Three months later.

The Mediterranean sun beat down relentlessly on the deck of the Shadow Trust, a massive, hundred-meter black superyacht anchored off the coast of Monaco.

In the glass-walled penthouse office on the top deck, Etienne Strickland stood staring out at the azure water.

He wore a black dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, the sleeves rolled up to expose the heavy ink on his forearms.

He held a satellite phone to his ear.

"Cut their funding," Etienne said, his voice dropping to a lethal, icy register. "I don't care if they file for bankruptcy tomorrow. Bleed them dry."

He ended the call and tossed the phone onto his massive mahogany desk.

He rolled his shoulders, his jaw ticking with irritation.

V. Nash, his head of security, stepped into the office holding a leather-bound dossier.

"The latest reports on the European art syndicates we're tracking for money laundering, boss," Nash said, setting the file down.

Etienne flipped the folder open.

His eyes scanned the pages of financial data until they locked onto a specific paragraph.

It detailed the sudden, explosive rise of an underground artist known as "The Wilds."

Attached was a blurry photograph of a recent painting.

Etienne stared at the chaotic, violent brushstrokes.

A sharp, phantom pain flared in his shoulder where she had bitten him three months ago.

He slammed the folder shut.

"Take the yacht out to international waters," Etienne snapped. "I'm not attending that pretentious art gala on the lower deck tonight."

Down on the middle deck, the atmosphere was entirely different.

A string quartet played softly over the sound of clinking crystal glasses.

Katelyn stood near the railing, a glass of vintage champagne in her hand.

She wore a minimalist, backless black silk slip dress that clung to every curve. Her hair was swept up, her posture straight and commanding.

The terrified girl from California was dead.

She was Kate Vance now, the darling of the Royal College of Art, rubbing shoulders with Europe's elite.

She smiled politely, finishing a conversation in fluent French with a Parisian gallery owner.

As the man walked away, Katelyn turned to look out at the ocean, letting out a quiet sigh of exhaustion.

"Katelyn Reed?"

The voice hit her like a bucket of ice water.

Her fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne flute.

She turned slowly.

Standing there in a garish floral shirt was Julian Thatcher. Eleanor's older brother.

He had a blonde socialite clinging to his arm.

Katelyn's face remained a mask of absolute calm.

"Excuse me?" she said smoothly. "I think you have the wrong person. My name is Kate."

Julian stepped closer, his eyes raking over her body with sleazy amusement.

"Bullshit," Julian laughed. "Everyone in Atherton thinks you're locked up in a padded cell, and here you are, fishing for sugar daddies in Monaco."

The blonde socialite sneered, looking Katelyn up and down like she was trash.

Katelyn's heart hammered against her ribs, but her face didn't twitch.

Julian was a rat. He would sell her location to Arnett for a quick payout in a heartbeat.

She didn't argue.

She simply raised her glass and threw the freezing champagne directly into Julian's face.

Julian gasped, stumbling backward as the alcohol burned his eyes. The blonde screamed.

Before anyone else could react, Katelyn spun around and walked quickly toward the interior glass doors.

Julian wiped his face, his face turning purple with rage. He pulled out his phone and immediately dialed Brien Reed's number.

Katelyn pushed through the doors, her heart racing.

She needed to hide.

She took a wrong turn down a quiet, dimly lit corridor marked "VIP ONLY."

She pushed open a heavy velvet-lined door and stepped inside.

It was a private art gallery.

The room was pitch black, save for a few dramatic spotlights illuminating priceless classical oil paintings.

Behind her, she heard the heavy thud of security boots entering the corridor. They were looking for the woman who assaulted a guest.

Katelyn quickly darted behind a massive marble statue of Apollo, pressing her back against the cold stone.

She held her breath.

Footsteps echoed in the gallery. But they weren't coming from the door.

They were coming from the private elevator at the back of the room.

Etienne had come down to escape his own thoughts.

He stopped in front of a painting, his sharp ears catching the faint rustle of silk.

He turned his head slowly.

His eyes pierced through the shadows, locking onto the edge of a black dress peeking out from behind the statue.

He walked forward, his footsteps completely silent on the thick carpet.

Katelyn squeezed her eyes shut, praying to the dark.

Suddenly, a massive, calloused hand shot into the shadows.

Long fingers clamped around her bare wrist like a steel vice.

With one violent tug, Etienne ripped her out of the darkness and into the spotlight.

Katelyn gasped, her eyes flying open.

She crashed directly into a solid, muscular chest.

She looked up.

The air vanished from her lungs.

The harsh spotlight illuminated Katelyn's face perfectly.

Etienne stared down at her.

His pupils dilated so fast his eyes looked completely black.

He saw the starlit eyes. He saw the tiny mole on her collarbone.

It was her.

The phantom he had been hunting for three months was standing right in his gallery.

The grip on her wrist tightened painfully.

"You," Etienne breathed, his voice a dangerous, vibrating rumble.

Katelyn's mind short-circuited.

It was the bastard from the linen closet.

Before she could process the impossibility of the situation, the heavy velvet doors of the gallery swung open.

"Check behind the displays," a security guard ordered.

Katelyn panicked.

If the guards caught her, they would drag her back to Julian. Julian would hand her to Arnett.

She looked up at Etienne. His jaw was locked, his eyes burning with a terrifying mixture of rage and raw hunger.

She had to use him again.

Katelyn stepped directly into his space.

She pressed her chest flush against his. She slid her free hand up his chest, gripping the lapel of his black shirt.

She dragged her thigh slowly, deliberately against his leg.

She went up on her tiptoes, her lips brushing his jawline.

"Take me out of here," she whispered, her voice a husky, desperate purr. "Or take me right here on the floor. Your choice."

Etienne let out a harsh, incredulous laugh.

He couldn't believe the sheer audacity of this woman. She was trying to play him again.

The beams of the guards' flashlights swept across the far wall.

Etienne's eyes darkened.

He didn't say a word. He wrapped his massive arm around her waist, lifting her entirely off the floor.

He carried her to the back of the gallery, pressing his thumb against a biometric scanner hidden in the wall.

A seamless metal door slid open.

He threw her inside and stepped in after her. The door hissed shut, cutting off the guards' voices completely.

It was a glass-walled private elevator.

The elevator shot upward with stomach-dropping speed.

Etienne backed Katelyn up until her spine hit the cold glass.

He planted his hands on the glass on either side of her head, trapping her.

He leaned in, his face inches from hers.

"What's your name?" Etienne demanded, his voice laced with venom. "Or are you going to lie to me again before you try to rob me?"

Katelyn met his furious gaze without flinching.

"Kate," she lied smoothly. "And I don't need to rob you. You look like you can afford whatever I want."

The elevator chimed.

The doors opened directly into the sprawling, ultra-luxurious master penthouse.

Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the pitch-black ocean.

Etienne didn't hesitate.

He scooped her up, threw her over his shoulder, and strode into the master bedroom.

He tossed her onto the massive, circular black velvet bed.

Katelyn bounced on the mattress, trying to scramble backward, but Etienne was already on top of her.

He grabbed the delicate straps of her silk dress.

With one violent yank, the expensive fabric tore down the middle.

It wasn't a gentle seduction. It was a war.

Katelyn didn't cower. She fought back.

She dug her nails into the heavy muscles of his back, pulling him down, matching his aggression with a feral hunger of her own.

They collided in a chaotic tangle of limbs, biting, scratching, and consuming each other.

Meanwhile, down on the lower deck, Julian was pacing furiously.

"Yes, Mr. Reed," Julian said into his phone. "I swear to God, it was her. She's on the Shadow Trust."

Thousands of miles away in California, Arnett slammed his fist on his desk.

"Call the maritime authorities," Arnett roared to his assistants. "Send the helicopters. Ground that yacht!"

Back in the penthouse, the storm finally broke.

Katelyn lay on the tangled black sheets, her chest heaving, her skin flushed and marked with red fingerprints.

Etienne sat up against the headboard.

He reached over, pulled a cigarette from a silver case, and lit it.

He took a slow drag, his eyes never leaving her face. The rage had settled into a deep, possessive satisfaction.

He blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling.

"You're not running this time, Kate," Etienne said, his voice a low, gravelly threat. "You're not leaving my sight."

2:00 AM.

The rhythmic rocking of the superyacht was the only sound in the dark bedroom.

The smart lighting was dimmed to a faint, ambient glow.

Etienne's breathing was deep and even. His heavy, muscular arm was thrown across Katelyn's waist, pinning her to the mattress like an anchor.

Katelyn's eyes were wide open.

She stared at the ceiling, her mind racing.

She had used him to hide, but staying here was a death sentence. Julian had definitely made the call.

She needed to get off this boat before it docked.

Moving with agonizing slowness, Katelyn slid her fingers under Etienne's heavy forearm.

Millimeter by millimeter, she lifted his arm.

He shifted slightly, letting out a low grunt. Katelyn froze, her heart stopping in her chest.

He settled back down.

She slipped out from under him and slid off the edge of the bed. Her bare feet hit the thick carpet without a sound.

Her dress was shredded beyond repair.

She crept into his massive walk-in closet and pulled a crisp white button-down shirt from a hanger.

She slipped it on, buttoning it up. The hem fell just mid-thigh.

She grabbed her clutch from the floor, checking inside. Passport. Phone. Intact.

As she turned to leave, the moonlight caught something metallic on the nightstand.

It was a solid black metal card.

Before they fell asleep, Etienne had tossed it to her.

"If you get lost, show that to anyone on this boat. It's my personal line," he had said arrogantly.

Katelyn sneered.

She picked up the heavy black card. Her fingers tightened around the cold metal, a surge of absolute disgust rolling through her veins. She walked over to the heavy, solid brass base of the bedside lamp. She slammed the edge of the brass base down onto the card, striking it repeatedly with brutal force until the microchip shattered into useless, jagged pieces. She tossed it into the trash can.

She walked out of the bedroom, crossing the sprawling living area toward the double metal doors of the private elevator.

She pressed the call button.

Instead of glowing green, the button flashed a harsh, angry red.

A cold, mechanized female voice echoed from the ceiling speakers.

"Error. Lockdown mode activated."

Katelyn's stomach plummeted.

She slammed her palm against the button again. Red.

She ran to the heavy steel emergency exit door next to the elevator. She grabbed the handle and yanked with all her strength.

It was deadbolted from the inside.

Panic clawed at her throat. She pulled her phone from her clutch to call Eleanor.

She looked at the screen.

No Service.

The satellite signal was completely jammed.

Suddenly, the smart lights in the living room flared to a blinding, surgical white.

Katelyn threw her hand up to shield her eyes.

"You made a fool out of me once," a dark, lazy voice echoed through the room. "Did you really think I was stupid enough to let you do it twice?"

Katelyn spun around.

Etienne was leaning against the bedroom doorframe.

He was wearing a black silk robe, loosely tied. He held a crystal glass of whiskey in one hand.

His eyes were razor-sharp, completely devoid of sleep.

He had been awake the entire time. He had watched her sneak out of bed. He had waited for her to realize she was trapped.

Katelyn forced her chin up, masking her terror with cold fury.

"Unlock the door," she demanded. "Holding me here against my will is a felony, even in international waters."

Etienne threw his head back and laughed.

It was a dark, chilling sound that made the hairs on Katelyn's arms stand up.

He took a slow sip of his whiskey and began walking toward her.

"A felony?" Etienne mocked softly. "Sweetheart, on the Shadow Trust, I am the law. You think you're dealing with some corporate billionaire? The Strickland board is just a pretty face. The Shadow Trust is the dark, bloodthirsty syndicate that actually runs the Asian underworld. And out here, I own the water, the air, and you."

Katelyn's breath hitched. Shadow Trust. The name meant absolutely nothing to her isolated world, but the chilling, absolute authority in his tone hit her brain like a physical blow. She only knew the name Strickland-the massive, untouchable corporate empire. But the way he said 'Shadow Trust' made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

Etienne stopped inches in front of her.

He reached out, his rough thumb tracing the line of her jaw, forcing her to look up into his eyes.

His gaze was entirely black, filled with a terrifying, absolute possessiveness.

A cruel, beautiful smile curved his lips.

"The game is over," Etienne whispered, his voice dropping to a deadly register. "Kate Vance. Or whoever the hell you really are under all those pretty lies. This time, I'm going to strip you down to the bone and find out exactly what your real name is."

The sound of her real name falling from his lips shattered the last of her defenses.

She was completely, utterly trapped.