The morning sun pierced through the gap in the heavy blackout curtains, stabbing Cora directly in the eyes. She gasped, her eyes flying open. She was lying in the center of a massive, tangled bed. Every muscle in her body screamed in protest. Her thighs ached. Her skin felt bruised.

She turned her head against the silk pillowcase.

Jace Bauer was asleep beside her. Even in unconsciousness, he looked dangerous. His brow was slightly furrowed, his jaw set. The sheets were pooled around his waist, exposing a chest covered in faint, pale scars.

Cora didn't linger. She didn't feel a spark of romance. She felt a cold, terrifying clarity.

She slid out from under the covers, her bare feet hitting the plush carpet. She gathered her torn red dress from the floor, pulled it over her head, and found her stilettos. She didn't leave a note. She didn't leave a phone number. She walked out of the suite, slipped out the back door of SoHo House, and vanished into the freezing morning air.

One month later.

Cora gripped the edges of the porcelain sink in her cramped Brooklyn apartment. She heaved, her stomach violently expelling nothing but bile and water. She spat into the drain, her hands shaking so hard they rattled against the ceramic.

A knock sounded on the bathroom door.

"Cora? You okay?" Mel called out, her voice laced with worry. "Is it that stomach bug from set again?"

Cora turned on the cold water. She splashed it over her pale face, shocked by the dark circles under her eyes. She stared at her reflection. A terrifying, impossible thought clawed its way into her brain.

"I'm fine," Cora managed to say, her voice raspy. "Just ate something bad."

She grabbed a towel, dried her face, and unlocked the door. She pushed past Mel, grabbed her oversized coat, and pulled a baseball cap low over her eyes.

"I need to go to the pharmacy."

She practically ran down the three flights of stairs. She marched into the CVS on the corner, keeping her head down. She bypassed the cold medicine and went straight to the family planning aisle. Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She grabbed three different boxes of pregnancy tests, threw them on the counter, and paid in cash.

Back in her apartment, she locked the bathroom door again.

She ripped open the boxes. Her fingers were clumsy, tearing the cardboard. She followed the instructions, lining the three plastic sticks up on the edge of the sink.

Five minutes.

She sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the peeling paint on the wall. She counted her breaths. In. Out. Her chest felt tight enough to snap.

When the timer on her phone went off, it sounded like a fire alarm in the small room.

Cora stood up. She forced herself to look down at the sink.

One stick. Two pink lines.

Second stick. A solid blue plus sign.

Third stick. The word Pregnant glowing on the digital screen.

The air left her lungs in a rush. Her knees buckled, and she gripped the sink to stay upright. A wave of pure, unadulterated shock washed over her, instantly followed by a dark, twisted surge of triumph.

She was pregnant. With Jace Bauer's child.

She reached out and grabbed the plastic sticks. Her fingernails dug into the plastic. This wasn't just a child. This was a weapon. This was the ultimate leverage.

She wrapped the tests carefully in a paper towel, placed them in a plastic bag, and hid them in the very back of her bottom drawer, buried under old sweaters.

When she walked out into the living room, Mel was flipping through a magazine on the couch.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Mel said, tossing the magazine aside.

Cora walked to the kitchenette and poured a glass of water. She took a sip. Her hand was completely steady now.

"I didn't see a ghost," Cora said, her voice eerily calm. "I found the ultimate bargaining chip."

Mel frowned. "What are you talking about? Did you get that supporting role?"

Cora's lips curved into a cold, sharp smile. "Better. A million times better."

She didn't elaborate. She pulled out her phone and dialed the billing department at Mount Sinai Hospital.

"This is Cora Nolan. I'm calling about Julian Nolan's account."

The woman on the other end sighed. "Ms. Nolan. The funds Mr. Malone wired last month on your behalf have been depleted. The experimental drugs are expensive. If we don't receive another installment by Friday, we will have to suspend treatment."

"Understood," Cora said, her voice flat. She hung up.

She had three days.

She opened her laptop and typed Jace Bauer's name into the search engine. She bypassed the articles about his ruthless corporate takeovers and clicked on the society pages.

BAUER EMPIRE TO SPONSOR MET GALA CHARITY DINNER TOMORROW NIGHT.

A photo of Jace in a tuxedo filled the screen.

Cora reached out and traced the line of his jaw on the monitor. "Game on," she whispered.

She picked up her phone and called a wardrobe assistant she knew from a low-budget indie film. She needed a dress. Something elegant. Something that looked like it belonged at the Met, even if she had to rent it, costing the last two thousand dollars on her credit card, a debt she had no idea how she'd repay.

That night, Cora sat at her small desk. The single desk lamp cast long shadows across the room. She stared at the drawer where the tests were hidden. She knew the moment she revealed this secret, she would be stepping into a war zone. Jace Bauer would try to destroy her. Axel would try to kill her.

But she thought of Julian, lying in that hospital bed, his skin cold as ice.

She closed her eyes and locked away every ounce of fear, every shred of hesitation.

The November wind howling off Central Park was vicious. It cut through the thin, rented fabric of Cora's emerald green evening gown like a serrated knife. She stood behind the velvet ropes outside the Metropolitan Museum of Art, her teeth chattering so hard her jaw ached.

Camera flashes exploded like lightning on the red carpet. Hollywood A-listers and Wall Street titans glided past the barricades, shielded by umbrellas and walls of security guards. No one looked twice at the shivering woman in the shadows.

A black, armored Maybach glided to a halt at the VIP drop-off zone. The license plate was a single, terrifying word: BAUER.

The crowd surged forward. Security pushed them back. The rear door of the Maybach opened.

Jace Bauer stepped out. He wore a midnight-blue tuxedo that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. His face was a mask of bored arrogance. Gus Bullock slid out from the opposite side, adjusting his bowtie and laughing at something Jace hadn't said.

Cora's heart slammed against her ribs. She gripped her small clutch purse and pushed against the crowd, trying to force her way to the front of the barricade.

"Hey! Watch it, bitch!" A blonde socialite shrieked as Cora's heel caught the edge of her tulle skirt.

The sharp curse cut through the ambient noise. Gus, who was just about to step onto the red carpet, paused. He turned his head, his eyes scanning the crowd behind the velvet rope.

His gaze locked onto Cora.

Gus's smirk vanished. He leaned toward Jace and muttered something, nodding his head toward the barricade.

Jace stopped. He turned slowly. His eyes, cold and dead as winter ice, met Cora's across the sea of photographers.

Cora stopped breathing. She took a step forward, her eyes silently begging him to stop, to let her speak.

Jace looked at her for exactly one second. His expression didn't change. There was no recognition, no curiosity. Only pure, unadulterated contempt. He looked away, turning his back on her, and continued walking up the grand staircase.

"She's Axel Malone's ex-girlfriend," Gus whispered as they walked, his voice low. "My guy checked her out after that stunt at SoHo House. She's an actress on Axel's payroll. It was a setup, Jace. She's a spy."

Jace let out a dark, humorless laugh. "Axel is getting desperate. Sending a cheap whore to do a corporate spy's job."

The heavy glass doors of the Met closed behind them, shutting out the cold and the noise.

Outside, Cora watched the doors close. A wave of nausea hit her, followed by a crushing sense of defeat. Her legs trembled, threatening to give out. She backed away from the crowd, retreating into the dark shadow of a stone pillar. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, trying to preserve whatever body heat she had left.

Click. Click. Click.

A paparazzi stringer, lurking near the bushes, had his lens pointed right at her face. He was grinning, clearly recognizing her from her minor TV roles, ready to sell a photo of her looking like a frozen, rejected groupie.

Cora's head snapped up. The defeat vanished, replaced by a surge of violent anger. She marched up to the photographer, her heels clicking aggressively on the pavement.

"You can publish a photo of me looking pathetic," she ordered, her voice like cracking ice. "Or, you can delete it, and I'll give you an exclusive tip about the real scandal happening inside tonight. Your choice."

The promise of a bigger scoop wiped the smirk off the man's face. He hesitated, weighing the value of a frozen nobody against a billionaire's scandal, then aggressively hit the delete button on his camera, muttering curses under his breath.

Cora turned away. She checked her phone. The gala would last at least three hours. She couldn't wait here.

She knew where Jace went after these events. Gus had mentioned it loudly enough at SoHo House. A private, ultra-exclusive cigar club three blocks away.

Cora started walking. The wind whipped her hair across her face. Her toes were numb. By the time she reached the dark, narrow alley behind the cigar club, she couldn't feel her fingers.

She leaned against the rough brick wall near the unmarked steel door. The alley smelled of garbage and damp earth. She closed her eyes, fighting the urge to sit down. If she sat down, she would freeze to death. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper, using the pain to stay awake.

Three hours passed. It felt like three lifetimes.

Finally, the low, powerful purr of an engine broke the silence. The black Maybach turned into the alley, its headlights cutting through the darkness.

Cora opened her eyes. She pushed herself off the brick wall. Her joints screamed in agony.

She didn't wave. She didn't shout. She simply stepped out of the shadows and planted herself directly in the center of the alley, right in the path of the two-ton armored vehicle.

She stared blindly into the blinding headlights, waiting for the impact.

The Maybach's tires shrieked against the asphalt. The driver slammed on the brakes, the massive grille of the car stopping mere inches from Cora's kneecaps. The blinding halogen headlights washed over her pale, frozen face.

She didn't flinch. Her legs were shaking so violently she could barely stand, but she kept her chin raised.

The rear passenger window slid down with a quiet hum.

Jace Bauer's face emerged from the shadows of the backseat. His eyes were lethal. He didn't look surprised; he looked deeply, dangerously annoyed.

"Do you have a death wish?" he asked. His voice was quiet, cutting through the wind like a razor blade.

Cora walked around the hood of the car. She grabbed the edge of the open window, her knuckles white, her fingers completely numb.

"Give me five minutes, Mr. Bauer," she said. Her voice was hoarse, her throat raw from the cold.

Jace's lip curled into a sneer. He didn't even look at her. He looked at the back of his driver's head. "Put it in reverse. Run her over if she doesn't move."

The driver hesitated for a fraction of a second, his hand hovering over the gearshift.

In that split second, Cora reached down and yanked the heavy door handle. The driver had forgotten to lock the doors in the chaos. The heavy armored door swung open.

Cora threw half her body into the warm, leather-scented interior of the car. She looked Jace dead in the eye. "I have a proposition regarding Axel Malone."

The air in the car vanished.

At the sound of his brother's name, the bored arrogance on Jace's face evaporated. Pure, unadulterated violence took its place.

His hand shot out. His large fingers wrapped around Cora's throat, pinning her back against the door frame. The impact knocked the wind out of her. His grip was iron. He was cutting off her air supply.

Cora's face flushed red. Her lungs burned. But she didn't claw at his hand. She didn't struggle. She stared back at him, her eyes wide and defiant, and forced the corners of her mouth to twitch upward into a mocking smile.

Jace stared at her, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He held her there for three agonizing seconds, watching the life drain from her face. Then, with a look of utter disgust, he released her, throwing her backward.

Cora stumbled, gasping loudly for air, rubbing her bruised neck.

Jace pulled a sterilized wipe from a dispenser in the armrest and meticulously wiped his hand. "Open the door," he snapped at the driver.

He stepped out of the car, ignoring Cora completely, and walked toward the unmarked steel door of the club. He punched a code into the keypad and pushed the door open.

Cora didn't wait for an invitation. She scrambled after him, slipping through the door just before it clicked shut.

She followed him down a short, dimly lit hallway and into a private, soundproofed cigar room. The room was empty, smelling of rich tobacco and old money. Heavy leather armchairs sat in the corners.

Jace walked straight to the mahogany bar. He poured two fingers of neat whiskey into a crystal glass. He leaned against the bar, swirling the amber liquid, and finally looked at her.

He checked the heavy platinum watch on his wrist. "Your five minutes started thirty seconds ago, spy."

Cora's heart skipped a beat. Spy. So that was it. That was why he had ignored her at the gala. He thought she was working for Axel.

She didn't correct him. Let him think she was a mercenary. It was safer that way.

She took two steps forward, stopping in the center of the Persian rug. She squared her shoulders.

"I want you to marry me," Cora said. Her voice didn't shake.

The silence in the room was absolute. It felt heavy enough to crush bone.

Jace stopped swirling his drink. He stared at her for a long moment. Then, he threw his head back and laughed. It was a dark, cruel sound that held absolutely no humor.

He downed the whiskey in one swallow and slammed the heavy crystal glass down on the marble bar. The glass cracked.

He closed the distance between them in two long strides. His height and sheer physical presence forced Cora to tilt her head back to look at him.

"I don't marry strangers," Jace said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "And I certainly don't marry my bastard brother's used trash."

The words were a physical blow. Cora felt the blood drain from her face. Her stomach twisted into a painful knot.

"You think you're smart?" Jace sneered, his eyes dropping to her lips and then back to her eyes with pure revulsion. "Axel sends you to spread your legs, get some blackmail material, and you think you can use it to extort a ring out of me? Your acting is pathetic."

Cora dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands. The physical pain kept her grounded. She forced herself to smile. She made it look greedy.

"Axel didn't pay me enough," Cora lied smoothly, leaning into the persona he had created for her. "He offered me an apartment. I want an empire. I'm a gold digger, Mr. Bauer. And you have the most gold."

Jace's eyes darkened with absolute loathing. He pointed a long finger toward the heavy wooden door. "Get out."

Cora didn't move. She slowly reached into her cheap clutch purse. She unzipped the inner pocket.

"If I were you, I wouldn't be so quick to kick out the mother of your heir," she said. Her voice was as calm as a placid lake.

Jace's pupils dilated. His hand dropped to his side.

Cora pulled out a folded piece of paper. It bore the official stamp of Mount Sinai Hospital. She stepped forward and slapped the paper flat onto the marble bar, right next to his cracked whiskey glass.