Abigail stumbled closer to the leather sofa.

The city lights cast a pale glow over the man. He was wearing a bespoke charcoal suit, but the jacket was crumpled. His tie had been ripped away from his throat.

His chest heaved violently..Sweat coated his forehead, making his skin shine in the dark. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscles twitched.

Abigail dropped to her knees beside the sofa.

"Hey," she slurred softly. "Are you... do you need a doctor?"

She reached out. Her cool fingertips brushed against the burning skin of his neck, searching for a pulse.

The second her skin made contact with his, the man's eyes snapped open.

They were bloodshot. Wild. They lacked any trace of human reason. He looked like a starving wolf that had just been handed raw meat.

Josephus Hodges had spent the last hour fighting a losing battle. A rival firm had slipped a massive dose of a military-grade hallucinogenic aphrodisiac into his scotch at a merger dinner.

He had locked himself in the penthouse to ride it out. His sanity was hanging by a microscopic thread.

Abigail's cold touch, combined with the faint scent of rosewater on her skin, snapped that thread instantly.

A low, animalistic growl ripped from his throat.

His hand shot out. His fingers clamped around Abigail's wrist like a steel vice.

Abigail gasped. The pain was sharp and immediate.

Before she could pull away, Josephus yanked her forward. His strength was terrifying.

She flew through the air and crashed onto the leather cushions.

The world spun out of control. In a fraction of a second, Josephus's massive, heavy body was on top of her, pinning her down.

The alcohol in Abigail's system evaporated, replaced by cold, blinding terror.

"Let me go!" she screamed. She thrashed wildly beneath him, her hands pushing against his rock-hard chest.

Josephus didn't hear her. The drug had completely hijacked his nervous system. All he felt was the agonizing heat in his blood and the soft, cool body beneath him that promised relief.

He buried his face in her neck. His breath was scalding hot against her skin. The heavy scent of cedar and pure male aggression suffocated her.

His large hands moved with brutal urgency. He grabbed the fabric of her black gown.

With one violent pull, the expensive silk tore down the middle.

The sound of ripping fabric echoed loudly in the dark room.

The cold leather of the sofa hit Abigail's bare back.

Panic consumed her. She swung her free hand and slapped him across the face with all the strength she had.

The sharp smack rang out.

Josephus froze. His head snapped to the side.

For one agonizing second, the red haze in his eyes cleared. He looked down at the terrified woman trembling beneath him. His chest heaved as he fought his own biology.

"Get... out," he ground out through his teeth. His voice was a harsh, agonizing rasp.

Abigail scrambled backward, desperate to escape.

But as she kicked her legs to push away, her knee jerked upward. It slammed directly into his groin.

It wasn't a hard hit, but the physical friction was the final trigger.

Josephus let out a sharp hiss. The brief window of clarity slammed shut.

His eyes went completely black.

He grabbed both of her wrists in one massive hand and slammed them above her head, pressing them deep into the leather.

His other hand gripped her jaw, holding her head perfectly still.

He crashed his mouth down onto hers.

It wasn't a kiss. It was a punishment. It was a desperate, violent claiming.

He tasted like expensive scotch and pure dominance.

Abigail couldn't breathe. Her lungs burned for oxygen. The crushing weight of his body made it impossible to move.

Her struggles grew weaker as the lack of air and the lingering alcohol made her limbs go numb.

His hand slid down her ribcage, burning a trail of fire across her skin.

Josephus tore his mouth away from hers. He was breathing like a dying man.

He slid his arms under her back and behind her knees. He stood up in one fluid motion, lifting her off the sofa as if she weighed nothing.

Abigail's head lolled against his shoulder. The room spun in violent circles.

He carried her down the dark hallway and kicked the bedroom door open with his foot.

He threw her down onto the center of the massive king-size bed.

She bounced against the thick mattress. A dizzying wave of nausea washed over her.

Before she could crawl away, Josephus followed her down. His knees bracketed her hips.

His mouth found her collarbone, his teeth scraping against her sensitive skin.

His rough, calloused hand slid up her neck. His thumb brushed against her left cheek, moving to push her hair out of the way.

His skin grazed the raised, jagged edge of her scar. As his hand cupped her jaw, the heavy, rare-earth alloy of his custom signet ring pressed against her cheek.

Abigail's body violently seized.

It was as if he had hit her with a stun gun. The absolute terror of being exposed shattered the drug-like haze of the moment.

She violently twisted her head away from his touch.

She ripped her hands free and clamped both palms tightly over the left side of her face. She curled her knees to her chest, folding into a tight, defensive ball.

Josephus stopped. He hovered above her, his chest heaving. Frustration and drug-fueled rage warred in his dark eyes.

"Please," Abigail sobbed. Her voice cracked, raw and pathetic in the quiet room. "Please, don't look at me."

She squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm a monster."

That single word-monster-hung in the air.

It hit Josephus like a physical blow to the temple.

The drug in his veins stuttered. A violent flashback ripped through his mind.

He saw flames. He heard the sound of a collapsing roof. He saw a little girl crying in the smoke.

A sharp, agonizing pain seized his heart. It was a phantom pain from a past he had buried deep.

The emotional shockwave temporarily overrode the chemical fire in his blood.

He looked down. The moonlight spilled across the bed, illuminating the woman trembling beneath him.

He couldn't see the scar clearly, but he had felt the ruined, uneven texture of her skin.

He didn't feel disgust. He felt an overwhelming, crushing wave of empathy.

He reached out. His movements were no longer violent. They were slow. Deliberate.

He wrapped his large, warm hands around her wrists.

Abigail thrashed, crying out, terrified of the rejection that was about to come.

"Shh," Josephus murmured. His voice was a deep, rumbling vibration.

He gently but firmly pulled her hands away from her face, pressing her wrists into the pillows on either side of her head.

He stared down at the dark, jagged line marring her cheek.

Then, he lowered his head.

He pressed his lips directly against the ugliest part of her scar.

Abigail stopped breathing. Her eyes flew open, staring blindly at the ceiling. Her heart completely stopped beating for a full second.

The moment his lips touched the skin, a bizarre, electric sensation shot through her face.

It wasn't pain. It was a microscopic, vibrating hum.

Beneath the scar tissue, the hidden neural inhibitor violently reacted to the specific electromagnetic signature generated by the alloy and the unique, high-frequency bio-electric field his body emitted-a lingering side effect of a classified military-grade experimental treatment he had survived years ago.

The chronic, stabbing nerve pain that had tortured Abigail for years suddenly vanished. It evaporated like water on a hot stove.

A wave of profound, liquid relief washed through her entire body.

At the exact same time, Josephus felt the violent, chaotic energy of the drug in his system ground itself. The madness in his brain quieted.

He lifted his head. His eyes were dark, clear, and intensely focused on hers.

"You are not a monster," he whispered roughly against her skin.

A dam broke inside Abigail. Hot tears spilled over her eyelashes, tracking down her temples into her hair.

The tension drained from her muscles. She stopped fighting.

Josephus lowered his mouth to hers again. This time, there was no violence. Only a deep, consuming gravity that pulled them both under.

The morning sun sliced through the gap in the heavy blackout curtains. It hit Abigail directly in the eyes like a laser beam.

She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. Her head pounded with a vicious hangover. Every single muscle in her body ached with a deep, bruised soreness.

She slowly opened her eyes.

She stared at the unfamiliar, vaulted ceiling. The crystal chandelier above her was blinding.

Memory hit her like a freight train.

The dark room. The tearing of her dress. The terrifying strength of the man.

And then... the kiss on her scar. The miraculous disappearance of her pain.

She gasped and shot upright in the bed.

The silk sheets pooled at her waist. She looked down and saw the dark, red bruises blooming across her collarbones and chest.

She yanked the blanket up to her chin, her heart hammering against her ribs.

She whipped her head to the side.

The other side of the massive bed was empty. The sheets were tangled, but the man was gone.

The faint, lingering scent of cedar and sex hung heavy in the air.

Abigail scanned the room.

On the mahogany nightstand next to her, three items were perfectly arranged.

A glass of ice water. A single white Plan B pill. And a folded piece of heavy cardstock.

Abigail's stomach plummeted.

She reached out with a trembling hand and picked up the card.

The handwriting was sharp, aggressive, and written in black fountain pen ink.

Plan B. My assistant will arrive in exactly one hour to finalize your departure and compensation.

A hot, sickening wave of humiliation washed over her.

The man who had kissed her scar with such reverence last night was just another cold, calculating bastard in the daylight. He was treating her like a problem to be erased.

She let out a harsh, bitter laugh.

She popped the pill out of the foil, tossed it into her mouth, and downed the entire glass of water.

She threw the covers off and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her knees buckled the moment her feet hit the floor. She had to grab the nightstand to keep from collapsing.

She limped into the massive marble bathroom. She turned the shower on scalding hot and stood under the spray, scrubbing her skin until it was raw and red.

When she walked back into the bedroom, she noticed something she had missed.

Draped perfectly over the velvet armchair was a luxurious, loose-fitting cashmere wrap dress from the hotel's high-end boutique. Next to it was a set of basic, stretch-fit silk undergarments.

They weren't her exact tailored measurements, but they were a calculated, safe guess by a highly efficient assistant who likely cross-referenced her public photos.

A shiver of absolute disgust ran down her spine. The efficiency of it was horrifying.

She ignored the expensive clothes. She walked over to the floor and picked up her torn black gown.

The zipper was completely destroyed. She pulled the dress on and used the thick belt from the hotel bathrobe to tie it tightly around her waist.

She walked out into the living room.

The sofa where she had been attacked last night was perfectly clean.

Her clutch was sitting on the center of the glass coffee table.

Next to her bag was a check.

Abigail walked over and picked it up.

It was made out to 'Cash'. The amount was one million dollars.

She looked at the signature line.

J. Hodges.

The air left Abigail's lungs.

Josephus Hodges. The apex predator of Wall Street. The CEO of T.S. Group.

She had slept with the most ruthless billionaire in the country.

The humiliation instantly boiled over into pure, blinding rage. He thought he could buy her silence. He thought she was a high-end escort.

She grabbed a pen from her bag.

She flipped the million-dollar check over. In large, angry letters, she wrote:

Your technique is garbage. You're only worth a hundred bucks.

She opened her wallet, pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill, and slammed it down on top of the check.

She grabbed her bag, slipped her feet into her ruined heels, and marched toward the door.

She threw the door open.

A man in a sharp suit-Alex Stone, the executive assistant-was standing in the hallway, holding a tray of coffee.

Alex's jaw dropped as Abigail stormed past him, her head held high, looking like a war-torn queen.

She stepped into the elevator and hit the lobby button.