The tires of Kain's Aston Martin screeched loudly as he slammed on the brakes in front of the Raymond family's sprawling Long Island estate.

He stomped into the lavishly decorated living room, his suit slightly wrinkled, his face tight with lingering anger.

Eleanor was sitting on a velvet sofa, sipping afternoon tea. When she saw Kain, she immediately set her cup down and plastered on a sickeningly sweet smile.

Kain skipped the pleasantries. He stood in the center of the room and announced, "I have officially broken off the engagement with Avah."

Preston, who was reading a financial report, slammed his bone-china teacup onto the glass table. His face darkened as he calculated the financial hit.

Jaclyn came running down the grand staircase. She widened her eyes, playing the perfect picture of innocent distress, and threw herself into Kain's arms.

Kain wrapped his arms around Jaclyn's waist. He looked at Preston. "Jaclyn is the only daughter-in-law the Hopkins family will ever acknowledge."

A greedy, calculating light sparked in Eleanor's eyes. She covered her mouth, hiding her triumphant smirk.

Preston felt a sharp ache at the thought of losing control over Avah's massive trust fund, but his mind quickly weighed the pros and cons.

Kain sneered, adding fuel to the fire. "Avah is currently in the hospital, hooking up with some broke, bottom-tier loser."

He used the most degrading words he could find, painting Avah as a desperate woman throwing herself at a peasant.

Eleanor let out a loud, mocking scoff. "I always knew that girl was useless. Once stained, always stained."

Jaclyn squeezed out two fake tears. She clutched Kain's sleeve. "How could my sister abandon our family's honor for a poor man?"

Preston made his decision. He completely discarded Avah in his mind. From now on, all family resources would be poured into Jaclyn.

He cleared his throat, changing the subject to what truly mattered. "The Metropolitan Museum of Art charity gala is next week."

A fanatical gleam appeared in Preston's eyes. "I have reliable information. Atticus Duke, the mysterious head of the Duke Consortium, will be attending."

The moment Kain heard that name, his arrogant posture vanished. He leaned forward, his face filled with desperate reverence.

"The Hopkins family is actively seeking funding from the Duke Consortium," Kain said eagerly. "This gala is our only chance to get close to him."

Eleanor grabbed Jaclyn's hands, her voice trembling with excitement. "You must look flawless at that gala, Jaclyn. You need to catch the eye of that titan."

Jaclyn's eyes burned with naked ambition. She silently vowed to make the mysterious billionaire fall to his knees for her.

The four of them sat in the luxurious living room, completely consumed by their manic fantasies of absolute wealth and power.

They had absolutely no idea that the "broke loser" Kain had just insulted in the hospital was Atticus Duke himself.

Back at the hospital, Avah was undergoing meticulous examinations by the top-tier specialists.

They treated her ankle with cutting-edge methods and even prescribed an incredibly expensive psychological trauma intervention program.

Avah tried to ask the nurse for the billing details, but the nurse simply smiled. "Everything has been paid in full by the hotel, Ms. Raymond."

This abnormal level of generosity set off massive alarm bells in Avah's head. She needed to know the truth.

Avah slowly opened her door to ask for a glass of water, just in time to hear two nurses whispering excitedly at the station down the hall. "Did you see the man who took over the Presidential Suite next door?" one murmured. "The one with the little boy. He's the one who carried her in." Avah pulled back into the shadows, her eyes narrowing.

Avah changed into a fresh hospital gown. Grabbing a medical crutch the hospital had provided, she carefully shifted her weight and slowly hobbled out of her room and down the hall.

She stopped in front of the slightly open door of the Presidential Suite. As she raised her hand to knock, she peeked through the crack and froze.

Through the narrow gap in the door, Avah saw the interior of the massive, ultra-luxurious suite.

Standing in the center of the room was an elderly British man dressed in a flawless tailcoat.

The butler, Arthur Finch, was respectfully directing several high-end private nurses as they organized a mountain of expensive toys for Leo.

The sheer scale of this ridiculous display of wealth slammed into Avah's brain. Her suspicions were confirmed. That man was definitely not a hotel employee.

Suddenly, a piercing, heart-wrenching scream erupted from the inner bedroom. It was followed by the loud crash of something glass shattering.

Avah's heart violently seized in her chest. Pure maternal instinct took over. She pushed the heavy door open, dropped her crutch, and rushed inside.

Arthur looked surprised by her sudden intrusion, but he quickly bowed his head and stepped aside, allowing her to pass.

Avah limped into the inner bedroom. Leo was thrashing wildly on the massive king-sized bed, his face pale and drenched in cold sweat.

The little boy was trapped in a horrific nightmare of the fire. His small hands clawed at the air, violently rejecting anyone who tried to touch him.

Atticus sat on the edge of the mattress, his dark brows pulled tightly together. He reached out with his large hands, trying to pin his son's shoulders down to stop him from hurting himself.

But Atticus's movements were stiff and awkward. The forceful restraint only made Leo scream louder, his voice cracking with terror.

Ignoring the sharp, stabbing pain in her ankle, Avah threw herself onto the edge of the bed.

Instead of trying to overpower Atticus's rigid grip, she swiftly slid her slender arms between his broad hands and the boy's thrashing form. Using her own body as a soft barrier, she gently but firmly wedged herself into the space, breaking the father's stiff hold. She pulled Leo's trembling body tightly against her own chest.

Avah lowered her head. In a soft, incredibly gentle voice, she began to hum an old, soothing lullaby right into Leo's ear.

Her hand rubbed his back in slow, rhythmic circles, calming him down like a frightened little animal.

Almost miraculously, the moment Leo breathed in Avah's scent, his frantic screams began to die down into soft hiccups.

His tiny fists grabbed handfuls of Avah's hospital gown. He buried his wet face deep into the crook of her neck.

Atticus didn't get angry when she pushed him. Instead, he sat perfectly still, his deep blue eyes intensely focused on the beautiful scene unfolding before him.

Without taking his eyes off Avah, Atticus raised a hand and flicked his fingers. Arthur and the nurses immediately backed out of the room and closed the door.

The room fell silent. Avah kept her head down, completely focused on soothing the exhausted child in her arms.

As she shifted her weight, her peripheral vision accidentally caught sight of Atticus's left arm resting casually on his knee.

The cuff of his crisp white shirt was rolled up slightly, exposing a section of his thick, muscular forearm.

Right near his wrist, on the inside of his arm, was a massive, horrifying burn scar.

The scar tissue was twisted and angry red, a clear sign that his flesh had recently been exposed to extreme, blistering heat.

Avah's breath hitched in her throat. Her mind instantly flashed back to the towering figure in the inferno, the man who had carried her out through the flames.

She slowly raised her head. Her wide eyes darted frantically between Atticus's calm face and the brutal scar on his arm.

The man who had risked his life to pull her from the fire, the man who had nearly destroyed his own arm to save her... was him.

A massive, complicated wave of emotion crashed into Avah's chest. The thick walls of defense she had built up began to crack.

Atticus noticed her staring. He didn't pull his sleeve down to hide the injury. Instead, he met her shocked gaze head-on.

A slow, dark smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, like a predator watching its prey step willingly into a trap.

Leo's breathing evened out as he fell asleep in her arms, but Avah suddenly felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

Avah moved with extreme care. She gently laid the sleeping Leo down against the soft pillows and pulled the thick cashmere blanket up to his chin.

She leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against the little boy's smooth forehead.

Standing a few feet away, Atticus watched this display of pure maternal warmth. He didn't miss a single detail.

A dark, aggressive tide surged in Atticus's deep blue eyes. The possessiveness in his gaze was so heavy it felt like it could swallow her whole.

Avah straightened her back. She turned to face Atticus, desperately trying to keep her voice steady and calm.

She pointed a trembling finger at the burn scar on his arm. "Thank you. For saving my life in that fire."

Atticus didn't say a word. He simply took a slow, deliberate step toward her. Then another.

His massive frame blocked out the light from the overhead lamp, casting a large, dark shadow that completely engulfed Avah.

Avah instinctively took a step back, but her shoulders immediately hit the cold, hard wall. She was trapped.

Atticus raised his left arm-the one with the burn scar-and slammed his palm flat against the wall, right next to her ear.

He leaned down. The physical distance between them vanished. Avah could feel the scorching heat of his breath fanning across her cheeks.

"I don't want your verbal gratitude," Atticus said. His voice was a low, gravelly whisper that sent shivers down her spine.

Avah swallowed hard, her throat dry. "What kind of compensation do you want? I... I have nothing right now."

A low, dark chuckle vibrated deep in Atticus's chest. He lifted his right hand and gently hooked a stray curl of her hair around his finger.

He stared directly into her eyes. "I only want you."

The blunt, violently direct confession exploded in Avah's ears like a bomb.

Her eyes widened in absolute shock. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs. She couldn't comprehend the logic of this dangerous man.

Avah brought her hands up and pushed hard against his solid chest. "We met less than twenty-four hours ago. You're insane."

Atticus didn't budge an inch. He easily caught her wrists in one hand and pressed her palm flat against his own chest, right over his racing heart.

"Time means absolutely nothing to a hunter," Atticus stated, his tone dripping with absolute certainty.

He didn't sugarcoat his intentions. "Leo needs a mother. And I need a woman who actually holds my interest. You are mine now."

Avah felt a hot flash of anger burn through her veins. He was treating marriage and emotion like a corporate acquisition.

"I am not a product you can just buy off a shelf," Avah snapped coldly. "And I will never be a surrogate mother for your convenience."

Atticus's eyes darkened dangerously. He released her wrist and slowly trailed his fingers down the sensitive skin of her neck, making her body tremble involuntarily.

"Don't rush to reject me, Avah," he warned, his voice dropping an octave. "The prey I set my sights on never escapes."

He was officially declaring war on her independence. He was going to take over her life.

Avah violently jerked her head to the side, breaking contact with his fingers. A fierce, unbroken fire blazed in her eyes.

They stood locked in a silent standoff in the dim room. The air between them crackled with explosive sexual tension and the heavy scent of gunpowder.