necklace. "I'll take that."

Gilda and Fallon smirked, ready to watch Christi be humiliated by true old money.

Just as Cordelia was about to hand over her card, her private, encrypted phone rang. She answered, her expression shifting from bored to shocked. "Brother?... Yes... I understand."

She hung up, gave Christi a long, curious look, and then turned to the manager. "I've changed my mind. I don't like it anymore." With that, she swept out of the store as quickly as she had arrived.

The store fell dead silent.

Gilda's jaw literally dropped. Fallon looked like she was going to pass out. They watched in sheer horror as the manager carefully boxed the ruby necklace and handed the luxurious bag to Christi.