Azura didn't flinch. She stared straight into the dark, violent storm of Hunter's eyes. Her own amber eyes burned with a fierce, unyielding fire.

She slapped his hand away from her chin with a sharp smack. "Ask you for help?" she laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "You kidnapped me! You threatened me! Why would I beg a monster to save me from a pack of wolves?"

Hunter's jaw locked. The muscles in his neck strained. He leaned forward, placing both hands on the back of the sofa, effectively caging her between his arms. He lowered his face until his nose almost brushed hers.

"Do not test my patience, Azura," he warned, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "I am not Colby. I don't play stupid games."

Azura turned her head sharply, refusing to breathe in his scent. "You're all the same," she spat. "You Mcintoshes think your money gives you the right to treat people like garbage."

Hunter's eyes dragged down her face. He saw the angry red handprint blooming on her pale cheek, and the small cut on her lower lip where Beatrice's ring had caught her.

The violent rage radiating from him suddenly fractured. He stopped breathing for a second.

He slowly stood up. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a pristine white silk handkerchief. Without a word, he reached out and pressed the silk against the corner of her mouth.

Azura gasped, the sudden pressure sending a sharp sting through her lip. She tried to jerk her head back, but Hunter's large hand clamped down on her shoulder, holding her firmly in place. He wiped the blood away with rough, clumsy strokes.

When the blood was gone, he turned his back on her. He walked over to the crystal minibar, poured three fingers of neat whiskey into a glass, and downed it in one fluid motion. He gripped the edge of the bar, his knuckles white, trying to suppress the chaotic, irrational panic that flared in his chest whenever he saw her hurt.

"Why were you with Colby?" Hunter asked, his back still turned, his voice returning to its freezing baseline. "Are you trying to sleep your way into the family?"

Azura clutched the suit jacket tighter. "I was hired for a hundred dollars an hour by a PR firm to be a plus-one. I needed the money. I didn't know it was him until I walked into the room."

Hunter slowly turned around. His dark eyes scanned her face, searching for a lie. He found nothing but exhausted, bitter truth.

A sharp knock on the door broke the tension.

Arthur walked in, carrying a white first-aid box and a large paper bag bearing the logo of a high-end designer boutique. He placed them carefully on the glass coffee table.

"The press has been gagged, Boss," Arthur reported smoothly. "Dax Adler's accounts are frozen. The liquidation begins at 8:00 AM."

Hunter gave a curt nod. "Get out."

Arthur bowed slightly and left, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.

Hunter opened the first-aid box. He pulled out a small tube of medical-grade bruising ointment and tossed it onto the glass table. It landed with a sharp clatter right in front of Azura.

"Put that on your face," Hunter ordered. He pointed to the designer bag. "There's a dress in there. Put it on."

Azura stared at the tube of ointment. Her chest ached with confusion. She couldn't understand this man. One second he looked ready to strangle her, and the next he was destroying a billionaire to protect her and buying her clothes.

She ignored the ointment. She reached out, grabbed the paper bag, and stood up, her legs shaking slightly. She walked toward the massive marble bathroom, desperate to escape his suffocating presence.

"When you're dressed," Hunter's voice cut through the air, cold and detached, "leave. I don't want to see your face again tonight."

Azura stopped in the doorway. She didn't turn around. "Gladly," she whispered, and slammed the bathroom door shut, locking it.

Hunter stared at the closed door. He rubbed his temples violently. He was losing his mind. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey, took a long pull directly from the neck, and walked out of the suite, slamming the main door behind him.

Ten minutes later, Azura stepped out of the bathroom. She was wearing a simple, conservative black dress from the bag.

The suite was completely empty.

On the coffee table sat the tube of ointment, and next to it, neatly folded, was Hunter's bespoke suit jacket. The sleeve was stained with Dax's blood.

Azura walked over. Her fingertips lightly brushed the lapel of the jacket. The lingering scent of cedar and tobacco rose from the fabric, making her heart skip a strange, terrifying beat. She snatched her hand back, disgusted with her own reaction.

She grabbed the ointment, shoved it into her clutch, and walked out of the suite. She bypassed the main elevators, finding the heavy metal door marked 'Staff Exit'. She pushed it open and began the long walk down the concrete stairs, praying this nightmare was finally over.

Azura's heels clicked sharply against the cold concrete of the emergency stairwell. She descended floor after floor, her breathing finally starting to slow down. The heavy, suffocating weight of Hunter Mcintosh's presence was fading with every step she took away from the penthouse.

She pushed open the heavy red fire door at the bottom. A blast of freezing air and the harsh smell of exhaust fumes hit her face. She was in the museum's underground parking garage.

She took one step toward the exit ramp.

Suddenly, a pair of blinding LED high beams flicked on, illuminating the dark concrete directly in front of her. Azura threw her hand up to shield her eyes.

The black, armor-plated Maybach sat idling silently, completely blocking the exit.

Arthur stepped out from the shadows near the front bumper. His suit was immaculate, his face a mask of polite, terrifying efficiency. He opened the rear door of the Maybach and gestured toward the dark interior.

"Please get in, Miss Briggs," Arthur said smoothly.

Azura took a step back, her hand diving into her clutch to grip her small canister of pepper spray. "The party is over. I'm taking the subway home. Get out of my way."

Arthur didn't move. "Mr. Mcintosh instructed me to inform you that if you do not get in the car, an anonymous tip containing photos of you entering a hotel room with Colby Mcintosh will be sent to the Dean of Columbia University tomorrow morning. The accusation will be high-end prostitution."

Azura's blood ran ice-cold. Her stomach violently cramped. She stared at Arthur in pure horror. They had created the perfect trap. She couldn't prove she wasn't an escort tonight.

Her hand slowly released the pepper spray. The fight drained out of her body, replaced by a crushing, nauseating defeat. She walked forward on trembling legs and slid into the back seat of the Maybach.

The door slammed shut, sealing her inside.

The cabin was dark. Hunter sat in the corner, leaning back against the leather, an unlit cigar pinched between his fingers. He didn't look at her.

Azura pressed herself against the opposite door, trying to put as much physical distance between them as possible.

The Maybach pulled out of the garage and merged into the midnight traffic of Manhattan.

Hunter slowly turned his head. His dark eyes locked onto her terrified posture. "You look like a cornered rat," he mocked softly.

Azura's fear instantly boiled over into rage. "If you didn't act like a rabid dog, I wouldn't have to run! Why are you doing this? You saved me upstairs just to blackmail me down here?"

Hunter's eyes darkened. He leaned forward, his massive frame instantly swallowing the space between them. He reached out, his thumb pressing roughly against the corner of her mouth where she hadn't applied the ointment.

Azura winced, a sharp breath escaping her lips.

"Watch your tone," Hunter whispered, his face inches from hers. "I pulled you out of a pack of wolves upstairs. You owe me your life."

"I owe you nothing!" Azura spat, slapping his hand away. "If your disgusting nephew hadn't abandoned me, I wouldn't have been attacked! You're both exactly the same!"

Hunter's jaw clenched. The comparison to Colby hit a raw nerve. He sneered, pulling back and pressing a button on the armrest.

The thick, soundproof privacy partition rolled up, completely sealing the back seat off from Arthur and the driver. The click of the lock sounded like a prison door slamming shut.

Azura's heart hammered against her ribs. She gripped the door handle, her knuckles turning bone-white.

Hunter reached into the minibar compartment and pulled out a thick stack of stapled papers. He tossed them onto Azura's lap.

"Sign it," he commanded.

Azura looked down. The reading light illuminated the bold letters at the top: NON-DISCLOSURE AND EMPLOYMENT AGREEMENT.

She scanned the first page. It was a draconian contract. It legally bound her to absolute silence about everything that happened tonight, and it forced her to be Hunter's "Personal Assistant" for the next twelve months, available 24/7.

"Are you insane?" Azura yelled, throwing the papers back at his chest. "This is a slavery contract! I will never sign this!"

The papers scattered across the floorboards. Hunter didn't blink. He looked at her with dead, calculating eyes.

"If you sign it," Hunter said, his voice terrifyingly calm, "I will make the medical debt your adoptive mother owes the hospital in Pennsylvania disappear. I know she's drowning in bills. Sign this, and her care is covered. Forever."

Azura stopped breathing. The air was sucked out of her lungs. She stared at him, her amber eyes wide with shock. He knew everything. He had dug into the deepest, most painful parts of her life and found the exact lever to break her.

Tears of pure, helpless frustration welled in her eyes. She bit her lower lip so hard she tasted fresh blood, refusing to let the tears fall.

The Maybach descended into a brightly lit, pristine underground garage. They had arrived at Billionaires' Row, beneath Hunter's private penthouse tower.

Hunter sat back, watching her internal collapse with cold satisfaction. He was waiting for her to break.