Dust and wood splinters settled in the air.

Brennan stood in the ruined doorway. His eyes locked onto Rudy, who was kneeling over Hazel's limp body.

The murderous rage radiating from Brennan was a physical weight in the room.

Rudy scrambled backward like a crab, his face pale with terror. "Who the hell are you?!" he stammered, holding his bleeding thumb.

Brennan didn't speak. He crossed the room in two massive strides.

He grabbed Rudy by the collar of his shirt and hauled the three-hundred-pound man off the floor with one hand, as easily as lifting a ragdoll.

Brennan pulled his right arm back and drove his fist directly into the center of Rudy's face.

The sickening crunch of bone shattering echoed off the walls.

Rudy let out a gargled scream. Blood exploded from his ruined nose. Brennan opened his hand in disgust, letting the heavy man drop to the floor like a sack of wet cement.

Brennan turned his back on the groaning man and dropped to one knee beside Hazel.

When he saw the red, swollen handprint on her cheek and the blood at the corner of her mouth, the air around him turned to absolute zero.

Hazel was shivering violently. The drugs clouded her eyes. She shrank away from him, her hands weakly trying to push him away. "Don't touch me," she whimpered.

The sound felt like a knife twisting in Brennan's chest.

He leaned in close, keeping his hands visible. "It's me. It's Brennan," he said, his voice dropping to a low, rough whisper.

At the sound of his name, the frantic tension in Hazel's shoulders broke. Her heavy eyelids fluttered open, and she focused on his sharp jawline.

Brennan stripped off his suit jacket. It was still warm from his body heat. He wrapped it tightly around Hazel's shivering frame, covering her completely.

He slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her effortlessly against his chest.

As he walked toward the door, he paused.

He brought the heel of his leather dress shoe down hard on Rudy's twitching hand.

Rudy shrieked again, curling into a fetal position.

Brennan carried Hazel down the grand staircase.

In the foyer, Mildred, Benton, and Cody were forced onto the sofas, surrounded by Brennan's heavily armed security team.

Mildred saw Hazel in Brennan's arms. She tried to stand up, her face a mask of fake outrage. "You are kidnapping my daughter! I am calling the police!"

Brennan stopped on the bottom step. He looked down at the old woman.

"I am her husband," Brennan stated. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a terrifying, absolute authority. "I am taking my wife home."

Mildred's jaw dropped. Cody's eyes bulged. The realization that the "poor IT boy" was the monster standing before them hit them like a physical blow.

Benton opened his mouth to argue. Brennan didn't even look at him; he just gave a microscopic nod. A guard kicked Benton hard in the back of the knee, sending him crashing back onto the cushions.

Brennan locked eyes with Mildred.

"If the drugs in her system cause any permanent damage," Brennan said, his voice deadly quiet, "I will erase the Cook family from the face of the earth."

The raw, unfiltered death threat drained the last drop of blood from Mildred's face. She slumped back, trembling uncontrollably.

Brennan walked out the front doors.

His assistant had the back door of the Maybach open. Brennan carefully placed Hazel onto the soft leather seat, then slid in beside her.

"Nearest private hospital. Now," Brennan barked at the driver.

The Maybach tore down the driveway, leaving the ruined gates behind.

Inside the car, Brennan pressed a button. The thick, soundproof privacy partition rolled up, sealing the back seat off completely.

The drugs in Hazel's system flared up again. Her body temperature spiked. She felt like she was burning from the inside out.

She twisted on the leather seat, instinctively seeking the only source of cold in the car-Brennan.

She curled into his side, pressing her flushed face against his crisp, cool dress shirt. Her hot breath bled through the fabric, searing his skin.

Her soft lips accidentally brushed against the hard line of his jaw.

A violent jolt of electricity shot straight to Brennan's groin. Every muscle in his body locked down tight.

He gritted his teeth, a muscle ticking wildly in his cheek. He grabbed her shoulders, his large hands holding her firmly in place to stop her from moving.

"Dammit," he cursed under his breath.

A fine layer of sweat broke out on his forehead. The physical restraint it took not to pull her closer was agonizing. He held her tight, staring out the dark window, his heart hammering a rhythm he hadn't felt in years.

The sharp, sterile smell of bleach pulled Hazel out of the darkness.

She slowly opened her eyes. The morning sun sliced through the blinds of a massive, luxurious hospital room.

She pushed herself up on her elbows. The terrifying memories of the guest room and Rudy's weight crashed into her brain. She gasped, looking down at herself.

She was wearing a clean, soft hospital gown.

The door clicked open. Brennan walked in carrying a paper bag. Dark purple circles bruised the skin under his eyes. He hadn't slept a single minute.

The moment Hazel saw him, the tight knot of panic in her chest dissolved.

"You saved me," she whispered, her voice hoarse. Her eyes filled with hot tears.

Brennan set the bag on the bedside table. "The nurses changed you," he said, his voice flat, avoiding her emotional gaze. "The IV flushed the drugs out of your system. You're clear."

Hazel looked around the room. There was a velvet sofa, a massive flat-screen TV, and fresh flowers. This wasn't a normal hospital room.

"Brennan," Hazel said, her brow furrowing. "How much is this costing? And last night... I remember a really expensive car. And men in suits."

Brennan poured a glass of water from a plastic pitcher. His hand didn't tremble, but he paused for a fraction of a second.

He turned around and handed her the water.

"I panicked," Brennan lied smoothly, his face a perfect mask of calm. He kept his posture relaxed, though his mind was running a dozen calculations a second to ensure the cover story held water. "My best friend from college comes from a family that runs a private security firm. I told him what happened, and he brought his team without a second thought. The car is his too. The hospital room is booked under his family's private network, but I put the deductible on my credit card. I owe him a massive favor for this, but it was the only way to get you out."

Hazel stared at him. The lie was seamless.

Instead of suspicion, a massive wave of guilt crashed over her. She looked at his exhausted face and realized he had gone into debt and risked his job for her.

"I'll pay you back," Hazel said fiercely, gripping the plastic cup. "Every cent. I'm applying for jobs today. You won't carry this debt alone."

Brennan stared at her. He had expected her to dig for the truth, to demand to know his net worth. Instead, she was trying to protect his imaginary bank account.

The words he had prepared died in his throat.

He looked away, clearing his throat. "Don't worry about it. Let's get you discharged."

Thirty minutes later, they walked out of the hospital lobby.

The black Maybach was gone. In its place sat a completely ordinary, slightly dented blue Ford sedan.

"I gave the car back," Brennan said, opening the passenger door for her. "Rented this one."

Hazel nodded, completely convinced.

Brennan drove them into the city, pulling into a quiet, tree-lined street in a high-end neighborhood. He parked the Ford in the driveway of a stunning, modern townhouse.

Hazel stepped out of the car, looking up at the expensive brick facade and the manicured garden.

"Brennan," she said, her voice tight. "This isn't the cheap apartment you told me about."

Brennan pulled the brass keys from his pocket and walked up the steps.

"The pipes burst in the apartment," he lied, sliding the key into the lock. "A rich friend of mine from college moved to Europe. He's subletting this to me for dirt cheap."

Hazel walked inside. The living room was massive, filled with minimalist, clearly expensive furniture.

She turned to Brennan, crossing her arms. Her face was dead serious.

"We need to talk about our budget," Hazel said, slipping into full survival mode. "Even if the rent is cheap, the utilities here will be insane. We can't live beyond our means just to look good."

She pulled a small notebook from her bag and started calculating the square footage and estimated heating costs.

Brennan leaned against the back of the sofa. He was the CEO of a multi-billion dollar empire, and this girl in a cheap trench coat was lecturing him about the electric bill in his own house.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward.

"The lease is signed," Brennan said, playing along. "I'll pick up extra shifts."

Hazel sighed, rubbing her temples. "Fine. But I'm doing all the cleaning. We are not hiring a maid."

She rolled up her sleeves and marched toward the kitchen to inspect the appliances.

Brennan watched her go. A strange, unfamiliar warmth bloomed in his chest.

He pulled out his phone and texted his assistant: Remove all the Rolexes from the master bedroom safe. Hide the vintage wine collection. Now.

He put the phone away and walked into the kitchen.

Hazel was staring at a massive, complicated Italian espresso machine, looking completely lost.

Brennan stepped up right behind her. He reached around her waist to press the power button.

His chest brushed against her back.

Hazel gasped, pulling her hand away as if the machine had shocked her. Heat flooded her cheeks.

Brennan looked down at her flushed face, the smell of her vanilla shampoo filling his lungs. The air in the kitchen suddenly felt very thick.