Chase looked down at the business card resting against his shirt. He let out a loud, mocking laugh. He reached up and yanked his tie even looser.

"Ryan Investments is nothing without the funding of the Young family," Chase said, looking down his nose at her. "You step out that door, and I will pull every cent of our capital. You will have zero."

Harper did not argue. She reached out and grabbed the handle of her suitcase. The metal clicked loudly in the quiet bedroom.

Chase saw she was not stopping. He stepped sideways, blocking the bedroom door. His eyes turned dark. "If you walk out right now, do not ever think about coming back."

Harper lifted her chin. Her eyes were completely dead. "Move. Or I will call the police and press charges for false imprisonment."

The coldness in her voice made Chase freeze. His body reacted before his brain did. He stepped back. He watched Harper walk past him without a single hesitation.

The heavy front door of the penthouse slammed shut. The loud noise made Chase's heart physically jump in his chest. A sudden, cold panic gripped his stomach.

Harper walked from the penthouse lobby to the underground parking garage. She opened the trunk of the Porsche she had bought with her own money before the engagement and threw the suitcase inside.

She got into the driver's seat, but she did not start the engine immediately. She sat in the darkness of the parking garage, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. The adrenaline that had carried her through the confrontation drained out of her body. Her shoulders began to shake. She pressed her forehead against the cool leather of the steering wheel and closed her eyes.

She did not cry. She had no tears left. But the weight of the last twelve hours pressed down on her chest like a concrete slab. She sat there, breathing slowly, as the minutes ticked past. The digital clock on the dashboard glowed 2:47 AM. She watched the numbers change. 2:48. 2:49. The exhaustion was so profound that her mind simply shut down. She fell into a shallow, dreamless sleep, still sitting upright in the driver's seat.

When Harper opened her eyes again, pale gray morning light was filtering through the grimy windows of the parking garage. The dashboard clock read 7:15 AM. Her neck ached from the awkward sleeping position. Her stomach was a tight, empty knot of hunger and nausea. But her mind was painfully clear. She had left the Young family. She was free. And she had a company to save.

She started the engine, put her Bluetooth earpiece in, and merged into the heavy morning traffic. She spoke rapidly, giving her assistant Chloe a list of demands.

Harper drove downtown and walked into the lobby of Ryan Investments on Wall Street. Her high heels clicked sharply against the marble floor.

The receptionist and the analysts walking by stopped and stared. They looked at her black suit and the bruise on her forehead. She was supposed to be on her honeymoon.

Harper ignored them. She walked straight to her glass-walled office, pushed the door open, and slammed her bag onto the desk.

Chloe ran into the office holding a massive stack of folders. Her hands were shaking so badly she almost knocked over Harper's coffee mug.

"Harper, the CGI Studio acquisition," Chloe stuttered, her face pale. "Everything went wrong yesterday while you were gone."

Harper frowned. She snatched the financial reports from Chloe's hands. Her eyes scanned the numbers rapidly. She saw the massive gap in the funding chain.

Marcus Bell, the lead project manager, walked into the office. He looked sick. "The target studio was bought out yesterday. We lost it."

Harper slammed her hands flat on the desk and stood up. "Who has the capital to eat a deal that size overnight?"

Marcus wiped the sweat off his forehead. He spoke the name that made everyone on Wall Street nervous. "Antoni Donovan."

Harper dropped back into her leather chair. The glare from her computer monitor highlighted the tight clench of her jaw. Antoni Donovan. Her biggest rival.

She pulled up the latest acquisition records for Donovan Group. The screen filled with red profit margins. The numbers burned her eyes.

"Antoni bought the whole thing," Chloe whispered. "He is taking all the core engineers."

Harper took a deep breath. Her stomach cramped with the stress, but she forced her brain to focus. She scrolled through the contract clauses.

She stopped. She found a gray area in the intellectual property management section. A spark of adrenaline hit her blood.

"Draft a joint-management proposal right now," Harper ordered Chloe. "We are going to use this as leverage."

Marcus shook his head. "That is suicide. Antoni is ruthless. He will never give up a single share."

Harper let out a cold laugh. "There are no permanent enemies on Wall Street. Only permanent interests. I need to see him."

She picked up her desk phone. She dialed the direct line to the Donovan Group executive office. The phone rang five times.

A man answered. His voice was smooth and completely professional. "Alex Reed, executive assistant to Mr. Donovan."

"This is Harper Ryan. I need ten minutes with Antoni today," Harper said, pushing authority into her voice.

Alex Reed let out a soft chuckle. "Mr. Donovan has no interest in speaking with the losing side, Ms. Ryan."

The line went dead.

Harper sat in her office, staring at the phone in her hand.

Harper pressed her hands flat against the freezing concrete steps. She tried to push herself up. The torn skin on her knees burned like fire. She sucked in a sharp breath.

She crawled forward and started picking up the scattered pages of her proposal. The sharp edge of a paper sliced across her index finger. A drop of blood fell onto the white sheet.

Her phone vibrated violently inside her bag. The ringtone sounded unnaturally loud.

She leaned against a metal streetlight pole and answered it. Chloe's voice came through the speaker, thick with tears. "Boss, you need to look at Twitter right now."

Harper opened the app. A high-definition video of Chase filled the screen.

Chase stood in front of a microphone. He looked deeply sad. He told the reporters that Harper's aggressive behavior had caused Lila to lose the baby.

Blood rushed to Harper's head. The pressure behind her eyes was blinding. The Young family was using her as a human shield to protect their stock prices.

A white van slammed on its brakes right in front of her. The side door slid open with a loud crash. Six paparazzi jumped out, holding massive cameras.

The flashbulbs exploded in Harper's face like machine-gun fire. The reporters shoved their microphones inches from her mouth.

"Ms. Ryan, how does it feel to kill your husband's baby?" a man screamed at her.

Harper stepped backward. The reporters pushed forward. Her back slammed hard against the brick wall of the building. She had nowhere to go.

Thunder cracked loudly above them. The sky opened up. Freezing, heavy rain poured down, soaking everyone in seconds.

A reporter shoved his camera forward. The heavy plastic lens smashed directly into the bruise on Harper's forehead. The skin split open. Warm blood mixed with the cold rain and ran down into her eye.

She held her bag up to shield her face. She tried to push through the wall of bodies. A large hand grabbed the collar of her suit jacket and yanked her backward.

Harper's wet shoes slipped on the pavement. She lost her balance and fell toward the dirty, flooded street. Panic closed her throat.

She did not hit the ground. A strong hand, wrapped in expensive leather, clamped around her upper arm like a vice.

Harper gasped and looked up. A massive black umbrella blocked the rain and the flashes.

Two huge bodyguards with blank faces shoved the paparazzi backward, physically tearing a path through the crowd.

The black Maybach was parked silently at the curb. The rear door was wide open, looking like a dark cave.

The bodyguard holding Harper did not speak. He pulled her forward and shoved her roughly into the back seat of the car.

The heavy door slammed shut. The noise of the rain, the screaming reporters, and the flashes instantly vanished.

Harper fell against the soft leather seat. The air inside the car smelled faintly of cedarwood and expensive cologne.

She gasped for air, her chest heaving. She turned her head. Antoni Donovan sat next to her. His legs were crossed. He held a crystal glass of whiskey in one hand.

Antoni did not look at her. He lifted his chin and spoke to the driver. "Drive."

The Maybach pulled smoothly away from the curb. The absolute silence and safety of the car caused the tight string holding Harper's sanity together to snap.

The exhaustion, the severe stomach pain, and the high fever from the freezing rain hit her all at once. Her vision blurred into gray static.

She opened her mouth to say thank you. Her throat was so swollen only a broken rasp came out. Her body went completely limp, and she fell sideways.

Antoni slammed his glass down. He reached out with both arms and caught her burning body before she hit the floor.

Right before Harper lost consciousness, she felt a cool, dry hand press gently against her bleeding forehead. The touch was shockingly tender.

Antoni looked down at the woman passed out in his arms. He brushed the wet hair from her bleeding forehead with a shockingly gentle touch. For a moment, the icy control in his expression cracked, replaced by a raw, possessive darkness before he masked it again.

Harper gasped and opened her eyes. The nightmare of the flashing cameras faded. She was lying in a massive, incredibly soft king-size bed.

She looked around. The room was decorated in cold shades of black, white, and gray. It was a luxury guest bedroom she did not recognize.

She tried to sit up. A piece of medical tape pulled at the skin on her arm. She looked down and saw an empty IV bag hanging from a metal stand next to the bed.

She touched her chest. Her wet suit was gone. She was wearing a clean, oversized men's silk shirt.

The bedroom door opened quietly. A middle-aged butler in a crisp uniform walked in carrying a silver tray. He smiled when he saw her awake.

"You are in Mr. Donovan's private penthouse," the butler said softly. "You have been asleep for two days with a severe fever."

Harper's stomach dropped. The name Donovan triggered an immediate alarm in her brain. Her muscles tensed.

"The maids changed your clothes," the butler added quickly. "The doctor said your fever is broken." He placed a glass of water and two pills on the nightstand and walked out.

Harper grabbed her phone from the table. The screen lit up. She had ninety-nine missed calls and texts from Chase.

She opened the messages. The first few were angry: Where the hell are you? The recent ones were desperate: Pick up the phone, Harper. Please.

Harper stared at the words. A cold, mocking smile touched her lips. She switched the phone to silent and tossed it onto the blankets.

She pushed the covers off and stood up. Her bare feet sank into the thick wool rug. She walked toward the half-open bedroom door.

Harper walked out of the bedroom and into the massive living room. The floor-to-ceiling windows showed the skyline of Manhattan.

Antoni stood with his back to her at the kitchen island. He was holding a cup of black coffee and reading a tablet.

Harper cleared her throat. The sound broke the heavy silence. Antoni turned around. His eyes were completely blank and cold again.

"Thank you for the help," Harper said. Her voice was stiff and guarded. "Do I owe you anything for the medical bills?"

Antoni set his coffee cup down. He looked at her like she was a piece of trash on his shoe. "I just didn't want your dead body dirtying the front steps of my building."

The words felt like a slap. Harper locked her knees and stood up straighter. "I will leave immediately."

Antoni pressed a button on the intercom. "Alex, get a car ready. Take Ms. Ryan downstairs."

Harper went back to the bedroom. She changed into her own clothes, which had been washed and ironed. She walked into the elevator without looking back. As the metal doors slid shut, Antoni stared at the space where she had been standing, his jaw clenched tight.

The Donovan driver dropped Harper off at the front entrance of her Tribeca loft building. She stepped out of the car, thanking the driver quietly. But as she stood on the sidewalk, she realized she couldn't just hide. She needed her passport and trust fund documents from the safe. She hailed a passing yellow cab and gave the driver the address to Long Island. An hour later, the cab dropped her at the front gates of the Young estate. The air here felt fake and suffocating. She punched the code into the iron gates and walked up the gravel path.

She walked into the grand foyer. Chase was pacing back and forth across the marble floor like a trapped animal.

He heard her heels click. He spun around. Relief flashed in his eyes. He ran toward her.

He reached out to grab her shoulders. Harper stepped sharply to the side. His hands grabbed empty air.

Chase swallowed his anger. He put on a fake, gentle face. "I have been going crazy. My mother released that statement to the press, not me."

Harper stared at him. She did not say a word. She walked past him toward the stairs.

Chase jumped in front of her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet jewelry box. He opened it and shoved it toward her face.

"I know you are hurt," Chase said, his voice dripping with arrogance. "I had someone bid on this limited-edition pink diamond in Paris. It is an apology."

Harper looked at the red box. Her eyes did not show surprise. They only showed deep, exhausting disgust.