The next morning, the doorbell chimed, a shrill, unwelcome sound.

Carolyn opened the door to find Brett Richardson standing there, his face a mask of smug hostility. He was Chandler's executive assistant and Eugenia's most loyal attack dog.

He pushed past her without an invitation, his expensive shoes silent on the marble floor. He carried a leather briefcase and an air of ownership.

"Where's Chandler?" he demanded, his eyes sweeping the apartment as if searching for signs of a struggle. "Or did you manage to drive him away again?"

Carolyn closed the door, a newfound calm settling over her. The fearful, trembling girl from yesterday was gone. She leaned against the door, crossing her arms over her chest. "He's at the office. If you have a message, you can give it to me."

Brett let out a short, derisive laugh. He tossed his briefcase onto the coffee table. "Eugenia collapsed last night. The doctor said it was due to extreme emotional distress."

He advanced on her, using his height to loom over her, casting her in his shadow. "What did you say to Chandler yesterday? He was cold to her. He barely stayed an hour."

Carolyn had to hide a smile. Eugenia's theatrics were as predictable as the sunrise.

She didn't back down. She met his glare head-on. "I just asked him to spend more time with me. Is that a crime?"

Her defiant tone seemed to enrage him. He slammed a hand against the wall next to her head, trapping her. His face was inches from hers, his breath smelling of stale coffee and self-importance. "A woman like you doesn't deserve to be in the same room as him."

He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial, venomous hiss. "Eugenia is the future Mrs. Finch. You are just a toy he's using to pay off your family's debt."

A wave of nausea rolled through her, but she fought it down. Now was not the time for weakness.

A slow, mysterious smile spread across her face. The unexpected expression made Brett pause.

"A toy?" she repeated softly. Her gaze traveled over his angry face before she leaned in, closing the distance until her lips were right next to his ear.

Her whisper was for him alone, but it carried the weight of a bombshell. "Then why did he crush my birth control pills last night and demand that I only have his child?"

Brett's eyes widened in shock. The color drained from his face. The anger was replaced by pure, unadulterated disbelief.

Carolyn pressed her advantage, her voice still a silken whisper. "Tell me, Brett, if I'm carrying the Finch heir, how secure is Eugenia's position as the 'future Mrs. Finch'?"

He recoiled as if she'd struck him, stumbling back a step. His face was a ghastly shade of pale. "You... you're lying! Chandler would never let you have his child!"

Carolyn placed a gentle, protective hand over her own flat stomach, her expression softening into a look of maternal bliss. It was a complete fabrication, but it was beautiful. "Is that so? Why don't you go ask him? See if he's willing to make me get rid of it."

Brett's breathing grew ragged. He was panicking. This was Eugenia's greatest fear. A child would solidify Carolyn's position in a way nothing else could.

He pointed a trembling finger at her. "You vicious bitch. You're trying to kill Eugenia!"

Carolyn's smile vanished, her expression turning to ice. "She started this. Tell her to stop playing her pathetic little games. Otherwise, next time, I'll have Chandler deliver the news to her personally."

Brett's jaw worked, his teeth grinding together. For a moment, she saw murder in his eyes, but he reined it in. He knew better than to touch her. It would only prove her point.

He snatched his briefcase from the table. "We'll see about this," he snarled.

He stormed to the door, wrenched it open, and slammed it shut behind him.

The moment he was gone, Carolyn's strength gave out. She slid down the wall, her body trembling. Her palms were slick with cold sweat. It had been a terrifying gamble.

But it was necessary. To make Eugenia panic. A panicked opponent makes mistakes.

She pushed herself up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at the endless river of traffic flowing through New York City. Her reflection in the glass was pale but resolute.

Suddenly, a brilliant fork of lightning split the sky. A deafening clap of thunder followed almost immediately, rattling the windows. The sky opened up, and a torrential downpour began.

And then, the lights in the penthouse flickered and died. The entire city plunged into darkness.

The power was out.

The darkness was absolute. Carolyn fumbled for her phone, the screen's pale glow a small comfort in the oppressive blackness. Her face, reflected in the screen, was a ghostly white.

She tried calling Chandler, but the call wouldn't connect. The line crackled with static before failing entirely. The storm must have knocked out the cell towers. She waited, her breath shallow, trying again and again. On the fourth attempt, the call finally went through, the signal weak and unstable.

She remembered an emergency override panel on the terrace. Using her phone as a flashlight, she navigated through the cavernous living room to the sliding glass doors.

The moment she pushed the door open, a blast of wind and rain hit her with the force of a physical blow. Her thin silk robe was soaked in seconds.

She stepped out onto the terrace, the wind howling around her. There was no panel. Only the churning gray sky and the blurred lights of the cars far below.

She turned to go back inside, but a sudden, violent gust of wind caught the heavy glass door, slamming it shut with a deafening bang. The force of the gale swept across the terrace, shoving a heavy iron chair across the wet tiles until it slammed into the door's track from the outside, wedging it tight against the frame. She pushed against the glass, her palms slipping on the wet surface, but the barricade outside held firm. She was locked out.

She pushed again, throwing her shoulder against the glass, but it didn't budge. She was trapped on the 90th floor in the middle of a thunderstorm.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. It was him. Chandler. The call had finally come through, the signal flickering in and out.

She answered, her fingers numb with cold. "Chandler?"

His voice was tense, strained by static. "Carolyn? The power's out across the whole city. Are you okay?"

She opened her mouth to scream for help, to tell him she was locked outside, but another voice cut through the line. A weak, breathless voice. Eugenia's.

"Chandler... I can't... I can't breathe..."

Carolyn froze, the words lodged in her throat. She heard the faint, wheezing sound of Eugenia's expertly faked asthma attack. It was a sound that had haunted her past life. She steeled herself, forcing down the old fear. She would not let that woman's manipulation kill her twice. "Chandler, listen to me, I'm—"

The line dissolved into a burst of static. Eugenia's theatrical gasps and Chandler's soothing murmurs were swallowed by the interference. The signal was gone. She stared at the phone, the call disconnected.

Chandler's attention had shifted instantly to Eugenia's manufactured crisis. He hadn't heard a single word of her plea.

Carolyn stood in the driving rain, water streaming down her face, mixing with tears she didn't even realize she was crying. The cold was seeping into her bones, but it was nothing compared to the ice forming around her heart. She had tried. He would never know.

She clutched the phone, its light the only thing visible in the swirling rain. The battery indicator flashed red. Ten percent. Then darkness as the screen died.

The cold was becoming unbearable. She wrapped her arms around herself, her teeth chattering uncontrollably, and huddled in a corner of the terrace.

A tiny, pathetic whimper cut through the roar of the wind.

She peered into the darkness. Tucked behind a large planter was a small, shivering ball of wet fur. A puppy, no bigger than her hand, soaked to the bone and terrified. A ragged scrap of blue ribbon was tied around its neck, the ends frayed. Not a stray from the streets below, but something abandoned here deliberately. A gift rejected, perhaps, or a petty cruelty left to die in the storm. How it came to be on a ninety-first-floor terrace was a question for another time. Right now, it was simply a life that needed saving.

Her heart clenched. In that small, abandoned creature, she saw herself.

She crawled across the wet tiles, the rainwater cold against her knees. She gently scooped the puppy into her arms. Its little body was hot with fever, trembling violently. She held it close, and after a moment, it quieted, licking her hand with a tiny, rough tongue.

That small bit of warmth, that tiny flicker of life against her skin, was the only comfort in the storm. Carolyn buried her face in the dog's wet fur, and finally, she let herself sob. She wasn't crying for herself in this moment, but for the girl in her past life who had died waiting for a rescue that never came.

Time blurred. Her body was losing heat fast. Her thoughts grew sluggish, her limbs heavy. But she never loosened her grip on the small, warm body in her arms.

Just as she felt her consciousness begin to slip away, the lights on the terrace flickered on. The power was back.

Through the now-clear glass door, a tall, dark figure stood, his silhouette stark against the brightly lit apartment. He was peering out, his face pressed against the glass.

Chandler.

Carolyn struggled to keep her eyes open. She saw him wrench the door open, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. It was a look she had never seen on him before. A look of panic.

Chandler crossed the terrace in two strides. He wrenched the heavy iron chair from the door's track, the metal scraping against the tiles with a harsh shriek. Then he swept her off the ground. His movements were rough, almost violent, yet his arms held her securely against his chest.

She instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck. The small puppy, still clutched in her hands, let out a soft whine.

Chandler's eyes flickered down to the dirty, wet animal. His brow furrowed in disgust, but he said nothing. He didn't pry it from her grasp.

He carried her through the apartment and into the elevator, bypassing any staff who might see them. The elevator descended to the silent, cavernous underground garage.

He gently placed her in the back of his Maybach, the plush leather seats a stark contrast to her soaked, shivering body. He cranked the heat, and the warm air blasting from the vents felt like a miracle.

He was soaked too, his expensive suit ruined, but he ignored his own discomfort. He pulled a thick cashmere blanket from a compartment and wrapped it tightly around her, his motions clumsy but effective.

Carolyn huddled under the blanket, her body shaking so hard her teeth chattered. The puppy wriggled, trying to get closer to the warmth.

Chandler slid into the seat beside her and slammed the door shut. The enclosed space was suddenly filled with the sound of his harsh, ragged breathing.

"Are you insane?" he suddenly roared, turning on her. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with a wildness she'd never seen. "You dare hang up on me again?" His voice was shaking with a terrifying, barely leashed fury. "Your life belongs to me, and I don't permit you to die. Do you understand?" It was the sound of a man on the verge of losing control.

The force of his anger made her flinch. Tears welled in her eyes. "You were busy with her. I heard her. I heard you."

Her quiet, simple answer struck him like a physical blow. The anger drained from his face, replaced by a ghastly, pale shock. He remembered the call. He remembered Eugenia's manufactured panic, his own voice soothing her while Carolyn's voice was swallowed by the static.

He stared at her, his chest heaving. A pained, choked sound came from his throat.

Silence descended in the car, thick and heavy, broken only by the hum of the heater and the distant, muffled echo of the storm still raging above ground.

Carolyn watched the play of emotions on his face. The cold, ruthless mask was gone. In its place was raw, undisguised regret.

She reached out a trembling, ice-cold hand and lightly touched his arm.

He flinched, then turned to look at her. His expression was a tangled mess of emotions she couldn't begin to decipher.

"I thought," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "that you were more worried about her not being able to breathe."

His pupils dilated. With a guttural groan, he lunged forward, pulling her, the blanket, and the puppy into a crushing embrace. The force of it knocked the air from her lungs, but she didn't struggle. She melted against him, soaking in his warmth, his scent, his solid presence.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot and ragged against her cold skin. She felt the slight tremor running through his body.

She closed her eyes, pressing her face against his damp shirt, and nodded against his shoulder.

The puppy in her lap poked its head out and licked Chandler's hand. This time, he didn't pull away.

After a long moment, he loosened his grip. He shrugged off his wet suit jacket and tossed it aside. He pulled at his tie, then undid the top few buttons of his shirt, as if he couldn't get enough air.

Carolyn watched him, her heart doing a slow, painful flip in her chest.

He stared out the windshield at the dark concrete of the garage, his jaw set. Finally, he let out a long, slow breath and pulled her closer, letting her rest her head on his shoulder.

"You're cleaning that dog," he grumbled, his voice rough. But his hand came up to gently rub her back, a gesture of pure, unthinking comfort.

Carolyn nestled against him, a tiny, genuine smile touching her lips for the first time. "Okay."