Bridget stared at the black card for a long time. Her stomach twisted with a mixture of shame and anger. She shoved the card deep into the bottom of her leather handbag. She took a quick shower, put on a sharp, tailored business suit, and left the hotel.

At noon, she pushed open the heavy glass doors of Le Bernardin. The air inside was quiet, filled with the soft clinking of silver on fine china.

The hostess led her to a semi-private booth near the back. Bridget ordered a glass of sparkling water. She sat with her back straight, her fingers resting on the cold glass.

Fifteen minutes later, David walked in. He wore a fresh suit and a confident, arrogant smile, as if the scene in the hotel room last night had never happened. He sat down across from her.

"You made a scene last night for nothing, Bridget. Men have needs. You need to learn how to look the other way if you want to survive in this circle."

Bridget did not speak. She unzipped her bag, pulled out a thick stack of legal papers, and slapped them onto the table.

"Sign it."

David looked down. The bold letters at the top read 'Termination of Engagement Agreement'. The blood drained from his face. He pushed the papers back toward her violently.

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Your family's trust fund is bleeding cash. You need the Vincent name to secure your next round of financing. I don't need you."

David's arrogant mask shattered. He rubbed his nose aggressively, leaning across the table.

"If you break this off, I will call Page Six right now. I will tell them exactly how your mother trapped your father, and how you are nothing but a dirty secret."

Bridget let out a short, cold laugh.

"Go ahead. I have nothing to lose. But I will send the high-resolution photos of you and that blonde to every board member in your company."

David's eyes widened with pure rage. He reached across the table, trying to grab her wrist.

Bridget picked up her glass of sparkling water. She threw the freezing liquid directly into his face.

The ice cubes hit his cheek. The water dripped down his nose and ruined his silk tie. The diners at the surrounding tables stopped eating and turned to look. David gasped, grabbing a cloth napkin to wipe his face, his teeth grinding together.

Bridget stood up. She looked down at him.

"Sign the papers by tomorrow, or my lawyers will see you in court."

She turned and walked away, her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor. Her heart was beating so fast it hurt her ribs. She needed a moment to breathe. She turned down the quiet, carpeted hallway leading to the restrooms.

The thick carpet absorbed the sound of her footsteps. As she walked past the most exclusive VIP dining room at the end of the hall, she noticed the heavy mahogany door was not fully closed. A sliver of warm light spilled out onto the floor.

Bridget glanced through the crack. Her feet stopped moving instantly. Her breath caught in her throat.

Sitting at the head of the table was the man from last night. The man who had left the black card on the nightstand. He wore a dark suit, his posture relaxed but dominant.

Sitting directly across from him was Cheyenne. Her half-sister. The legitimate daughter of the Vincent family.

Cheyenne was leaning forward, pouring wine into the man's glass. Her voice was dripping with artificial sweetness.

"Damond, my father was hoping we could discuss the merger over the weekend."

Bridget's brain short-circuited. Damond. Damond Oneill. The ruthless predator of Wall Street. The man everyone in New York was terrified of. The man she had slept with to get back at David.

A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck. She took a step back.

Inside the room, Damond slowly turned his head. His gray eyes cut through the narrow opening of the door. He looked directly into Bridget's eyes.

He did not look surprised. He did not flinch. His gaze was dark, calculating, and full of amusement. He knew she was there.

Bridget's stomach dropped to the floor. The realization hit her like a physical weight. Their meeting at the bar was not a coincidence. He knew exactly who she was.

Cheyenne noticed Damond looking away. She started to turn her head toward the door.

Bridget moved instantly. She pressed her back flat against the wall in the blind spot of the hallway, holding her breath. Her chest burned.

"What are you looking at, Damond?" Cheyenne asked.

"Nothing," Damond's deep voice drifted through the crack. "Just a lost kitten."

The humiliation burned Bridget's skin. She bit her lip to keep from making a sound. She turned and practically ran down the hallway.

She pushed through the front doors of the restaurant. The cold autumn wind of New York hit her face, but it did not cool the heat in her cheeks.

David ran out of the doors behind her.

"You are going to regret this, Bridget!"

Bridget ignored him. She raised her hand and flagged down a yellow cab. She got into the back seat and slammed the door. She stared out the window at the restaurant's sign, her fingers rubbing her collarbone rapidly. She had just declared war on her ex-fiancé, and she had accidentally slept with the most dangerous man in the city.

Bridget unlocked the door to the Upper East Side penthouse she shared with her mother. She kicked off her heels, her feet aching. She just wanted to pour a glass of wine and sleep for twelve hours.

The motion-sensor lights in the living room flicked on. Bridget stopped dead in her tracks.

Sitting on the white leather sofa was a man in a sharp gray suit. He turned his head. His face shared the same sharp jawline as hers, but his eyes were entirely cold. It was Hall Vincent. Her biological father.

Bridget's body went completely rigid.

"How did you get past the security downstairs?"

Hall picked up a crystal whiskey glass from the coffee table. He swirled the amber liquid slowly.

"With enough money, there isn't a door in New York that stays closed to me."

Bridget dropped her bag and walked toward the intercom on the wall.

"I am calling building security."

"Save your breath," Hall said sharply. "The property manager works for me now. I am here to tell you something that affects the survival of this family."

Bridget stopped, her hand hovering over the button. She turned to face him, her nails digging into her palms.

"Get out of my house. You have no right to be here."

Hall stood up. He placed the crystal glass down with a heavy thud. He walked toward her, his face twisted in anger.

"I heard what you did at the restaurant today. Throwing water on David? Canceling the engagement? You are acting like a stupid child."

Bridget's eyes widened. "You had me followed?"

"I have to protect the Vincent interests. I need David's family to secure the key technology licensing from Jiawei Bio in the upcoming merger. You will go to him tomorrow, apologize, and put that ring back on your finger."

Bile rose in Bridget's throat. She looked at the man who had abandoned her and her mother twenty years ago.

"You threw us away like garbage. You don't get to walk in here and sell me to fix your business mistakes."

Hall's face turned purple. He raised his hand high, ready to strike her across the face.

Bridget did not blink. She lifted her chin, staring right into his eyes.

"Hit me. The photos of my bruised face will be on the front page of the Wall Street Journal tomorrow morning."

Hall's hand froze in the air. His jaw twitched. He slowly lowered his arm, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.

"If you do as you are told, I might consider officially acknowledging you during the winter social season. You won't be a bastard anymore."

"Keep your dirty last name. I don't want it."

Hall lost the last bit of his patience. He stepped directly into her personal space.

"If you don't fix this with David, I will launch a hostile takeover of your mother's company by Friday. I will strip her of everything she has built."

Bridget's pupils contracted violently. Her hands curled into tight fists. Her mother's company was Cherrie's entire life.

Before Bridget could speak, a terrible, tearing sound echoed from the dark hallway. It was a violent, wet cough.

The master bedroom door opened. Cherrie Rostova walked out. She wore a silk robe. Her face was as pale as paper, but her eyes were sharp like broken glass. She walked straight past Hall and stood in front of Bridget, shielding her daughter with her thin body.

Cherrie looked at her ex-husband. Her hands smoothed down the front of her robe, a gesture she always made when she was in pain. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small black panic button.

"I pressed this three minutes ago, Hall."

Hall frowned, his arrogant posture slipping slightly. "Cherrie, I am doing this for her own good."

"You are doing this because you are short fifty million dollars for your buyout," Cherrie said coldly.

The front door of the penthouse burst open. Two massive private security guards rushed into the living room.

Cherrie pointed a shaking finger at Hall.

"Throw this trespasser out."

Hall adjusted his suit jacket. He glared at Cherrie, then at Bridget.

"You will both regret this."

He turned and walked out, followed closely by the guards. The heavy door slammed shut. The apartment fell into a dead silence.

Bridget let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She turned to her mother.

"Mom, what did he mean about the hostile takeover? Is the company-"

Cherrie's knees suddenly buckled. She collapsed forward, her hands flying to her mouth. A horrific coughing fit ripped through her chest.

Bridget rushed forward, catching her mother's shoulders. Cherrie pulled her hands away from her mouth, gasping for air.

Bridget looked down. Smeared across Cherrie's pale fingers was thick, bright red blood.

Bridget's brain went completely blank. The sight of the red blood on her mother's skin made her stomach drop. She held onto Cherrie's shaking shoulders, supporting her weight.

Cherrie quickly hid her hands behind her back. She swallowed hard, forcing the metallic taste down her throat. She grabbed a tissue from the side table and wiped the corner of her mouth.

Bridget's hands were shaking as she reached for her phone in her pocket.

"I am calling 911."

Cherrie's hand shot out. Her grip on Bridget's wrist was shockingly strong. Her nails dug into Bridget's skin.

"No ambulances. No hospitals. Do not alert the media."

Bridget felt tears burning the back of her eyes.

"Mom, you are coughing up blood! How long have you been hiding this? This is not bronchitis."

Cherrie took a deep, rattling breath. She forced her posture to straighten, smoothing the wrinkles on her silk robe.

"It is nothing. I have been working too many late nights. A blood vessel ruptured in my throat. That is all."

"I don't believe you," Bridget said, her voice cracking. "I am calling Dr. Miller to come here right now."

Cherrie's eyes turned completely cold.

"Do you want the company's stock to crash tomorrow morning? The board is already looking for an excuse to force me out. If they smell blood, we lose everything."

The mention of the stock price froze Bridget in place. She knew how ruthless the board of directors was. If they thought Cherrie was weak, they would tear her apart.

Cherrie pushed Bridget's hands away. She walked slowly into the bathroom and locked the door.

Bridget stood in the hallway. She heard the shower turn on, the loud rush of water masking the muffled sounds of her mother coughing again. Bridget leaned her head against the wall, feeling entirely helpless.

Ten minutes later, Cherrie walked out. She had washed her face and applied a light layer of makeup. The ruthless CEO mask was firmly back in place.

She walked into the living room and sat down.

"Tell me exactly what happened with David."

Bridget swallowed the lump in her throat. She explained the hotel room and the restaurant, leaving out the part about Damond.

Cherrie nodded slowly. "Good. He is a weak man. He does not belong in this family."

Cherrie stood up and walked to her heavy oak desk. She opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a thick stack of legal documents. She handed them to Bridget.

"These are the authorization papers for the core trust fund. I need you to go to the lawyer's office tomorrow morning and sign them. You will take over the voting rights."

Bridget looked at the papers. Her chest tightened. It felt like her mother was preparing to die. She stared into Cherrie's eyes, searching for the truth.

Cherrie avoided her gaze. She walked to the entryway table where the mail was sorted. She picked up a plain manila envelope.

"The courier delivered this to the wrong address today. Drop it off on your way to the lawyer tomorrow."

Bridget took the envelope. The recipient name read 'Jane Roe'. The address was a private concierge clinic on the Upper East Side.

Bridget shoved the envelope into her bag, her mind racing.

"Go to sleep, Bridget."

Cherrie took her coffee cup, walked into her home office, and locked the door behind her.

Bridget went to her bedroom. She lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling. The image of the blood on her mother's hands mixed with the memory of Damond's dark gray eyes. Her anxiety was suffocating.

At 2:00 AM, Bridget threw off the covers. She walked silently down the hall. A thin line of light spilled from under the office door.

She pressed her ear against the cold wood.

Inside, Cherrie was speaking on the phone. Her voice was a harsh whisper.

"I don't care what the physical toll of this experimental therapy is. My body can't hold out much longer, and we have to trigger the key man clause before the end of the month."

Bridget's heart smashed against her ribs. She backed away from the door, her hand covering her mouth to stop a sob. She did not dare open the door. If she broke her mother's wall of denial, Cherrie might shatter completely.

Bridget ran back to her room. She grabbed her phone and typed the address from the manila envelope into the search bar.

The results loaded. It was an ultra-private oncology clinic. They only treated billionaires and politicians.

A terrifying realization hit her. Jane Roe did not exist. It was a fake name. The medical file belonged to her mother.

Bridget gripped the phone until her knuckles turned white. Tomorrow, she was going to that clinic. She was going to find out exactly what was killing her mother.