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.

The crisp white paper lay stark against the dark marble bar. The word POSITIVE, printed in bold black ink, seemed to scream in the quiet room.

Jace's eyes dropped to the paper. He didn't move. He didn't breathe. The air in the cigar room turned to lead.

Slowly, he raised his eyes back to Cora's face. His gaze was a physical weight, scraping across her skin, searching for the lie, the tell, the crack in her facade.

Cora held her ground. She crossed her arms over her chest, shifting her weight to one hip. She forced her posture to radiate a bored, arrogant confidence she didn't feel.

Jace finally reached out. His long fingers picked up the paper. His eyes scanned the text, stopping on the official seal of Mount Sinai Hospital and the attending physician's signature.

A cold, terrifying smile touched the corners of his mouth. "You think a forged document is going to get you a payout?" His voice was a low, dangerous purr.

Cora let out a soft, mocking laugh. "Your private medical team can draw my blood right now. It takes ten minutes to verify. Call them."

Jace's fingers tightened. The edges of the paper crumpled under his grip. He knew. He looked at her eyes, saw the absolute lack of hesitation, and he knew it was real.

He crushed the paper into a tight ball and hurled it at her chest. It hit her collarbone and bounced onto the Persian rug.

Jace took a step forward, invading her space. The scent of whiskey and raw aggression rolled off him. "If you're pregnant, why didn't you scrape it out? Why come here and sign your own death warrant?"

Cora bent down, her movements deliberately slow. She picked up the crumpled ball of paper, smoothed it out against her thigh, and slipped it back into her purse. She looked up at him, her eyes shining with manufactured greed.

"Because an abortion only gets me a one-time hush-money check," Cora said, pronouncing every word with agonizing clarity. "But giving birth to your child? That makes me the queen mother of the Bauer empire."

The provocation worked. Jace snapped.

His hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around her jaw like a steel vise. He squeezed, the pressure instantly bruising her skin, forcing her head up.

"I have a hundred ways to make you disappear," Jace hissed, his face inches from hers. His eyes were black with fury. "You and that parasite in your stomach. They won't even find your teeth."

Tears of physical pain pricked the corners of Cora's eyes, but she stretched her lips into a grotesque, triumphant smile.

"Do it," she choked out against his grip. "Kill me. But the moment my heart stops, an automated email goes out to every major news outlet in New York. And to your grandfather."

Jace's grip froze.

"I did my homework, Jace," Cora whispered, her voice trembling slightly from the pain in her jaw. "I know the old man is holding the last twenty percent of the family trust hostage until you produce a legitimate heir. It's the only reason Axel thinks he still has a shot at your throne. If your grandfather finds out you murdered his only great-grandchild... you lose the empire."

She had hit the kill switch.

Jace's pupils contracted. The blind rage in his eyes fractured, replaced by the cold, calculating gears of a Wall Street predator assessing a catastrophic loss. He stared at her, seeing her not as a cheap whore anymore, but as a highly dangerous, highly volatile explosive device placed directly under his chair.

He opened his hand. He let her go.

Cora stumbled back a step, rubbing her throbbing jaw. She took a deep, shaky breath, tasting victory mixed with copper.

"Marry me," Cora repeated, her voice steadying. "You need a legitimate heir to force the board's hand and secure the trust. I need power and money. It's a transaction."

Jace turned his back to her. He walked to the bar, picked up the bottle of whiskey, and poured another glass. He didn't drink it. He just stared at the amber liquid.

When he finally spoke, his voice was completely devoid of emotion. It was the voice of a machine.

"You better pray to whatever god you believe in that this child is born healthy," Jace said, turning his head slightly to look at her over his shoulder. "Because the second it's out of your body, your usefulness ends. And you will suffer."

It was a yes. A terrifying, conditional yes.

Cora suppressed the violent shudder that threatened to tear through her body. She lifted her chin.

"I look forward to our wedding, Mr. Bauer."

She turned on her heel and walked toward the heavy wooden door. She grabbed the brass handle, turned it, and stepped out into the freezing hallway.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Cora leaned her back against the wall. Her legs gave out completely. She slid down the wall until she hit the floor. She wrapped her arms around her knees, burying her face in her arms, and gasped for air. She was covered in a cold sweat. She had just made a deal with the devil, and she knew he was going to make her pay in blood.