In the two hours since the phone call, the lingering panic in Audra’s chest had hardened into a cold, heavy knot. Her throat was completely parched, but she refused to press the call button again. She had to learn how to survive in this darkness.

Throwing the thin hospital blanket off her legs, she let her bare feet touch the freezing linoleum floor. She slid her toes around, blindly searching for the grip socks the clinic provided.

Once she pulled them on, she didn't stand up right away. She sat on the edge of the mattress, her hands gripping the sheets, as her mind dragged her back to the lawyer's office three months ago. The air conditioning in the Manhattan financial district high-rise had been freezing.

Jakobe Hartman had sat across from her, a man without a single wrinkle on his custom-tailored dark charcoal suit, nor a single ounce of warmth in his dark eyes. He had slid the massive prenuptial agreement across the polished mahogany table. It was a business acquisition. He was buying her public image, her social compliance, and her family's name.

There was one specific addendum that burned in her memory: Both parties are strictly prohibited from engaging in non-essential emotional attachments during the term of this marriage.

Audra's lips twisted into a bitter, mocking smile. Her mother actually expected her to seduce a man who calculated risk for a living, a man who viewed human emotion as a liability. Shaking her head, she forced Jakobe's sharp jawline and cold stare out of her brain.

When Audra finally stood, she held both arms straight out in front of her, like a toddler learning how to walk. She shuffled her feet forward, aiming for where she thought the bathroom was.

Suddenly, her kneecap slammed directly into the sharp metal corner of the bedside table.

"Ah!"

A blinding flash of pain shot up her thigh, and she doubled over instantly. Clamping her mouth shut, refusing to make another sound, she rubbed her bruised knee violently as cold sweat broke out across her forehead.

Through the thin wall of her room, the muffled sound of a television news broadcast drifted in from the neighboring suite. The anchor's overly enthusiastic voice mentioned the Mcgowan family.

"...Gayle Mcgowan stunned the crowd at the charity gala last night. Truly the shining star of the family..."

Audra's heart squeezed painfully. It was a classic PR stunt. Gayle always used these events to step on Audra's neck and prove her worth to the board.

Audra realized she couldn't just hide in this room and feel sorry for herself. She had to get her control back. Reaching her hand out again, she finally felt the cool wooden frame of the bathroom door. She guided herself to the sink, turned the cold water handle, and splashed the freezing water directly onto her lower face. Water dripped down her chin and soaked the collar of her hospital gown. She grabbed a towel and scrubbed her skin dry.

The air in the room felt too thick. She needed to get out. She needed to test how well she could move.

Walking back to the closet area, she felt around until her fingers brushed against the folded white cane the nurse had left for her. The metal felt foreign and heavy in her palm.

Audra took a deep breath and snapped the cane open. She tapped the plastic tip against the floor. Tap. Tap.

She opened the door to her room and stepped out. The smell of industrial bleach and rubbing alcohol in the hallway was overwhelming. Pressing her shoulder lightly against the wall, she swept the cane back and forth against the baseboards, taking agonizingly slow steps.

A medical assistant walked past her. "Do you need a hand, miss?"

"No, thank you. I am perfectly fine," Audra replied, her tone polite but entirely closed off. She hated being treated like a broken thing, especially here, in a place that reeked of elite Manhattan privilege.

Up ahead, the sharp ding of the elevator doors opening echoed down the hall. Audra didn't pay it any mind. She kept her head down, focusing entirely on the feedback from the cane as she tried to navigate around a large potted plant.

She had absolutely no idea that the man stepping out of the elevator was the exact cold-blooded husband she had just been thinking about.

Jakobe Hartman stepped out of the elevator, his bespoke navy suit draping perfectly over his broad shoulders. His leather oxfords made absolutely zero sound against the thick hallway carpet. His executive assistant, A.C. Rowe, walked half a step behind him, speaking in a low, rapid voice.

"The acquisition of this clinic's parent company is in the final stages, sir," A.C. reported.

Jakobe's dark eyes swept over the lighting fixtures and the width of the corridors, his brain processing the physical assets and calculating the profit margins with ruthless efficiency. Then, a faint, erratic swishing sound broke his concentration.

He stopped walking, his jaw tightening slightly. He looked past A.C.'s shoulder, down the long stretch of the corridor. A slender figure in a baggy, shapeless hospital gown was moving toward them, holding a white cane and sweeping it clumsily across the carpet.

From this distance, with half her face covered in thick medical gauze, Jakobe didn't recognize her. He only felt a brief flash of annoyance. A stumbling patient in the VIP wing was a liability.

Audra swept her cane to the right. The plastic tip suddenly wedged itself deep into the metal seam where the carpet met the tile. When she yanked the cane upward, the sudden release of tension threw her completely off balance.

Her body pitched forward, feet tangling in a clumsy stumble as she fell toward the center of the hallway. She threw her hands out blindly, desperate to grab onto a wall, a rail, anything.

A.C. Rowe stepped forward quickly, intending to block the falling patient from crashing into his boss.

But Jakobe moved faster.

Before his logical brain could process the risk, instinct took over, and he stepped directly into her path.

Audra’s hands slammed hard into a solid, muscular chest, her fingers gripping the expensive cashmere lapels of a suit jacket. Because of her momentum, her forehead crashed right into his sternum.

Instantly, a sharp, incredibly distinct scent flooded Audra's senses. Vetiver. Cedar. And something cold and metallic.

The exact same cologne from the lawyer's office.

Audra's heart stopped dead in her chest. The blood in her veins turned to ice. Fate couldn't be this cruel.

Jakobe looked down at the woman currently pressed against his chest. His breath hitched. Even with the bandages covering her eyes, he recognized the sharp curve of her jawline, the pale, stubborn press of her lips. His brain's database matched the physical data instantly.

A.C. Rowe sucked in a sharp breath, the tablet in his hands nearly slipping from his grip.

"Mrs. Hartman?" A.C. choked out, his voice a harsh whisper.

The title hit Audra like a physical blow to the stomach. Panic exploded inside her. She let go of his suit jacket as if it were on fire and scrambled backward, but her left foot caught behind her right ankle.

She started to fall backward.

Jakobe's arm shot out like a steel band. He wrapped his large hand firmly around her narrow waist and yanked her hard against his body. The physical distance between them vanished completely.

He could feel the violent, terrified trembling of her ribcage against his chest. He stared down at her, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register. "Why are you here?"

Audra bit her lower lip hard. Her mind raced, desperately trying to construct a lie that would hide how pathetic she was right now. She didn't answer him. Instead, she placed both of her hands flat against his chest and pushed with all her strength, trying to shove the human brick wall away.

Jakobe felt the frantic pressure of her small palms against his heart. For the first time in his life, his flawless, risk-averse internal algorithm glitched, returning nothing but errors.

The air in the hallway turned to lead. The smell of sterile alcohol clashed violently with the heavy scent of Jakobe's vetiver cologne.

Audra kept her hands pressed against his chest, feeling the hard, rigid muscle beneath his dress shirt. She sucked in a sharp breath, forcing her lungs to work, and made her voice sound as distant and polite as possible.

"I apologize for bumping into you, Mr. Hartman."

Jakobe's eyes narrowed into dark slits. "Mr. Hartman?" He repeated the title slowly. They had been married for three months. They barely saw each other, but hearing that sterile, corporate title come out of her mouth made a hot spike of irritation flare in his chest.

Twisting her torso, Audra tried to break his iron grip on her waist. "I can walk on my own. I don't need your assistance." She reached her hand out into the empty air, her fingers grasping blindly for the cane she had dropped.

Jakobe stared at her, watching her pale fingers grasp at nothing. The irritation in his chest rapidly morphed into a dark, unexplainable anger. He didn't let her go. He didn't bend down to pick up her cane.

Instead, right in front of his shocked assistant, Jakobe bent his knees slightly. He swept his left arm under the back of her knees and kept his right arm firmly wrapped around her back.

Audra let out a short, breathless gasp as her feet left the floor. He lifted her effortlessly into his arms, holding her in a tight princess carry.

The sudden loss of gravity terrified her. Because she couldn't see, the sensation of floating made her stomach lurch. Her hands flew up and clamped down hard on his broad shoulders, her fingernails digging into his expensive suit.

"Put me down!" Audra hissed, keeping her voice low. "Are you out of your mind?"

Jakobe's jaw locked, the muscle in his cheek ticking. "Shut up, unless you want every doctor in this wing staring at you."

Audra clamped her mouth shut. She knew he was right. Any public scene would be front-page news by morning. She went completely rigid in his arms, feeling the steady, powerful rhythm of his strides as he carried her down the hall.

Two nurses walked past. Audra heard them gasp, but A.C. Rowe immediately shot them a lethal glare, silencing them.

Remembering the room she had stumbled out of, Jakobe walked straight toward it. A.C. Rowe rushed ahead and pushed the heavy wooden door open.

Jakobe carried her inside, his dark eyes scanning the standard private room. He noted the cheap furniture and the small window, his upper lip curling in disgust. He walked to the bed and lowered her down.

The moment Audra's back hit the mattress, she scrambled backward like a cornered animal, pulling the thin blanket up to her chest to create a physical barrier.

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Hartman," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "You can go back to your acquisition now." She used the title again. A clear dismissal.

Jakobe stood over her. The sight of her cowering away from him felt like a physical insult. He didn't leave. He slowly unbuttoned the center button of his suit jacket and grabbed the metal chair next to the bed, dragging it across the linoleum floor. The harsh scraping sound made Audra flinch.

Jakobe sat down. "A.C.," he said, not taking his eyes off Audra. "Go get the director of this clinic. Now."

Audra's heart hammered against her ribs. "What are you doing? This violates our agreement! You have no right to interfere."

Jakobe leaned forward, his large frame casting a heavy shadow over her. "The agreement states I have the right to protect the Hartman family's public image," he said, his voice dripping with cold authority. "My wife wandering the halls blind like a vagrant damages my assets."

He used the coldest business logic he could find to justify the violent, unfamiliar need to protect her that was currently tearing his chest apart.

Audra opened her mouth to fight back, but no words came out.