The sound of the breaking plastic shattered the dead silence in the room.

Charis frowned, her eyes darting to Carla.

Carla's chest heaved. She scrambled to shove the broken pieces of the clipboard back into her canvas bag.

"I apologize," Carla said. Her voice came out raspy, scraping against her dry throat.

Charis looked her up and down, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "Why did the front desk send someone so incredibly unprofessional? Where is Alice?"

Carla swallowed the thick lump of humiliation in her throat. She reached into her pocket with trembling fingers and pulled out her business card.

"Alice is sick. I am her substitute. I am fully certified by the American Music Therapy Association," Carla said, holding the card out.

Julien didn't look at the card. His dark eyes were fixed on Carla's shaking fingers. His jaw ticked, the muscles jumping beneath his skin. The darkness in his eyes deepened.

Charis snatched the card from Carla's hand and tossed it carelessly onto the top of the Steinway. She leaned her head against Julien's shoulder, a deliberate claim of ownership.

"Julien pushed back his Wall Street board meeting just to be here with us today," Charis said, making sure her voice was loud enough for Carla to hear.

Carla dropped her gaze to the floor. She bit down hard on the soft tissue inside her cheek. She bit it until she tasted the metallic tang of blood, using the physical pain to stop the tears from forming.

"How do you plan to start the session?" Julien's voice cut through the room. It was devoid of any warmth. It sounded like metal scraping against ice.

Carla took a sharp breath through her nose. She turned her back to them and faced the piano, desperate to hide her face.

"I will start with a soothing Mozart sonata for Eleni. It helps with selective mutism," Carla said, keeping her voice flat.

"No," Charis interrupted sharply. Her tone was dripping with disdain.

Charis pointed a manicured finger at the keys. "Play Wagner's Bridal Chorus."

Carla's head snapped up. A physical jolt of pain shot straight through her heart.

"Next month is our engagement anniversary," Charis smiled, looking up at Julien. "I want to get into the mood."

Carla's eyes darted to Julien. She looked at him, silently begging him to stop this.

Julien stood there, his hands shoved deep into his suit pockets. His face was a blank, unreadable mask. He stared right back at her, offering no help. He was allowing this.

His cold eyes sent a clear message: You chose this when you took the money.

Carla looked away. Her hands hovered over the black and white keys. They were shaking so badly she could barely keep them straight.

She pressed down on the first chord. She pressed so hard the tips of her fingers turned white. The heavy, grand sound of the Steinway filled the room.

The familiar melody washed over her. Instantly, the memory of a Brooklyn rooftop five years ago crashed into her brain. Julien on one knee. The cheap string lights. The promise of forever.

Carla's vision blurred. The back of her throat burned like fire. She bit her cheek harder, refusing to let a single tear fall in front of him.

Behind her, Charis sighed happily, leaning her weight against Julien's chest. She looked like a victor claiming her prize.

But Julien wasn't looking at Charis. His eyes were nailed to Carla's rigid back. He watched the way her shoulders shook with every note. A violent fire burned in his chest.

Eleni sensed the suffocating tension in the room. The little girl shrank back, retreating to the far corner of the velvet sofa, clutching her rabbit.

The final chord rang out. Carla ripped her hands away from the keys as if the ivory had burned her skin.

She stood up abruptly. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly. "The music introduction is over for today," she choked out.

Charis clapped her hands together in a slow, mocking rhythm. She reached into her designer bag, pulled out a sleek black credit card, and tapped it against the edge of the piano. "Here is a tip," Charis sneered, her eyes raking over Carla's clothes. "Go buy yourself a decent coat. You look like a beggar."

The sharp words hung in the air. It was the ultimate insult.

Carla didn't look at the money. She grabbed her canvas bag by the straps.

Without looking back, she bolted for the heavy suite door and ran.

The heavy mahogany door slammed shut behind Carla, cutting off the air in the room.

Julien stared at the closed door. His jaw was locked so tight his teeth ached. He suddenly shoved Charis away from him.

Charis stumbled backward, her heels catching on the thick carpet. The smug smile vanished from her face. She stared at him in shock.

Julien didn't say a single word to her. He took long, aggressive strides toward the door, ripped it open, and walked out.

The hallway was empty. The digital numbers above the VIP elevator were already dropping.

Julien cursed under his breath. He turned and walked swiftly to the end of the corridor. He pulled out a sleek platinum access card, swiped it against the electronic reader, and shoved open the heavy metal door to the employee stairwell.

Inside the suite, Charis was left standing alone with Eleni.

The elegant mask Charis wore completely shattered. Her face twisted into an ugly sneer of pure rage.

She spun around. Her heels clicked furiously against the floor as she marched toward the sofa.

Eleni began to tremble violently. The little girl pressed herself into the corner of the cushions, wrapping her arms around her stuffed rabbit like a shield.

Charis reached out and grabbed Eleni's thin arm. Her manicured nails dug into the child's skin. The force was so brutal that Eleni's skin instantly turned white around Charis's grip.

"Don't you dare make a sound," Charis hissed, her voice a venomous whisper.

Eleni's eyes filled with tears, but her vocal cords remained paralyzed by trauma. She didn't make a peep.

"You are useless," Charis spat at the child. "You can't even keep his attention in the room for five minutes."

Charis shoved Eleni's arm away in disgust. She dug into her purse and pulled out her phone, immediately dialing her private investigator.

"I need a full background check on a substitute music therapist," Charis ordered into the phone. "Right now."

Three floors down, in the underground parking garage, Carla's frantic footsteps echoed against the concrete walls.

She was sweating. She ran until she reached her beat-up, rusted Honda Civic parked in the darkest corner of the lot.

Her hands were shaking so violently she couldn't get the key into the lock. The metal key scratched against the car door three times before it finally slid in.

Carla yanked the door open and threw herself into the driver's seat. She slammed her hand down on the central lock button. The loud click made her feel a tiny fraction of safety.

She dropped her forehead against the steering wheel. She gasped for air. The tears she had been holding back finally broke free, dropping onto the dusty dashboard.

Suddenly, the deafening roar of a massive engine echoed through the concrete garage.

Carla's head snapped up in terror.

A silver Aston Martin tore around the corner like a predator.

The sports car slammed on its brakes. The tires shrieked against the concrete. The Aston Martin swerved and parked horizontally, directly across the front bumper of Carla's Honda.

There was less than two inches of space between the cars. Her only exit was completely blocked.

The driver's side door of the Aston Martin swung upward.

Julien stepped out. The dark aura radiating off his body was terrifying.

He walked straight to Carla's window. He raised his hand and knocked on the glass.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Every strike of his knuckles against the glass felt like a hammer hitting Carla's skull.

Carla pressed her back hard against her seat, shrinking away from the window. She stared out at the man who was currently her worst nightmare.

Julien watched Carla press herself against the passenger side of her car. His eyebrows pulled together. He hit the glass again, harder this time.

Carla shook her head frantically. She fumbled with her keys, shoving them into the ignition. She twisted it, praying the engine would start so she could throw it in reverse.

The old engine sputtered, coughed weakly, and died.

Julien watched her useless struggle through the glass. The mockery in his eyes vanished, replaced by a dark, volatile impatience.

"Open the door, Carla," his voice was muffled by the glass, but the cold command sliced right through it.

Carla pretended she couldn't hear him. She gripped the steering wheel with both hands, her knuckles white, her breathing shallow and fast.

Julien lost the last thread of his patience. He reached out and wrapped his large hand around the cheap plastic exterior door handle of the Honda.

The muscles in his forearm bunched beneath his suit jacket. He planted his feet and yanked backward with brutal force. The cheap plastic groaned under the pressure, stark white stress lines spider-webbing across the surface. He didn't stop. He adjusted his grip, his muscles locking, and yanked a second time. A loud, sickening crack echoed in the garage as the handle completely snapped off the door.

Julien looked at the broken piece of cheap plastic in his hand. He tossed it onto the concrete floor like a piece of garbage.

Carla let out a short scream as the sound echoed. Her body jerked in her seat.

Julien calmly reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out his phone. He dialed a number, his eyes never leaving Carla's terrified face.

"Security," Julien said into the phone, his voice flat and authoritative. "Level B3. A silver Honda just scraped the bumper of my Aston Martin. The driver is locking herself inside and refusing to cooperate. Send a team down here immediately, and notify my legal department."

Carla's eyes widened in absolute horror. She stared at the man abusing his power, twisting the truth without a second thought.

She couldn't afford a smashed window. She couldn't afford the police.

She bit her lip so hard it bled. Defeated, she reached over and pressed the unlock button.

The lock clicked. Julien instantly grabbed the edge of the door frame and pulled the heavy door open.

His large frame immediately filled the open space, blocking any chance of escape. He leaned in, placing one hand on the roof of the car and the other on the back of her seat.

He trapped her completely in his shadow.

The familiar scent of cold mint and dark tobacco invaded Carla's lungs. It made her stomach twist into painful knots.

Carla pressed herself flat against the seat. "What do you want from me, Mr. Wagner?" her voice shook.

The formal title ignited a dangerous fire in Julien's eyes.

He reached out. His long fingers clamped around her narrow jaw, forcing her face up to look at him.

"Five years," Julien sneered, his voice dripping with toxic satisfaction. "Five years, and this pathetic life is all you have to show for it?"

Carla was forced to look up at him. Her eyes were red, but she glared back. "My life is none of your business."

Julien let out a harsh, humorless laugh. His eyes scanned her faded collar and the dusty, cheap interior of the car.

"When you took my grandmother's ten million dollar trust fund, I assumed you'd be living in a mansion in Beverly Hills by now," he said.

At the mention of the ten million dollars, Carla's entire body violently flinched. The words ripped open the deepest, most infected wound in her chest.

Julien felt the flinch. His fingers tightened slightly on her jaw.

"Did you blow through all the cash?" he whispered, his words designed to kill. "Is that why you scurried back to Manhattan? Looking for your next wealthy target?"

A wave of intense nausea hit Carla. The dam broke. Hot tears spilled over her eyelashes and dropped directly onto Julien's hand.

The scalding heat of her tears made Julien's fingers twitch, but he didn't let go. He kept her pinned, refusing to give her an inch of mercy.