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."

The fleet of black Maybachs pulled up to the entrance of the St. Regis Hotel. Camera flashes erupted like a strobe light show.

Angelo stepped out first. His long legs hit the pavement, his presence instantly dominating the space. He turned and offered his hand.

Elba placed her hand in his. She stepped out in her midnight-blue gown.

Gasps rippled through the crowd of reporters and guests. Whispers hissed through the air. Isn't that the fake daughter they kicked out? Why is Angelo bringing her?

The camera flashes blinded Elba. She instinctively shrank back, trying to hide behind Angelo's broad shoulders.

Angelo reached back and grabbed her wrist. He pulled her firmly to his side. He leaned down, his lips brushing her hair. "Head up. Shoulders back. No one in the Potter family looks down."

Elba took a deep breath. She forced her spine straight, lifted her chin, and hooked her arm through his. They walked into the grand ballroom together.

The room was dripping in crystal and gold. But in the far corner lounge, the atmosphere was toxic.

Kacey Chandler stood surrounded by a group of women in revealing dresses.

The lead socialite tilted her glass, intentionally spilling red wine all over Kacey's skirt. She covered her mouth in mock horror. "Oh my! I am so sorry. But I guess this out-of-season dress can just be washed, right?"

Kacey's eyes filled with tears. She gripped the ruined fabric, her shoulders shaking, too scared to fight back.

Elba saw it from across the room. Her stomach twisted with anger.

These snobs! Elba cursed internally. They just know the Chandler family has cash flow problems right now. Kicking her while she's down!

Angelo heard her. His eyes narrowed. He abruptly changed his path, steering Elba away from the VIP section and straight toward the corner.

The socialites were laughing loudly. They didn't notice the grim reaper approaching.

Angelo stopped right behind them. His voice cut through the air like a blade. "It seems the Chandler family's wine isn't to your liking?"

The women spun around. When they saw Angelo Potter's face, all the color drained from their cheeks. Their arrogant smiles vanished instantly.

Angelo reached out and took a full glass of red wine from a passing waiter's tray. He shoved it into the lead socialite's hand.

"Drink it," Angelo ordered softly. "Or tomorrow morning, your father will bring his bankruptcy petition to my office."

The woman trembled violently. She raised the glass and chugged the wine, spilling it down her chin. She didn't dare wipe it away.

Angelo didn't look at her again. He turned to Kacey, his tone softening. "Kacey, Walter is looking for you. Go change your dress."

Kacey looked at him with pure gratitude. She gathered her ruined skirt and hurried away.

The surrounding guests watched in stunned silence. The message was clear: the Chandlers were under Potter protection.

Elba watched, her heart racing with adrenaline.

My brother is so badass! she cheered in her mind. Ten out of ten for that power move! If only he wouldn't use that power to destroy me later.

Angelo heard the last part. He let out a quiet sigh. He raised his hand, wanting to pat her head to reassure her.

Suddenly, the ballroom lights dimmed. A spotlight hit the main stage. Walter tapped the microphone to give his speech.

Angelo turned his head toward the stage out of habit.

Elba seized the moment. She slipped her arm out of his and slid backward into the dark crowd, moving like a ghost.

Time to run, she thought, slipping away. I'm going to find a quiet corner, eat some cake, and see what that abusive fiancé looks like.

The speech ended. The lights flared back on.

Angelo turned around. The space next to him was empty. Elba was gone.

His face darkened instantly. The temperature around him seemed to plummet.

He snapped his fingers. Three massive bodyguards materialized beside him.

"Lock down every exit," Angelo growled through clenched teeth. "Find her. Now."