Angelo stood in the sterile hallway outside the imaging center. He stared through the thick glass window at the massive MRI machine swallowing Elba. He reached up and yanked his silk tie loose, the fabric slipping through his fingers.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out.

Boss, the security footage for that specific hour is missing. A reported network failure.

Angelo stared at the screen. The skin around his eyes tightened. A cold, heavy knot formed in his gut. The suspicion regarding Georgina took root, growing rapidly into a dark certainty.

The heavy metal door opened. The attending physician walked out, wiping sweat from his forehead with a tissue. "Mr. Potter, her brain and nervous system are completely normal. No physical damage."

Angelo snatched the medical report from the doctor's hand. He flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning the data. Nothing. She was physically fine.

A nurse wheeled Elba out into the hallway. Angelo stepped behind the wheelchair. He looked at the medical staff.

"Get out," Angelo said.

The doctor and nurses scattered instantly.

Angelo pushed the wheelchair back to the VIP room. He closed the door until it clicked shut. The silence in the room was suffocating.

He walked to the side of the bed. He pulled up a heavy chair and sat down, crossing his long legs. He rested his elbows on the armrests, staring at her.

"Elba," Angelo said, his voice low and probing. "Did you mention something about the company's financial statements earlier?"

Elba's heart skipped a beat. She forced a blank, innocent look onto her face and shook her head slowly.

How does he know? her mind raced. Did I accidentally say it out loud? Impossible. My throat hurts too much to speak!

Angelo's lips twitched. A microscopic, cold smile touched the corners of his mouth. He wasn't hallucinating.

He leaned forward, dropping his voice lower. "Georgina is coming to see you this afternoon. You two had better make peace."

Elba shrank back into the pillows, pulling the white blanket up to her chin. Her eyes darted away from him.

Make peace my ass! Elba cursed internally. That manipulative bitch is just coming to check if I'm dead! She still has that forged paternity test hidden in her designer bag!

Angelo flinched. The words forged paternity test hit him like a physical blow to the chest.

He stood up so fast the chair scraped loudly against the floor. He walked to the window, turning his back to Elba. He took a deep, ragged breath, forcing his lungs to expand.

Elba watched his broad back.

My brother is so blind, she thought. Georgina is selling him out, and he's helping her count the cash. Poor Potter family.

Angelo spun around. He closed the distance to the bed in three heavy steps. The disgust that usually filled his eyes when he looked at her was gone, replaced by a dark, intense focus.

He reached out. His large hand grabbed the edge of her blanket. He tuck it roughly, but securely, around her shoulders.

Elba froze. Her muscles locked up. She stared at him like a cornered rabbit.

Angelo cleared his throat. "Georgina isn't coming today," he said stiffly. "I told her to stay home and reflect on her actions."

Elba's eyes widened. She blinked twice.

Did the sun rise in the west? she cheered in her mind. The tyrant brother isn't helping the white lotus bully me?

Angelo's jaw clenched at the word tyrant. He forced himself to breathe out slowly.

He turned to the bedside table. He picked up the plastic water pitcher and poured a glass. He tested the temperature against his wrist, then held it out to her lips.

Elba stared at the water, pressing her lips together.

Did he poison this? she wondered.

Angelo's fingers tightened around the glass. He shoved it into her hands. "Drink it. Stop staring at it like I'm trying to kill you."

Elba gripped the glass with both hands. She took a small, careful sip. The warm water coated her raw throat, easing the pain.

Angelo watched her swallo,His mind was made up, He wasn't letting her out of his sight, She was a walking vault of secrets, and he was going to extract every single one.

The automatic doors of the hospital lobby slid open. The crisp New York autumn wind hit them immediately.

Angelo wore a perfectly tailored suit. He pushed Elba's wheelchair out onto the pavement with one hand. He stopped, shrugged off his suit jacket, and draped it over Elba's thin shoulders. He didn't ask; he just did it.

Elba gripped the lapels of the jacket, It smelled of cedar and expensive cologne.

Did the tyrant take the wrong medication today? she thought, utterly bewildered. Why is he being so considerate?

Angelo's lips curved upward a fraction of an inch. He ignored her internal commentary and pushed the wheelchair toward the black Maybach idling at the curb.

The driver, Kris Day, rushed forward. He pulled open the rear door and bowed his head respectfully. "Mr. Potter."

Elba looked up. She saw Kris's face. Her pupils dilated. She jerked her body backward in the wheelchair.

Oh my god! It's Kris! her mind screamed in panic. This degenerate gambler! Next week he's going to tamper with the brakes to pay off his loan sharks, and Angelo is going to die in a car crash!

Angelo was reaching down to help her stand. He froze. His dark eyes instantly turned to ice.

Kris smiled and reached his hands out to grab Elba's arms.

Angelo slapped Kris's hands away with a sharp, violent smack.

"Get back," Angelo snarled. "I'll do it."

Kris stumbled back a step, his face flushing red. He lowered his head, hiding the flash of resentment in his eyes.

Angelo bent down. He slid one arm under Elba's knees and the other behind her back. He lifted her effortlessly, holding her tight against his chest, and placed her onto the leather seat.

Elba held her breath.

His muscles are like rocks, she thought, her heart fluttering before panic set back in. No, stop being an idiot! I can't get in this car!

Angelo slid in next to her. He slammed the heavy door shut, sealing them inside.

He pulled out his phone. His thumbs flew across the screen, sending an encrypted message to his head of security.

Kris got into the driver's seat. He started the engine. He looked in the rearview mirror. "Boss, back to the Long Island estate?"

Elba gripped the seatbelt tight enough to make her knuckles ache.

Don't go back to the estate! she shrieked internally. That toxic snake Georgina probably oiled the stairs waiting for me!

Angelo met Kris's eyes in the mirror. His voice was dead flat. "No. Take us to the Manhattan penthouse."

Kris blinked in surprise, but he put the car in drive and merged into the city traffic.

Elba let out a long, shaky exhale.

Thank god, she thought. The penthouse is his private fortress. Georgina can't get in there. He actually has a conscience.

The car ride was completely silent. Angelo leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. His phone buzzed against his thigh. He opened it, angling the screen away from Elba.

The security report loaded. Preliminary checks on Kris Day showed multiple recent high-risk wire transfers to known offshore gambling havens. It was a massive red flag, with the full report still pending, but the implications were obvious.

Angelo's eyes snapped open. The air in the back of the Maybach grew heavy with his killing intent.

The car pulled smoothly into the underground garage of the Manhattan high-rise. Kris put it in park and hurried out to open Angelo's door.

Angelo stepped out. He reached in and pulled Elba out, keeping her close to his side.

Angelo turned his head slowly. He stared at Kris with eyes like shattered glass. "Kris. You're fired."

Kris's face drained of all color. "B-boss? Why?"

Angelo let out a dark, humorless laugh. He shoved his phone screen inches from Kris's face, showing the bank statements. "Do I need to call the police regarding your intent to accept bribes and sabotage my vehicles?"

Kris's knees buckled. He collapsed onto the concrete floor, gasping for air.

Elba stood frozen. Her jaw dropped.

How did he know?! she thought, her mind reeling. Did he plant a microchip in my brain?!

The private elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. The massive penthouse spread out before them, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a sweeping view of Central Park.

Angelo took his jacket from Elba's shoulders and tossed it to the waiting butler. He pointed a long finger toward a sunlit room down the hall. "You sleep in there from now on."

Elba dragged her feet across the hardwood floor. She walked into the room and collapsed face-first onto the massive, plush mattress.

Wow, the stench of capitalist decay, she thought, burying her face in the pillows. This is ten thousand times better than that dark attic at the estate.

Angelo was pouring a glass of whiskey at the living room bar. He paused, the amber liquid splashing against the crystal. His grip on the bottle tightened as anger toward his parents and Georgina flared in his chest.

His private cell phone rang on the marble counter. The screen flashed the name Walter Chandler.

Angelo picked it up and tapped the speaker button. He took a sip of whiskey.

"Angelo, please tell me you're coming tonight," Walter's anxious voice filled the room. "It's Kacey's coming-of-age dinner. I need you there."

Elba slipped out of her room barefoot. She crouched behind the large velvet sofa, peeking over the top.

"Kacey is getting frozen out by the socialites," Walter pleaded. "I need a heavy hitter to show up and back her."

Angelo frowned. He hated these superficial social events. He opened his mouth to say no.

Elba shoved a pink macaron into her mouth.

Poor Kacey, Elba thought, chewing rapidly. Tonight she's going to get bullied by those green tea bitches, and her fiancé is a literal psychopath who beats women!

The word "No" died in Angelo's throat.

That abusive monster is going to beat her to death, Elba continued in her mind. Then he'll swallow the Chandler family assets, and Walter will be forced to jump off a bridge.

Angelo's eyes turned lethal. This wasn't just about a friend's life; it was about the survival of a crucial business ally.

He leaned closer to the phone. "Fine. I'll be there on time."

Walter let out a loud sigh of relief, thanking him repeatedly before hanging up.

Angelo set the glass down. He walked slowly around the sofa and looked down. Elba was crouching on the rug, her cheeks stuffed with food.

Elba jumped. Macaron crumbs fell onto her shirt.

I'm dead, she panicked. He caught me eavesdropping. He's going to throw me out on the street!

Angelo looked at her wide, terrified eyes. He fought the urge to smile. "Go change your clothes," he commanded coldly.

Elba blinked. "Change into what?"

Angelo pointed toward the massive walk-in closet down the hall. "An evening gown. You are coming with me tonight."

Elba shook her head violently.

I am not going! she yelled in her head. That place is Georgina's home turf. If I go, I'm just a stepping stone for her to look good!

Angelo took a step forward. He placed both hands on the back of the sofa, leaning over her, casting her in his shadow. "That was an order, Elba. Not a request."

Elba felt the weight of his authority crush her resistance. She pouted, dragging herself up from the floor, and walked to the closet.

She pushed the doors open. Rows of the latest haute couture gowns hung perfectly arranged. As she approached, she recalled hearing Angelo's brisk command to his assistant just minutes ago over the phone to have a selection of designer pieces rushed over. She checked the tags. Every single one was her exact size, fresh from the boutique.

She ran her fingers over the silk.

When did he prepare all this? she wondered. Was he planning to lock me up as a pet canary?

In the living room, Angelo rubbed his temples. Her thought process was exhausting.

Thirty minutes later, Elba walked out. She wore a midnight-blue gown that shimmered like a starry sky. It fit her perfectly.

Angelo's breath hitched. He picked up a diamond necklace from the counter. He walked up behind her, the heat of his chest brushing her bare back, and fastened the clasp.

"Tonight," he whispered near her ear, "you stay right beside me."