Everly sat on the hard plastic bench outside the emergency room at New York-Presbyterian Hospital. Her hands were covered in dried, sticky blood.

The fluorescent lights in the hallway buzzed with a harsh, blinding white glare. She stared straight ahead, her eyes locked onto the red "SURGERY IN PROGRESS" sign above the heavy double doors.

Every second felt like a physical weight pressing down on her chest. She pulled her phone from her pocket. Her fingers were stiff and cold. She dialed Carson's number.

The call went straight to a cold, automated voicemail.

Everly slammed the phone down onto the plastic bench. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and let out a low, suffocating sob that burned her throat.

Suddenly, the red light above the doors clicked off. The heavy airtight doors slid open with a mechanical hiss.

Dr. Elias Thornton walked out. He pulled down his surgical mask, revealing a face lined with exhaustion. There were fresh blood splatters on his blue scrubs. He walked slowly toward Everly.

Everly shot up from the bench. The sudden movement drained the blood from her head. Her vision went black at the edges, and she stumbled forward.

Dr. Thornton caught her by the arm, steadying her.

"Mrs. Moss," he said, his voice heavy with finality. "I am so sorry. The delay in getting him here caused massive myocardial infarction. His heart suffered too much damage. Arthur Weber is gone."

The words hit the back of Everly's skull like a sledgehammer. A high-pitched ringing instantly deafened her.

She opened her mouth to speak, but her throat felt like it was filled with wet cement. No sound came out.

She shoved Dr. Thornton aside and stumbled blindly into the emergency room.

In the center of the room, a body lay on a metal table, covered by a thin white sheet.

Everly walked toward it, her legs feeling like lead. She reached out with a trembling hand and pulled the sheet back.

Arthur's face was sunken, his skin a terrifying, ashen gray.

The dam inside Everly's chest shattered.

She collapsed against the edge of the metal bed, letting out a raw, animalistic scream of pure agony. The sound tore from her lungs, echoing off the sterile tile walls. The edges of her vision darkened, the room spun violently, and she hit the floor, slipping into total darkness.

When Everly opened her eyes again, she was staring at a plain white ceiling. She was lying in a private hospital room. A sharp pinch in the back of her hand told her an IV drip was taped to her skin.

Before she could process the pain in her head, the cell phone on the bedside table began to ring. It was a sharp, grating sound.

Everly turned her head slowly. She reached out and answered the call.

"Everly," Marion Moss's voice came through the speaker. Her mother-in-law sounded haughty, cold, and entirely unbothered.

Marion didn't offer a single word of condolence.

"Listen to me carefully," Marion ordered. "You will post a statement on your social media accounts immediately. You will say the incident at the banquet was a misunderstanding. You will state that Arthur died of natural causes due to old age."

Everly's lungs stopped working. The sheer audacity of the demand sent a shock of ice-cold rage straight into her veins.

"I will not cover up a murder," Everly said, her voice a harsh whisper.

Marion let out a dry, cruel laugh.

"You will do exactly as I say," Marion threatened. "Or I will freeze every single cent of the medical trust fund paying for your crippled daughter's treatments."

At the sound of Aria's name being used as a bargaining chip, something inside Everly snapped. The soft, accommodating woman she had been for four years died in that hospital bed. Her eyes hardened, turning cold and vicious.

Everly didn't say another word. She pulled the phone away from her ear and hit end.

She reached over with her right hand, grabbed the plastic IV tube taped to her left hand, and ripped it out of her vein in one violent motion.

A stream of hot blood immediately ran down her knuckles, dripping onto the white bedsheets.

She grabbed a rough paper towel, pressed it hard against the bleeding hole in her hand, and threw the blanket off. She shoved her bare feet into her ruined heels.

A nurse walked into the room, her eyes widening at the blood. "Ma'am, you can't-"

Everly shoved the nurse out of the way. Her eyes were so dead, so filled with raw intent, that the nurse stumbled back and didn't dare follow.

Everly walked into the hospital elevator. She stared at her reflection in the metal doors. Her hair was a tangled mess. She clenched her fists.

She walked out the front doors of the hospital. The freezing, early morning wind of New York hit her face, but it did nothing to cool the boiling rage in her chest.

She flagged down a yellow taxi. She ripped the back door open and slid onto the cracked leather seat.

The driver looked at her in the rearview mirror, his eyes wide with shock at her bloody, disheveled state. "Where to, lady?"

Everly stared out the window at the dark city streets.

"Tribeca," Everly said, her voice like crushed glass. She gave him the exact address of the penthouse Carson had bought for his mistress.

The yellow taxi pulled up to the curb outside the luxury high-rise in Tribeca. Everly reached into her clutch, pulled out the last few twenty-dollar bills she had, and threw them onto the passenger seat. She pushed the door open and stepped out into the biting wind.

She walked straight through the revolving glass doors of the lobby. The night doorman started to stand up, his mouth opening to stop the bleeding, disheveled woman, but Everly didn't even look at him. She walked with such terrifying purpose that he froze.

She stepped into the private VIP elevator. She reached out and punched in the security code Carson had drunkenly muttered months ago.

The keypad beeped green. The doors slid shut silently.

Everly watched the digital numbers climb higher and higher. She reached down to the silk ribbon tied around her waist. She untied it, wrapped it tightly around her bleeding left hand, and pulled the knot hard with her teeth. Her eyes were completely empty.

The elevator chimed. The doors opened directly into the massive, open-concept penthouse living room.

Everly stepped off the marble floor of the elevator. The room was littered with expensive designer shopping bags and high-end baby toys.

Giana was lounging on a massive white leather sofa. She wore a sheer silk robe, holding a crystal flute of non-alcoholic champagne, laughing into her cell phone.

At the sound of footsteps, Giana turned her head. When she saw Everly standing there, covered in dried blood and dirt, she gasped, the crystal glass slipping from her fingers and shattering on the floor.

Everly didn't say a word. She moved across the room like a ghost out for blood, her steps fast and silent.

Giana dropped her phone. She scrambled to stand up, trying to mask her panic with a sneer. "Look at you. You look like a homeless beggar-"

Everly lunged. She shot her hand out, grabbed the front of Giana's silk robe, and slammed the woman backward onto the sofa cushions.

Giana shrieked. She threw her hands up, her long acrylic nails clawing wildly at Everly's face.

Everly didn't flinch. She used her other hand to grab both of Giana's wrists, pinning them down with a strength born of pure adrenaline.

"You killed him," Everly snarled, her teeth bared. "You are going to pay for his life."

Before Everly could do anything else, the heavy oak door of the master bedroom flew open. Carson rushed out, wearing only his dress shirt, his hair a mess.

He saw Everly pinning Giana down.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Carson roared. He crossed the room in three massive strides.

He grabbed Everly by the back of her shoulders and yanked her backward with brutal force.

Everly was caught off guard. The violent pull lifted her off her feet. She stumbled backward, her heels catching on the rug.

Her back slammed directly into the sharp edge of the solid marble coffee table.

A sickening crack echoed in her ears. Blinding, white-hot pain shot up her spine. Everly gasped, the air completely knocked out of her lungs, and she crumpled onto the wool rug.

Carson didn't even look at her. He immediately pulled Giana into his arms, his hands frantically checking her stomach. "Are you hurt? Did she hit the baby?"

Giana burst into fake, hysterical tears. She buried her face in Carson's chest. "She tried to kill our son, Carson! She's crazy!"

Carson turned his head. He looked down at Everly writhing on the floor. His eyes held nothing but absolute disgust.

"You are a vicious, insane bitch," Carson spat.

Everly gritted her teeth. She pushed her hands against the floor, forcing herself to stand despite the agonizing pain radiating from her spine. She pointed a shaking finger at Giana.

"She murdered my grandfather!" Everly screamed, her voice cracking. "She shoved that ultrasound in his face on purpose!"

Carson rolled his eyes. He let go of Giana and walked over to the sleek oak desk in the corner. He pulled open a drawer and took out a leather-bound checkbook.

He grabbed a pen and scribbled a series of numbers across the paper. He ripped the check out, walked back over to Everly, and threw it directly at her face.

The paper fluttered through the air and landed at Everly's feet.

"That is five million dollars," Carson said, his voice dripping with condescension. "It's your hush money. You will sign the NDA tomorrow, and you will get out of New York."

Everly looked down. The blue Chase Bank logo stared back at her.

A low, dark laugh bubbled up from her throat. The sound echoed off the high ceilings, sounding completely unhinged.

She bent down slowly, wincing as her back screamed in protest, and picked up the check.

Carson crossed his arms, a smug look crossing his face. He thought she had finally broken. He thought money had won.

Everly looked him dead in the eye. She gripped the edges of the paper and ripped it in half. Then she put the pieces together and ripped them again. And again.

She raised her hands and threw the shredded pieces of paper violently into Carson's face. The tiny white squares rained down over his expensive shirt and the floor.

"I don't want your filthy money," Everly said, pronouncing every word with lethal precision. "I am going to make you both bleed."

She turned her back on him and walked straight toward the elevator.

Everly forced her spine to stay perfectly straight until the elevator doors closed. The moment she stepped out of the lobby and pushed through the revolving glass doors, her knees buckled.

She hit the exterior brick wall of the building, leaning her weight against it as she gasped for air. The pain in her lower back throbbed with every beat of her heart.

Above her, the sky broke open. A freezing, violent Manhattan rainstorm poured down without warning.

The icy water instantly soaked through the thin fabric of her ruined gown, plastering it to her skin. Everly didn't try to find shelter. Her mind had completely detached from her body.

She walked blindly into the torrential rain. The image of Arthur's dead, gray face played on a loop behind her eyelids, overlapping with the cold, dead look in Carson's eyes.

The rain grew heavier, blurring the streetlights into smeared streaks of yellow and red. Everly reached an intersection. There was no crosswalk signal. She didn't look left or right. She just stepped off the curb onto the slick asphalt.

A blinding set of LED headlights pierced the wall of rain, hitting her directly in the face.

Everly squeezed her eyes shut against the glare.

The deafening screech of rubber tearing against wet asphalt filled the air. A massive, black Maybach slid sideways across the slick road.

The heavy vehicle couldn't stop in time. The right side of the front bumper slammed hard into Everly's left hip.

The sheer force of the impact lifted her off the ground. She flew backward through the air and hit the flooded street with a violent splash.

Her knees and elbows scraped violently against the rough pavement, tearing the skin away. Blood immediately mixed with the puddles of dirty rainwater. Everly lay flat on her stomach, her body completely numb. She didn't even have the breath to moan.

The Maybach rocked to a halt. The rear passenger door swung open.

A massive black umbrella snapped open. A pair of long legs clad in custom-tailored trousers stepped out of the car.

Guilford Lancaster stepped into the puddle, his leather shoes splashing the water. He radiated an aura of absolute, freezing authority.

He stood over Everly's prone body. His dark eyes narrowed, flashing with a mixture of extreme caution and deep disgust.

His bodyguard immediately stepped forward, shining a high-powered tactical flashlight directly into Everly's face, checking her hands for weapons.

Everly groaned. She forced her neck up. The freezing rain ran down her pale cheeks. The flashlight blinded her, forcing her to squint against the harsh beam.

Guilford looked down at her. He saw the torn, blood-stained evening gown, the messy hair, the pathetic sprawl on the street. He let out a low, harsh scoff.

"Insurance scammers in New York are getting desperate," Guilford said, his voice a deep, mocking baritone. "Throwing yourself in front of a car in a gown? You really put money into the production."

The word "scammer" hit Everly's ears. A jolt of pure, unadulterated fury shocked her nervous system back to life.

She clamped her jaw shut. She planted her bleeding hands on the rough asphalt, trying to push her upper body off the ground to scream at him.

But the fresh trauma to her hip, combined with the agonizing pain in her spine, caused her arms to give out. She collapsed back into the muddy water with a splash.

Before Guilford could speak again, the satellite phone in his breast pocket vibrated. The specific ringtone made his jaw tighten.

He pulled the phone out and answered it immediately. "Speak."

He listened for two seconds, his back turning slightly away from Everly. "The merger is compromised? Lock down the board. I'll be there in ten minutes."

He hung up. He glanced at his platinum watch. He had zero patience left for this street theater.

He looked at his assistant standing by the open car door.

"Pay her off," Guilford ordered coldly. "Make sure she doesn't call the cops and cause a delay."

Without another glance at the woman bleeding on the street, Guilford turned around and slid back into the luxurious, dry interior of the Maybach.

The heavy door slammed shut, instantly cutting off the sound of the rain.

The assistant walked over to Everly. He pulled a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills from his briefcase. He dropped the cash directly onto the wet pavement in front of her face. Then, he tossed a sleek, solid titanium business card that landed with a sharp clink against the asphalt, completely unaffected by the downpour.

"Take the cash and keep your mouth shut," the assistant said flatly. He turned and got into the passenger seat.

The Maybach's engine roared to life. The massive tires spun, splashing a wave of dirty street water over Everly's head before the car sped away into the night.

Everly lay alone in the pouring rain. She stared at the soggy hundred-dollar bills floating in the puddle.

Hot tears finally broke free, mixing with the cold rain on her face. She bit down on her lower lip so hard she tasted copper.

She didn't touch the money. Instead, her bleeding fingers reached out and snatched the heavy titanium business card. She crushed the cold metal into her palm, using the pain to fuel her muscles, and slowly, shakily, pushed herself up from the street.