Alistair cleared his throat, breaking the silent standoff，"You must be freezing, Miss Bennett. Please, allow the staff to show you to the guest wing so you may wash up."

Adaline gave a tight nod. She followed a silent maid down a long, sprawling corridor. The walls were lined with original oil paintings and antique vases.

The sheer wealth of the place pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. It felt like a very expensive cage.

The maid opened the door to a massive guest suite. She placed a set of brand-new silk loungewear on the bed, bowed slightly, and left the room.

Adaline stood alone in the silence. She walked over to the full-length mirror. She stared at her reflection. Her hair was matted with rain. Her clothes were stained with mud. Dark, ugly bruises peeked out from the collar of her shirt.

She felt a wave of intense disgust. She turned away from the mirror and walked toward the bathroom.

She grabbed the handle of the bathroom door. It felt stuck. She pushed hard with her shoulder. The door popped open, leading her not into a small guest bath, but into a cavernous, marble-lined master bathroom. It was a Jack-and-Jill setup, connecting two suites.

She didn't care. She just wanted the dirt and the memory of last night off her skin. She turned on the shower, letting the steam fill the massive room.

She stripped off her ruined clothes and stepped under the spray.

The hot water hit her skin. It stung the cuts and deep bruises left by the monster in the hotel room. A sharp hiss of pain escaped her lips, followed by a low, broken sob she couldn't hold back anymore.

Downstairs, the front doors of the estate flew open.

Ferris Finch strode into the foyer.

His jaw was locked tight. He radiated a dark, violent energy. He was still furious about last night. He had been drugged, set up, and the high-class escort who had taken advantage of him had vanished before he woke up.

He ripped his silk tie from his neck and threw it at Alistair. "Is the Bennett woman here? The one selling herself to pay her bills?"

"She is in the guest wing, sir," Alistair replied smoothly.

Ferris let out a cold, sharp sneer. He didn't stop walking. He headed straight for his master suite to shower the scent of the city off him.

He pushed open his bedroom doors. His sharp ears immediately caught the sound of running water coming from his private bathroom.

His eyes went dead. He assumed it was another woman trying to climb into his bed, just like last night.

He marched to the bathroom and shoved the heavy glass door open.

Steam billowed out. Through the haze, Adaline was standing under the water, her back to him.

The loud bang of the door ripped a raw, guttural scream from her throat-a sound of pure terror that echoed her silent screams from the hotel room. She spun around, her eyes blown wide, her chest heaving as her mind violently flashed back to the pitch-black darkness and the crushing weight of the monster.

She scrambled backward, her wet feet slipping on the marble. She grabbed a thick white towel from the rack and clutched it tightly against her chest like a shield, pressing herself into the corner of the shower, trembling so violently her teeth chattered.

Ferris stood in the doorway.

His massive frame blocked the only exit. His piercing gaze swept over her wet, panicked face. He recognized her from the background check photos. Adaline Bennett.

His eyes dragged downward. They locked onto the dark, mottled bruises blooming across her collarbones and the tops of her thighs.

To Ferris, those marks told a very clear story. They were the violent, messy aftermath of a wild night with another man.

A cruel, mocking laugh tore from his throat. His eyes filled with raw disgust.

"Couldn't even wait to wash the stench of your other men off before coming here to cash your check?" Ferris's voice was a low, venomous whip.

Adaline's face drained of all color. The nightmare of the hotel room flashed behind her eyes. Her hands shook violently as she gripped the towel. "No... you don't understand. These marks-"

"Save it," Ferris snapped, cutting her off. He took a step closer. The sheer physical dominance of his presence made her lungs seize. "You disgust me. You're a calculating, money-hungry parasite."

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Don't think you can play your little games in my house."

Adaline's pride, battered and bleeding, flared to life. She bit down hard on her lower lip. The sharp pain grounded her. She tasted copper.

"I just took the wrong door," she said, her voice shaking but defiant.

Ferris stared at her stubborn eyes. A flicker of irritation tightened his chest. He hated that she wasn't cowering.

"Get out of my bathroom," he ordered, his voice like ice.

He turned his back on her and walked out. He slammed the door so hard the glass walls vibrated, sending droplets of water crashing to the floor.

Adaline's knees gave out. She slid down the wet marble wall and hit the floor. The humiliation burned through her veins like acid.

She pressed her fist against her mouth to muffle her cries. She had to survive this. For her mother.

Five minutes later, she stood up. She dried off and put on the oversized silk loungewear. It swallowed her frame, but it felt like armor.

She took a deep breath, opened the guest room door, and stepped out to face the devil she was about to marry.

Adaline walked down the long, silent corridor of the second floor.

The sleeves of the silk shirt hung past her fingertips. She rolled them up, her movements stiff and mechanical.

She reached the heavy oak doors at the end of the hall. The study.

The door was left slightly ajar. Inside, Ferris sat behind a massive mahogany desk. He was flipping through a stack of legal documents, his face an unreadable mask.

Adaline raised her hand. Her knuckles rapped twice against the wood. A dull, hollow sound.

Ferris didn't look up. "Enter."

She pushed the door open. The air inside was thick with the bitter scent of black coffee and the lingering smoke of a Cuban cigar. It felt suffocating.

Ferris picked up a thick bound document and tossed it across the polished wood. It slid rapidly, stopping just inches from the edge of the desk.

He finally raised his eyes. He looked at her as if she were a stain on his rug. "Sign the prenuptial agreement. Don't waste my time."

Adaline walked forward. She picked up the heavy document. She flipped open the first page. The legal jargon was dense, but the core terms were brutally clear.

She had absolutely no right to interfere in his personal life. If they divorced, she would leave with nothing. Zero alimony. Zero assets.

Ferris leaned back in his leather chair. He crossed his arms over his broad chest. He waited for the mask to slip. He waited for the gold digger to throw a tantrum when she realized she wasn't getting a dime of his money.

Adaline didn't blink. She didn't frown. She bypassed the middle pages entirely and flipped straight to the back.

She picked up the heavy Montblanc pen resting on the desk. Without a single second of hesitation, she pressed the nib to the paper and signed her name.

The scratching sound of the pen echoed loudly in the quiet room.

Ferris's eyes narrowed. A flash of genuine surprise crossed his face, but he quickly buried it under a layer of cynicism.

"You really are desperate to latch onto the Finch name," Ferris sneered. "Playing the long game. Impressive acting."

Adaline put the pen down. She ignored his insult. She placed both hands flat on the edge of his desk and leaned forward. She looked straight into his cold eyes.

She swallowed her pride. It tasted like ash. "I signed it. Now, please. I need you to use your network to find a matching bone marrow donor for my mother."

Ferris's expression darkened instantly. The temperature in the room plummeted. To him, this was the real shakedown. This was the greed he had been waiting for.

He stood up abruptly. He planted his hands on the desk, leaning in to match her posture. His massive frame cast a shadow over her.

"The Finch family is not a charity," Ferris said, his voice a lethal rumble. "You get the basic medical bills paid. That was the deal. Nothing more."

Panic seized Adaline's throat. "She doesn't have time! The basic treatment isn't enough. If you just make a few calls-I'll do anything you want."

Ferris caught the word "anything." His eyes dropped to her body, scanning the oversized clothes that hid the bruises he had seen earlier. A cruel, mocking sound left his throat.

"Your used body holds zero appeal to me," Ferris said, his words dripping with malice. "Keep your cheap tricks to yourself."

The words acted like a physical knife plunging into her chest. All the blood drained from Adaline's face, leaving her chalk-white.

She bit down on her lower lip. Hard. The metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth. She forced her eyes to stay wide open, refusing to let the tears fall in front of him.

Ferris watched her jaw clench. A strange, irritating tightness gripped his own chest, but he ignored it.

"We register at City Hall in three days," Ferris stated coldly. He pressed a button on his intercom. "Alistair. Escort her back to the guest wing. She is not permitted in the master wing."

Alistair appeared in the doorway immediately. He gestured for her to leave.

Adaline turned around. She walked out of the study like a ghost.

The heavy door clicked shut behind her, severing her last lifeline.

She made it back to the freezing guest room. The moment the door closed, her legs gave out. She slid down the wooden panels until she hit the floor. She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face in her arms.

She stared at the intricate patterns on the Persian rug. The despair in her eyes slowly hardened into a cold, unbreakable ice. She was entirely alone in this house. She had to save her mother herself.

The morning sun sliced through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, hitting Adaline directly in the eyes.

She groaned, her body aching. She had fallen asleep on the floor. She pushed herself up, her muscles stiff and protesting. She walked into the bathroom, washed her face, and changed back into the dried, wrinkled clothes from yesterday. She needed to get to the hospital.

Downstairs, the atmosphere in the study was volatile.

Ferris stood by the window, looking out at the manicured lawns. His assistant, Alex, stood by the desk, holding a sleek tablet.

"Sir, the background check on Miss Bennett is complete," Alex reported. "She was engaged to Baker Padilla until yesterday."

Ferris turned around. A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes. "Engaged. So she's not just a gold digger, she's a cheating liar." He slammed his hand against the windowsill.

Alex adjusted his glasses. He opened his briefcase and pulled out a clear plastic evidence bag. He placed it carefully on the desk.

Inside the bag was a crumpled, expensive men's dress shirt.

"The hotel cleaning staff found this kicked under the bed in Suite 801 at the Waldorf," Alex said quietly. "It is a custom piece, but the designer tags were forcefully removed. Our analysts traced the fabric weave to a boutique in Manhattan. Sir, this wasn't left by a corporate spy or a hired escort. It's a high-end gift."

Ferris froze. He stared at the shirt in the plastic bag.

His mind violently snapped back to the pitch-black hotel room. He remembered the desperate, terrified thrashing of the woman beneath him. He remembered the hot tears falling onto his hands.

A horrifying realization crashed into his brain.

The woman in the room wasn't an operative sent by his rivals to ruin him. She was an innocent woman. She had brought a gift for someone else. She had simply walked into the wrong room. His room.

And he had destroyed her.

A wave of nausea hit Ferris so hard he gripped the edge of the desk to stay upright. His chest tightened painfully. His breathing turned shallow.

"Find her," Ferris ordered, his voice ragged and hoarse. "Pull every camera. Use every contact. I don't care what it costs. Find the woman who owns that shirt. I will give her half my empire to compensate for what I did. And Alex? Keep a close eye on Miss Bennett's movements. Track her phone. I want to know exactly what kind of mess I'm marrying into."

Out in the hallway, Adaline had just reached the bottom of the stairs. She was walking past the slightly open door of the study.

Her footsteps halted.

She heard Ferris's voice, loud and desperate. Find her. Compensate her. Half my empire.

A bitter chill swept through Adaline's veins. She let out a silent, self-deprecating breath. So, the cold, untouchable Ferris Finch had a true love. A woman he was desperately searching for. A woman he was willing to give everything to.

She remembered how he had looked at her with pure disgust last night, refusing to make a single phone call to save her mother. Because his heart and his resources were reserved for someone else.

Ferris heard the floorboard creak. His head snapped toward the door.

He saw Adaline standing there. The intense guilt in his chest instantly vanished, replaced by a flare of defensive anger. He hated being spied on.

He strode to the door and pulled it wide open. He glared down at her.

"Eavesdropping now?" Ferris sneered, adjusting his cufflinks with sharp, jerky movements. "Keep your pathetic little tricks to yourself."

Adaline didn't flinch. She looked up at him, her eyes completely dead. "I have zero interest in your tragic love life, Mr. Finch."

She turned on her heel and walked toward the front door. Her spine was perfectly straight.

Ferris watched her walk away. Her absolute indifference grated against his nerves. He clenched his jaw, his hand balling into a fist against the doorframe.

Adaline walked out the front doors. Alistair offered to have a driver take her, but she ignored him. She pulled out her phone and ordered an Uber.

She climbed into the backseat of the generic sedan. She looked out the window as the estate disappeared behind the iron gates. Ferris Finch was officially an enemy.

Her phone buzzed. A text from the hospital. Her mother was stable, but the lack of a donor was a ticking time bomb.

Adaline gripped her phone tightly. Her knuckles turned white. She was going to find the donor who backed out. She was going to fix this herself.

The Uber merged onto the highway, speeding toward Manhattan.