The bedroom door closed softly, leaving Ace alone in the hallway.

Inside, Dr. Reed began her examination, her movements gentle and professional. Thaddeus stood by to assist.

When she carefully worked to remove the torn, ruined fabric of Alexandrea's evening gown, Dr. Reed drew in a sharp, audible breath.

Thaddeus's easygoing expression hardened into a grim line.

Alexandrea's back was a roadmap of cruelty.

A network of scars, old and new, crisscrossed the pale skin. Some were thin, silvery-white lines, long healed-the kind left by a belt or a switch. Others were newer, angry pink marks, and a few were freshly scabbed over.

It wasn't just her back. On her arms and the backs of her legs, there were small, perfectly round scars, the unmistakable, puckered tissue of cigarette burns.

"The abrasions and contusions are recent, from today," Dr. Reed said, her voice tight with professional restraint. "But these older injuries... this is the result of long-term, systematic physical abuse. Years of it."

Her clinical diagnosis was delivered with a quiet, simmering fury.

Thaddeus's hands curled into fists at his sides. He now understood the cold rage he had seen in his brother's eyes.

Dr. Reed cleaned and dressed the new wounds, applied a soothing salve, and then gently dressed Alexandrea in a soft, silk nightgown that had been laid out by the staff.

When they emerged from the bedroom, Ace was waiting, his posture rigid. "Report."

Dr. Reed didn't mince words. She described the scars, the burns, the evidence of prolonged torture, her voice never wavering.

With every word, the temperature in the hallway seemed to drop.

By the time she finished, Ace's handsome face was a thundercloud, dark and menacing. The knuckles of the hand in his pocket were white.

"I see," he bit out, the words barely escaping his clenched jaw.

"Thank you, Evelyn. That will be all for tonight."

"She's severely malnourished and needs rest," Dr. Reed added. "I'll leave a list of supplements and topical creams. But her psychological state will require the most attention."

After the doctor had been escorted out, Thaddeus put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Ace... the Terrys aren't people. They're animals."

Ace didn't respond. He just turned, pulling out his phone and dialing Giles again.

The call connected instantly. "Giles. Add something to the investigation."

His voice was lethally calm. "I want all of the Terry family's medical records for the past decade. I want a list of every domestic employee they've ever had, and the reason for their termination."

"I want to know exactly who did this to her." The last words were laced with a chilling, murderous intent.

"And Giles... whatever it takes, whatever it costs, I want Ivette Terry to pay for what she did today."

The fury radiating through the phone was palpable. "Yes, sir," Giles replied without hesitation. "I'll get it done."

Ace ended the call, but the inferno inside him still raged.

He walked back into the bedroom and approached the bed. In the soft glow of the bedside lamp, he could see the faint tracks of tears on her cheeks. Even in sleep, her brow was furrowed, her expression pained, as if she were trapped in a nightmare.

He reached out a hand, intending to smooth the worry from her forehead, but stopped himself, his fingers hovering in the air. He didn't want to startle her.

Instead, he pulled a chair to the side of the bed, sat down, and simply watched over her.

Ace hadn't moved from his chair. He sat in silence, his gaze fixed on the woman in his bed.

Alexandrea's sleep was not peaceful. She tossed fitfully, her body twitching, a low whimper escaping her lips.

She began to mumble, her words slurred and indistinct.

Ace leaned closer, straining to hear.

"...no... please, don't..."

His jaw tightened. She was reliving it. Reliving the horror that had been carved into her skin. He fought the urge to wake her, to pull her from the memories that haunted her even in sleep.

Then, she cried out a name, her voice suddenly clear and sharp with desperation.

"Nolan... save me... Nolan..."

Nolan.

The name hit Ace like a physical blow. His eyes narrowed.

Who was Nolan? A friend? A brother? A lover?

A cold, unfamiliar tendril of possessiveness-of jealousy-curled in his gut.

He immediately took out his phone, his thumb moving swiftly across the screen, sending a text to Giles.

Find out everything you can about a man named Nolan connected to Alexandrea Terry.

Just as he hit send, he saw her eyelashes flutter.

Slowly, groggily, Alexandrea's eyes opened.

Her vision was blurry at first. She blinked, the soft light of the lamp a gentle intrusion. The first thing she registered was the ceiling-high, white, and unfamiliar.

The second was the powerful presence beside her.

She turned her head, her movements stiff.

Her breath caught in her throat. Ace was sitting there, watching her, his gray eyes intense and unreadable in the dim light.

The memories came rushing back in a tidal wave. The hotel. The trap. Ivette's vicious words. This man's shocking defense. And then... the sharp pain in her neck before everything went black.

She scrambled up, pushing herself back against the headboard, a cornered animal seeking refuge.

"Where am I?" Her voice was a dry, raspy croak.

"My apartment," Ace answered simply, his voice calm and even, betraying none of the jealousy that had gripped him moments before.

Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the understated luxury that screamed of old money. He was telling the truth.

She looked down and realized she was wearing a silk nightgown, not her torn dress. A flush of heat crept up her neck, a mixture of embarrassment and a new spike of fear.

"What did you do to me?" she demanded, her voice trembling despite her effort to sound strong.

"You were hurt," he said, his tone still level. "I brought a doctor to see you. A female doctor. She changed your clothes and treated your injuries. Nothing more."

The straightforward explanation, delivered without a hint of threat, eased the worst of her panic. Her shoulders sagged with a tiny bit of relief.

He watched her process this, letting the silence stretch for a moment before he spoke again, his voice dropping slightly, becoming more serious.

"You were having a nightmare," he stated, his gaze piercing. "You called out a name." He paused, letting the words hang in the air. "Nolan."

The question, reframed as an observation, still threw her completely off balance. How could he possibly know that name? Had she said it out loud?

The name itself was a key, unlocking a part of her heart she kept sealed away. Her defensive posture faltered, her eyes clouding over with a deep, ancient sadness.

She didn't answer him. She just hugged her knees to her chest, pulling the blankets tighter around herself, a silent retreat into a world he couldn't enter.

Watching the wall of grief and fear rise in her eyes at the mention of the name, Ace felt a pang of regret. Even his more measured approach had been too much, too soon.

The sharp intensity in his gaze softened, replaced by a flicker of self-reproach.

He stood up and took a step back from the bed, deliberately creating space between them, trying to appear less like a captor.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice much gentler than before. "That was out of line."

The apology was so unexpected it startled her. She looked up at him, her expression a mixture of confusion and suspicion. Men like him didn't apologize.

Ace met her gaze directly, his own unwavering and sincere. "Knocking you out and bringing you here was wrong. But I saw no other choice."

He paused, letting his words sink in. "I could not stand by and watch you walk back into a house where you are so obviously being harmed."

At the mention of harm, her eyes flickered. She thought of Ivette's hands, of the scars that she lived with every day.

"I know this is a lot to process," Ace continued, sensing her fragile state. "You have every right to be angry and afraid."

"What do you want from me?" she asked again, her voice low and tired.

This time, Ace gave her a real answer.

"I meant what I said. I want to marry you." He held up a hand as he saw the look of disbelief return to her face. "I know it sounds insane. Just hear me out."

He pulled the chair closer, but not too close, and sat down, creating the atmosphere of a negotiation, not an interrogation.

"First, we are both victims of Ivette Terry's scheme. She wanted to destroy you, and she was more than happy to drag the Griffith name through the mud in the process."

"Right now, every gossip columnist in New York is waiting to see what happens next. If we do nothing, your reputation is annihilated, and I look like a callous billionaire who uses and discards women."

His logic was cold and brutally honest. She couldn't argue with it.

"But," he said, his tone shifting, "if we get married, the narrative changes completely."

"It's no longer a scandal. It's a whirlwind romance. I become the man who takes responsibility, and you, as the future Mrs. Griffith, will have a status and a shield that no one will dare to challenge."

"No one will ever treat you the way Ivette did again. The Terry family will lose all control over you."

He painted a picture for her, a future where she was safe, powerful, and free from the torment of her past. It was a tempting, intoxicating vision.

Alexandrea was silent. She had to admit, the offer was a lifeline.

But one thing still held her back. The contract. Demario.

"Why me?" she finally asked, the question that mattered most. "You could easily clear your name and walk away. Why choose the most complicated option? Why tie yourself to me?"

Ace looked at her, a deep, searching gaze. He could have told her about seeing her save the child, but that would feel like a transaction, like he was holding her goodness over her head.

He chose a different reason. A simpler, more powerful one.

"Because I've chosen you. I want you," he said, his voice low and firm. "Is that reason enough?"

The raw, possessive honesty of his words made her heart skip a beat.

He didn't give her time to overthink it. "I'm not asking you to love me. Think of this as a contract. An alliance. I give you sanctuary and freedom. You give me your hand in marriage. We both get what we need."

Framing it as a transaction, a business deal, made it infinitely easier for her to process. It was a language she understood.

She looked at the man before her. He was powerful, yes, but he was also logical. He had identified their common enemy and proposed a mutual solution.

A tiny, fragile seed of trust began to sprout in the barren ground of her heart.

She didn't say yes. But she didn't say no, either.

"I need time," she whispered. "I need to think."

It was a monumental concession.