Alena sucked in a sharp breath. Her lungs burned as she instinctively grabbed a plush pillow and held it tight against her chest. She scrambled backward until her spine hit the solid headboard.

Andrew stopped drying his hair. A drop of water slid down the hard, defined ridges of his abs. His dark eyes locked onto her, completely unapologetic as he watched her panic.

He tossed the towel onto a velvet armchair. He turned around, giving her a full view of his broad, heavily muscled back as he walked toward the walk-in closet.

"There are clean women's clothes in the closet," he said over his shoulder.

The second he disappeared behind the closet door, Alena threw the covers off. She jumped out of bed, her bare feet hitting the thick carpet. She spun in a circle, her eyes darting around the massive room for her purse and phone.

She spotted her phone sitting on the nightstand. The screen had been wiped clean of mud. She grabbed it and pressed the power button.

The screen flashed a dead battery symbol before going black. Her only connection to the outside world was severed.

She clutched the phone to her chest and walked out of the bedroom, stepping into the sprawling living room.

Andrew was already there. He was fully dressed in a perfectly tailored, charcoal-gray suit. He stood behind the marble island of the open kitchen, calmly grinding coffee beans.

Alena pulled the oversized black overcoat tighter around her body. She stopped ten feet away from him, keeping a safe distance. She cleared her throat, trying to force the tremor out of her voice.

"Where am I?" she asked, her tone stiff. "Thank you for what you did last night. But I need to leave right now."

Andrew didn't turn around. His long fingers expertly worked the espresso machine. The rich smell of coffee filled the air.

"Haven't had enough of the drama at The Plaza Hotel?" his deep voice floated over the counter.

The words hit Alena like a physical blow to the chest. Her eyes widened in shock. Her heart slammed against her ribs, and the blood drained completely from her face.

Andrew picked up two mugs of black coffee. He turned around and walked toward her. His long legs closed the distance between them in seconds.

He stopped right in front of her. He grabbed her freezing hand and forced her fingers to wrap around the hot ceramic mug.

Alena's hands were shaking so badly the coffee rippled. The heat of the mug did nothing to warm her skin.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice rising. "How do you know about last night?"

Andrew took a slow sip from his mug. His eyes were dark and amused.

"Every tabloid in New York is running the same headline this morning," he said, his voice flat. "The engagement of the Payne family's golden child to the Spencer family's rising star."

He took a slow half-step forward. His massive frame completely blocked her view of the room.

"And, of course, the mention of the pathetic younger sister who was thrown out of the ballroom like a stray dog. Alena Payne."

The words "stray dog" stabbed directly into her open wound.

Alena sucked in a harsh breath. Her fear vanished, replaced instantly by a burning, defensive rage. She glared at him, her eyes turning sharp and hostile.

She let out a bitter laugh and slammed the coffee mug down onto the glass coffee table.

"Are you a reporter?" she snapped. "Or did Darrin send you to spy on me? Is this some kind of corporate espionage?"

Andrew didn't look insulted. He looked entertained. He liked the fire in her eyes. He reached down and picked up a newspaper from the table, tossing it onto the glass right next to her mug.

Alena looked down. The front page featured a massive, glossy photo of Darrin kissing Katrina. The headline was brutal. Her stomach violently cramped again.

She dug her nails into her palms to keep from tearing the paper to shreds. She forced her chin up and stared straight into his eyes.

"If you think you can blackmail me with this, you picked the wrong target. I don't have a dime to my name."

Andrew set his mug down. He slipped both hands into his trouser pockets. He looked down at her with the absolute arrogance of a man who owned the world.

He slowly pulled his right hand from his pocket and reached out. His rough thumb gently brushed against her swollen, bruised cheek. The touch was intimate, but the strength behind it was terrifying.

Alena flinched violently. She jerked her head away from his hand.

"Don't touch me," she warned, her entire body rigid with defense.

Andrew's hand hovered in the air for a second before he casually dropped it to his side. The corner of his mouth twitched upward.

He turned and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the morning traffic. His voice shifted, dropping the amusement and taking on the cold, hard edge of a boardroom negotiation.

"Darrin Spencer is a piece of trash not worth your tears. Your family treats you like a disposable pawn. Are you just going to roll over and let them win?"

Alena's chest heaved. "What does that have to do with you? What do you want?"

Andrew turned around. The sunlight was behind him, casting his face in shadow. The oppressive weight of his presence filled the room.

He walked toward her. He didn't stop.

Alena took a step back, but her knees hit the edge of the sofa. She was trapped.

Andrew placed both hands on the back of the sofa, caging her completely between his arms. He leaned down, his face inches from hers. She could feel the heat radiating off his chest.

He stared deep into her panicked eyes. His voice was a low, hypnotic rumble.

"Because, Alena. I need a wife."

Time seemed to stop. Alena stared at the flawless face inches from hers, the air completely vanishing from her lungs. She thought her hearing had failed her.

For five agonizing seconds, neither of them moved.

Then, survival instinct kicked in. Alena shoved her hands against his solid chest and pushed him away with every ounce of strength she had. She stumbled sideways, almost tripping over the rug.

She looked at him like he was a monster. Her chest heaved, and her voice cracked as she yelled, "Are you out of your mind? We met twelve hours ago in a dirty alley!"

Andrew took a smooth step back. He casually adjusted the cuff of his suit jacket. His face was a mask of terrifying, calculated calm.

He walked over to the bar and picked up a thick, gold-stamped manila folder. He tossed it onto the glass coffee table. It landed with a heavy thud.

"My family's trust fund has a very specific, very archaic clause," Andrew said, his voice devoid of any emotion. "I must be married before my thirtieth birthday to gain full control of my shares."

He turned his head and let his eyes slowly drag up and down her body, assessing her like a piece of real estate.

"You have a clean background. You are desperate to escape your family's control. And most importantly..."

He let the sentence hang in the air for a second. A dark, mocking gleam flashed in his eyes.

"You are smart, you have guts, and you are entirely out of options. You are backed into a corner by the very people who should protect you. That makes you the perfect, predictable candidate for a strictly transactional arrangement."

The clinical, transactional way he spoke made Alena's blood boil. She felt like she had just crawled out of one cage only to have a psychopath try to lock her in another.

She didn't even glance at the folder. She grabbed the mug of coffee from the table and hurled the dark liquid straight at the documents.

The hot coffee splashed across the table, soaking into the thick paper of the folder.

Andrew's jaw tightened. A muscle ticked in his cheek, but he didn't raise his voice. He just watched her, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Alena pointed a shaking finger toward the front door. Even though she was standing in his penthouse, wearing his coat, she refused to back down.

"Keep your disgusting trust fund clauses away from me," she spat, her voice ringing with absolute finality. "My marriage will never be a bargaining chip for anyone's business deal!"

Andrew looked at the fierce, unbroken fire in her eyes. A deep, hidden thrill of admiration flared in his chest. He loved that she fought back. It made the hunt so much better.

He didn't push her. Instead, he reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a heavy, matte-black business card. He held it out between his index and middle fingers.

Alena crossed her arms tightly over her chest. She glued her feet to the floor, refusing to take it.

Andrew let out a low, soft laugh. He stepped forward, closed the distance, and smoothly slid the card into the pocket of the trench coat she was wearing. As he pulled his hand back, his knuckles intentionally brushed against the curve of her waist.

A violent shiver ripped down Alena's spine.

"Don't be so quick to say no, Alena," he murmured, his voice laced with absolute certainty. "When you realize you can't fight the Payne family on your own... you will come to me."

The sheer arrogance in his voice felt like a knife twisting in her gut. She spun on her heel and practically ran toward the entryway. She didn't care that she was still wearing last night's ruined dress underneath the coat. She just needed to breathe real air.

She yanked the heavy front door open and sprinted down the hallway, her bare feet sinking into the carpet.

Andrew stood in the doorway, watching her run. He didn't chase her. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Sam.

"Have a team follow her. Make sure she gets to her apartment safely," Andrew ordered, his voice turning to ice. "And initiate a stress test on Payne Real Estate's supply chain. Cut their credit lines."

Alena slammed her hand against the elevator button. The doors opened, and she threw herself inside.

The moment the doors slid shut, the adrenaline crashed. The rapid descent of the elevator made her stomach drop. She leaned her back against the cold metal wall, sliding down until she was crouching on the floor.

She shoved her hand into the pocket of the coat. Her fingers brushed against the sharp edge of the business card. It felt like it was burning her skin.

She pulled it out, ready to leave it on the floor of the elevator.

But her eyes caught the gold lettering. There was no company name. No title. Just two words written in elegant, sharp script.

Andrew Spencer.

The name hit her brain like a freight train. Spencer. Could he be a part of the same massive financial empire? Was it just a bizarre coincidence, or was this man somehow connected to the very family that Darrin's branch worshipped from the bottom of the ladder?

The elevator chimed and the doors opened to the lobby. The blast of cold air conditioning hit her face, snapping her out of her shock.

She gripped the card so hard it bent. She walked fast out of the hotel, her heart pounding with a new, terrifying realization. She hadn't just met a rich man. She had just crossed paths with a monster.

Alena burst through the heavy glass doors of the hotel. The sharp morning air hit her face, making her shiver violently. She flagged down a yellow cab, throwing her Brooklyn address at the driver before slamming the door shut.

She sank into the cracked leather seat and immediately plugged her dead phone into her portable charger.

The second the Apple logo disappeared, the screen exploded with notifications. Thirty missed calls. Fifty text messages. All from her mother, her father, and Darrin.

She ignored every single one of them. Her fingers shook as she opened the Safari browser and typed Andrew Spencer into the search bar.

The page loaded. There were no gossip columns. No Instagram accounts. In fact, there was almost nothing concrete at all. For a man who exuded such overwhelming wealth and power, his digital footprint was practically nonexistent. There were only a few vague, buried mentions in old financial forums, referring to an elusive, high-level investor operating behind the scenes of the main Spencer family.

Alena frowned, scrolling frantically through dead-end links and empty corporate directories. She couldn't find a single clear photograph or a definitive title. But then, a chilling memory surfaced. Darrin used to brag, drunk on his own ambition, about a mysterious, untouchable uncle in the main branch of the Spencer family-a ruthless predator who operated entirely in the shadows, the true "Ghost of Wall Street." Darrin had spent his entire life trying to earn just a five-minute meeting with him.

A wave of pure nausea washed over her. Could this be him? The man who had picked her up out of the mud, the man who had just demanded she marry him... could he be the very apex predator Darrin was terrified of? The sheer possibility made her head spin.

She dropped the phone onto the seat. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

Why? she thought, panic tightening her throat. Is he using me to punish Darrin's side of the family? Am I just a pawn in some billionaire's sick corporate war?

"Miss, we're here," the driver grunted.

Alena jumped. She looked out the window at her familiar Brooklyn apartment building. She handed the driver a twenty, pulled Andrew's coat tight around her chest, and practically ran to the entrance.

The doorman gave her a concerned look as she hurried past, but she just kept her head down.

She stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the 15th floor. As the numbers ticked up, she tried to force her breathing to slow down. This apartment was the only thing she owned. It was her safe place.

The doors opened. Alena pulled her keys from her purse and walked down the quiet hallway.

She turned the final corner and stopped dead in her tracks.

The motion-sensor lights flickered on, illuminating the two people standing directly in front of her door.

Darrin and Katrina.

Darrin was still wearing his tailored suit from the engagement party, his tie ripped open, his hair a mess. Katrina stood next to him, wrapped in a cashmere shawl, tapping her foot impatiently.

The sight of them made Alena's blood boil. The fear from the cab vanished, replaced by a surge of pure, white-hot rage. She gripped her keys so tight the metal bit into her palm.

Darrin heard her footsteps and snapped his head up. His eyes immediately dropped to the oversized, expensive men's coat draped over her shoulders.

His face contorted with ugly, possessive jealousy. He closed the distance between them in three massive strides and grabbed her wrist.

"Where the hell have you been?" Darrin snarled, his grip bruising her skin. "Whose bed did you crawl out of?"

Alena stared at him. The sheer audacity of his words actually made her laugh.

She ripped her arm out of his grasp. Without a second of hesitation, she swung her hand and slapped him across the face with everything she had.

The crack echoed loudly down the empty hallway. Darrin's head snapped to the side. He stumbled back, his hand flying to his red cheek, his eyes wide with shock.

Katrina shrieked. She rushed forward and grabbed Darrin's arm, glaring at Alena.

"You psycho!" Katrina screamed. "You disappear all night to sleep with some random trash, and you have the nerve to hit him?"

Alena looked at them. They looked like two pathetic, disgusting bugs.

"You fucked my fiancé at my engagement party," Alena said, her voice dropping to a deadly, quiet register. "Do not ever speak to me about morals."

She stepped around them, shoved her key into the lock, and turned it.

"Get away from my door," Alena ordered, not looking back. "Or I will call the police and have you arrested for trespassing."

Darrin lunged forward. He slammed his hand flat against the wood of the door, forcing it shut just as she pushed it open.

His face changed. The anger vanished, replaced by the sickeningly sweet, manipulative mask he had worn for three years.

"Alena, please," he begged, his voice soft. "Let us in. We need to talk. It's not what you think. I had no choice."

Alena stared at his hand on her door. The veins in her neck throbbed. She slowly turned her head and looked him dead in the eye.

"Fine," she whispered, her voice like ice. "Come inside. Let's hear your excuse."