The armored Maybach pulled up to the curb outside Joanna's Upper East Side apartment.

She stepped out, flanked by two of Carlton's massive security guards. She kept her head down, rushing through the lobby and into her private elevator. When the doors finally closed, she leaned against the mirrored wall and let out a long, shaky exhale.

She walked into her apartment and threw her keys onto the console table. She pulled out her phone.

Freddie had sent forty text messages.

Are you crazy?

You humiliated Jessie on purpose!

Answer the phone, you psycho!

Joanna stared at the screen, her stomach churning with absolute disgust. She didn't reply. She deleted the entire thread with a single swipe of her thumb.

She walked into her study and opened the wall safe. She pulled out a thick, leather-bound folder-the Madden family trust fund prenuptial agreement. She dropped it onto the mahogany desk and began reading the clauses.

If she broke the engagement without cause, she would lose her shares and be hit with a massive penalty fee. She needed Freddie to be the one to break it, or she needed him to commit a public, undeniable breach of contract.

The sharp buzz of the intercom interrupted her thoughts.

Her personal assistant, Clara, burst through the front door a moment later. Clara's face was pale, her hands shaking as she held up a thick, gold-embossed envelope.

"Joanna," Clara gasped. "Eleanor Madden sent a car. It's waiting downstairs. She wants you at the Long Island estate. Right now."

Joanna's eyes narrowed. The matriarch. The true power behind the family name. The pool incident had reached the top of the food chain.

"Give me ten minutes," Joanna said coldly.

She walked into her bedroom. She stripped off Carlton's black shirt, her skin still tingling where the fabric had touched her. She put on a conservative, tailored beige suit. She sat at her vanity and applied a layer of pale foundation, deliberately making herself look exhausted and fragile.

Several hours later, after navigating the grueling, bumper-to-bumper nightmare of late-afternoon Manhattan traffic, the car passed through the heavy iron gates of the Madden estate on Long Island.

The butler escorted her in silence through the sprawling mansion, leading her to Eleanor's private study. The heavy oak doors swung open.

Eleanor Madden sat behind a massive desk. Her silver hair was pulled back perfectly. Her eyes, sharp as a hawk's, were locked onto a stack of glossy photographs on her desk.

Joanna stepped forward. She lowered her head slightly, letting her shoulders slump just enough to look defeated.

"Grandmother," Joanna said, her voice perfectly pitched with a slight, raspy tremor.

Eleanor picked up the photos and threw them across the desk. They scattered over the wood. They were high-definition shots of Freddie holding Jessie in the pool, completely ignoring Joanna.

"Explain this disaster," Eleanor demanded, her voice like cracking ice.

Joanna didn't defend herself. She bit down hard on her lower lip until she tasted a faint hint of metallic blood. She let a single tear well up in her eye, making sure it caught the light before she blinked it away.

"It was an accident," Joanna whispered, her voice breaking. "I slipped. I pulled Miss Beck down with me. Freddie was just... he was just trying to save her because she couldn't swim. I understand."

Eleanor scoffed loudly. "Don't play the fool with me, Joanna. I know exactly what that little actress is. She's a parasite."

Joanna looked down at her hands, twisting her engagement ring nervously. "I am willing to issue a public apology, Grandmother. I will take full responsibility for the fall. We cannot let this affect the Madden Group's stock prices."

The room went silent.

Eleanor stared at her. The matriarch didn't care about love or fidelity. She cared about loyalty to the empire. Joanna's willingness to swallow her pride and take the blame for the sake of the stock price was exactly what Eleanor wanted in a future granddaughter-in-law.

The harsh lines around Eleanor's mouth softened slightly. She gestured to the leather chair opposite the desk. "Sit."

Joanna sat, keeping her posture rigid but respectful.

"The Madden family does not need a punching bag," Eleanor said coldly. "But we do need a woman who understands the bigger picture."

"I will never let this family down," Joanna said, looking Eleanor straight in the eye, replacing her fragility with steel.

Eleanor nodded in approval. She pressed the intercom button on her desk. "Ms. Doyle. Come in here."

The chief executive secretary entered immediately.

"Freeze all of Freddie's black cards," Eleanor ordered without blinking. "And call our contacts at the studios. Cut Jessie Beck from every audition list in Hollywood. Put her on a private jet to Europe by midnight. If she comes back to New York, ruin her."

Joanna's heart leaped with triumph, but she forced her eyes to widen in fake shock. "Grandmother, please, Freddie will be furious-"

"Let him be," Eleanor snapped, raising a hand to silence her. "He needs to learn that his actions have consequences. You will say nothing to him."

Eleanor opened a drawer and pulled out a long velvet box. She slid it across the desk.

"For your trouble today," Eleanor said.

Joanna opened the box. A heavy, antique emerald necklace rested on the white silk. It was worth millions.

"Thank you, Grandmother," Joanna said softly.

She stood up, took the box, and walked out of the study. The moment the heavy oak doors clicked shut behind her, the fragile, victimized expression vanished from her face.

Her lips curled into a cold, ruthless smile. Phase one was complete. She had kept her hands perfectly clean, and the matriarch had just executed her enemies for her.

The crystal chandelier cast a cold, brilliant light over the long dining table in the Madden family's Manhattan townhouse.

Joanna sat perfectly straight near the center of the table. The heavy, antique emerald necklace Eleanor had given her rested against her collarbone. She calmly sliced her filet mignon, completely ignoring the murderous glare Freddie was shooting at her from across the table.

"That's a stunning piece, Joanna," Catherine, Freddie's mother, said loudly, her voice dripping with venom. "I suppose taking a little dip in the pool pays off quite well these days."

Joanna paused. She looked up, offering Catherine a flawless, polite smile. "Grandmother felt it was a fitting heirloom for the future lady of the house. I simply couldn't refuse her generosity."

Catherine's face tightened. She snapped her mouth shut, unable to argue against the matriarch's decision.

Freddie gripped his steak knife so hard his knuckles turned white. His phone had been blowing up all afternoon with declined card notifications, and Jessie's number was completely disconnected. He was a ticking time bomb.

He opened his mouth, ready to explode.

Before he could speak, the massive double doors of the dining room swung open.

A freezing gust of air seemed to follow Carlton Madden into the room. He strode in, wearing a dark, tailored suit that emphasized his massive frame. The low murmur of conversation around the table died instantly. Everyone put down their silverware. The sheer authority radiating from him demanded absolute submission.

Carlton walked to the empty chair at the head of the table, right next to Eleanor. Before sitting, his gray-blue eyes swept over the room.

His gaze stopped on Joanna for a fraction of a second.

Joanna stared down at her plate, but her stomach dropped. The invisible weight of his stare felt like a physical touch, making the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

"Carlton," Eleanor said, breaking the silence. "How is the Silicon Valley acquisition proceeding?"

Carlton sat down. He didn't reach for his napkin. He looked directly at Freddie.

"It's delayed," Carlton said. His voice was flat, devoid of any emotion, but it echoed through the silent room like a death sentence.

Eleanor frowned deeply. "Delayed? Why?"

"Because the group's stock dropped three percent in the last forty-eight hours," Carlton replied. He gestured to his assistant, Leo, who stepped out from the shadows and began placing thick financial reports in front of every board member at the table.

Carlton leaned back in his chair. "Wall Street does not like instability. And unfortunately, one of our heirs decided to turn a Hampton pool party into a tabloid spectacle, and then used company PR resources to try and hide his mistress."

Freddie shot up from his chair. His face was purple with rage. "That's a lie! The media blew it out of proportion! And she pushed her!" He pointed a shaking finger at Joanna.

Carlton's eyes darkened. He didn't raise his voice, but the lethal warning in his tone made Freddie's knees buckle.

"If you cannot control your zipper, or your fiancée," Carlton said slowly, "you have absolutely no business managing the Hudson Project."

The dining room went dead silent. The Hudson Project was Freddie's only real source of power in the company.

Freddie looked desperately at Eleanor. "Grandma, you can't let him do this. I've worked on Hudson for two years!"

Eleanor looked down at the financial losses printed on the report. Her face turned to stone. "Carlton is right. You are a liability right now. You are suspended from the Hudson Project indefinitely. A management team will take over your duties."

Freddie collapsed back into his chair, looking like he had been physically struck. He had lost his money, his mistress, and now his power.

Joanna's heart soared with vicious satisfaction. But she knew her role.

She immediately stood up and walked around the table. she placed a gentle, comforting hand on Freddie's shoulder.

"Freddie, it's okay," Joanna said, her voice loud enough for the entire room to hear. "It's just temporary. I know you'll prove yourself to the board."

Freddie jerked away from her touch like she had burned him. "Get your hands off me!" he snarled, his eyes wild with hatred. "You did this!"

Joanna stumbled backward, letting out a soft gasp. She brought a hand to her chest, her eyes widening in perfect, wounded shock.

"Freddie!" Eleanor slammed her hand on the table. "Control yourself! Go to your room immediately!"

Humiliated and broken, Freddie kicked his chair back. It crashed to the floor. He stormed out of the dining room, slamming the doors behind him.

Joanna stood frozen, pressing a napkin to the corner of her eye as if wiping away a tear.

But as she lowered her head, she shifted her gaze toward the head of the table.

Carlton had picked up his wine glass. He was taking a slow sip of red wine, his eyes locked directly onto hers. Beneath the cold, ruthless exterior, she saw a dark, knowing gleam in his eyes. He was watching her perform, and he was enjoying it.

The dinner concluded in suffocating silence.

Joanna lingered in the powder room, splashing cold water on her wrists to calm her racing pulse. She needed to avoid the rest of the family. More importantly, she needed to make sure Carlton didn't think she owed him anything for destroying Freddie's career.

She stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, heading toward the side exit.

As she passed the arched doorway leading to the terrace, she stopped. A tall, broad silhouette stood in the shadows. The glowing cherry of a lit cigar illuminated the sharp angles of Carlton's face.

Joanna took a deep breath. She adjusted her posture and stepped out onto the cold stone terrace.

She stopped a safe five feet away. "I suppose I should thank you," she said, keeping her tone polite and distant. "For taking the heat off me in there."

Carlton didn't turn around. He exhaled a thick cloud of white smoke into the night air.

"I protected the stock price," he said, his voice colder than the wind. "It had absolutely nothing to do with you."

The brutal dismissal stung. Joanna frowned, her pride flaring. She took a half-step forward, trying to read his expression in the dark. "Right. Just business."

Carlton turned his head. The gray-blue of his eyes caught the moonlight, flashing with a sudden, terrifying intensity.

"Your acting is sloppy," he warned, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "If you ever try to sell those cheap, fake tears to Eleanor again, I will throw you out of this family myself."

Joanna's breath hitched. Her stomach plummeted as a wave of genuine fear washed over her. She had gotten arrogant, thinking she could play the entire family, forgetting that this man saw through every single lie she told.

She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. She lowered her eyes, unable to hold his gaze. "Goodnight, Carlton."

She turned and practically ran off the terrace.

An hour later, Joanna collapsed onto her own bed in her Manhattan apartment. She kicked off her heels, her body exhausted, but her mind was spinning out of control. Carlton's cold, threatening eyes burned in her memory. The pressure of her rebirth, the constant lying, and the sheer terror of dealing with him were pushing her to the edge.

She grabbed a bottle of melatonin from her nightstand, swallowed two pills dry, and buried her face in the pillows.

Sleep dragged her under heavily.

But the darkness quickly shifted.

The environment around her changed. She was no longer in her modern, airy bedroom. She was in a dimly lit, enclosed space. The air was thick, heavy with the intoxicating scent of cedarwood and expensive tobacco.

Joanna looked down. She was wearing the oversized black French-cuff shirt she had stolen from Carlton's closet.

Panic flared in her chest as she tried to move her arms. She couldn't. Her wrists were bound together above her head, tied to the heavy iron headboard with a dark silk tie.

A tall figure stepped out of the shadows.

It was Carlton.

But his eyes weren't cold anymore. They were dark, dilated, and burning with a raw, predatory hunger that terrified and paralyzed her.

He stepped up to the bed and dropped to one knee. He reached out. His rough, calloused fingers traced a burning path up her bare calf, moving slowly over her knee and up her thigh.

Joanna gasped. She tried to thrash, to pull her hands free, but her body betrayed her. Her muscles melted into the mattress, arching into his touch.

Carlton leaned down. His face hovered inches from hers. His hot breath fanned across her neck. He pressed his lips against the exact spot on her collarbone where his knuckles had grazed her earlier that day.

The sensation was violently real. The heat of his mouth sent a shockwave of pure electricity straight to her core. Joanna let out a soft, desperate moan, her mind fracturing under the weight of the intense taboo.

He grabbed the collar of the black shirt and ripped it open. The buttons popped, scattering across the floor.

"You belong to me," Carlton growled against her skin, his voice thick with dark obsession.

The sheer wrongness of the situation-he was her fiancé's uncle-clashed violently with the overwhelming physical pleasure. Driven by a mix of panic, shame, and raw instinct, Joanna turned her head.

She opened her mouth and sank her teeth hard into the thick muscle of his forearm, right above his wrist.

She bit down until she tasted the hot, metallic tang of blood.

Instead of pulling away, Carlton let out a deep, guttural groan of pleasure. He pressed his body heavier against hers.

Joanna's eyes snapped open.

She shot up in bed, gasping for air as if she had been drowning. Her heart was hammering against her ribs so hard it hurt. Her entire body was drenched in a freezing sweat.

She looked frantically at her wrists. There was no tie. She looked down at her chest. She was wearing her normal silk nightgown.

She scrambled out of bed and ran into the bathroom, gripping the edges of the sink. She stared at her reflection. Her face was flushed crimson, her chest heaving, her eyes wild.

She covered her face with her trembling hands, a wave of sickening shame washing over her.

She was having explicit, violent sexual fantasies about her fiancé's uncle. The stress of her rebirth was destroying her mind. She was having a mental breakdown.