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.

Chase saw she wasn't taking the box. He pushed the button on the front. The lid popped open. The massive pink diamond caught the light from the crystal chandelier and sparkled brightly.

He stepped closer. He reached out to force the necklace around Harper's neck. "Put this on, and we will forget this whole mess happened."

Harper jerked backward. Her eyes were sharp and dangerous. "Do not touch me."

Her phone chimed loudly from inside her purse. It was a special notification from Instagram.

Harper ignored Chase's frozen hands. She pulled out her phone. Her best friend Pippa had sent her a screenshot.

Harper opened the image. It was a post Lila Moreau had uploaded five minutes ago. The location tag was Mount Sinai Hospital.

In the photo, Lila's pale wrist rested on the white bedsheets. Wrapped around her wrist was a limited-edition pink diamond bracelet. It was the exact same collection as the necklace Chase was holding.

Lila's caption read: Even in the darkest times, he always knows how to heal my pain. TrueLove.

Harper looked at the screen. Then she looked at the necklace in Chase's hand. She let out a short, quiet laugh.

There was no anger in the sound. It was the sound of a woman who had finally seen the absolute bottom of a man's soul. The laugh made the hair on Chase's arms stand up.

Harper flipped her phone around and shoved the screen directly into Chase's face. The pink diamond on the screen glowed brightly.

Chase's face went completely white. His eyes darted back and forth. He started to stutter. "My assistant... he must have bought two by mistake."

Harper did not want to hear his voice anymore. She walked around him and marched up the curved staircase.

Chase stood at the bottom of the stairs. His face turned red with rage. "If you walk out of this house today, I will cancel every credit card you have!" he screamed.

Harper did not stop walking. She went into the study and locked the heavy oak door behind her.

She walked to the bookshelf, moved a row of books, and exposed the wall safe. She typed in the code. The metal door clicked open.

She pulled out her passport, her birth certificate, and the papers for the trust fund her mother had left her.

She opened the desk drawer. She found a brown envelope. She took every Young family credit card, access badge, and car key out of her wallet and threw them into the envelope.

Harper shoved her documents into her bag. She unlocked the door. Chase was standing right outside, breathing heavily. His eyes were bloodshot.

He stared at her bag. His voice dropped into a pathetic whine. "We can go to marriage counseling. Please do not do this."

Harper lifted the brown envelope and slammed it hard into Chase's chest. The paper ripped. Dozens of plastic credit cards spilled out and clattered onto the hardwood floor.

"I think you are disgusting," Harper said. Her voice was completely flat. "And your money is disgusting."

Chase snapped. He raised his hand, aiming a violent slap at her face, just like his mother had done. His hand shook in the air.

Harper did not flinch. She lifted her chin and stared directly into his eyes. She looked at him like he was a pathetic insect.

Chase's hand dropped. He punched the wall next to her head. The skin on his knuckles split open and bled.

Harper walked past him. Her high heels crushed the credit cards scattered on the floor. She walked down the stairs without looking back.

Rosa, the housekeeper, stood by the front door holding an umbrella. She looked at Harper with sad eyes.

Harper pushed the umbrella away. She walked out into the gray afternoon. She opened the door of the Uber she had called.

The car engine started. The tires crunched over the dead leaves in the driveway.

Harper sat in the back seat. She watched the massive Young estate disappear in the rearview mirror. She let out a long, deep breath. The heavy chains around her neck were finally broken.