Pierce rushed into the master bedroom. He held a heavy, silver premium trauma medical kit in both hands.

The assistant stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of the bright red blood smeared across Damien's bespoke suit jacket.

Damien snatched the heavy kit from Pierce's hands. He didn't even bother to look up from Cordelia's pale face.

Damien barked a harsh order: "Leave. Now. Close the door behind you."

Pierce nodded quickly. He stepped backward and exited. The heavy mahogany double doors clicked shut, sealing them inside the silent room.

Damien dropped the kit onto the mattress. His hands were steady, but a muscle jumped in his jaw as he popped the metal latches open, his movements slightly jerky in a stark contrast to his usual controlled grace.

He pulled out antiseptic wipes, sterile gauze pads, and a roll of white medical tape with practiced, rigid efficiency.

Cordelia watched his tense jawline. Her heart ached with a profound, suffocating regret for her past blindness.

Damien carefully untied the ruined, blood-soaked silk tie from her wrist. He tossed the expensive fabric onto the floor without a second glance.

He ripped open a square packet. He pressed the cold, chemical-soaked antiseptic wipe directly against the shallow cut.

Cordelia hissed sharply in pain. Her body instinctively pulled back, sinking deeper into the soft pillows.

Damien's grip tightened instantly on her forearm. He held her arm firmly in place, his fingers digging slightly into her skin to prevent her from jerking away and causing further injury.

He glared down at her. His voice dripped with icy, biting sarcasm: "What's wrong? That hurt? For someone who supposedly wanted to die, you have got a remarkably low pain tolerance."

Cordelia bit her lower lip hard. She forced her muscles to relax, remaining perfectly still under his rough but necessary touch.

Damien's harsh expression softened for a microsecond. He gently, almost reverently, cleaned the dried flakes of blood from her pale skin.

He took a square of sterile gauze. He wrapped it carefully around her wrist, applying perfect, even pressure before securing it.

Cordelia took a deep, shaky breath. She mustered every ounce of courage she had left to explain her past actions and clear the suffocating air between them.

She opened her mouth. Her voice was raspy but clear: "Julian lied to me. About the corporate documents."

Damien froze completely.

The roll of white medical tape slipped from his fingers. It bounced off the mattress and rolled onto the hardwood floor.

The air in the massive bedroom seemed to drop ten degrees. His posture turned rigidly, terrifyingly hostile.

He slowly looked up. His dark eyes were filled with a violent, swirling storm of possessive jealousy.

Damien grabbed her shoulders through the thick comforter. He pinned her back against the tufted leather headboard with overwhelming force.

He snarled, his face mere inches from hers: "You are never leaving this penthouse for Julian Carlisle. Not as long as I have breath in my lungs."

Cordelia shook her head desperately. She tried to force out the words: "I hate him now. I want nothing to do with him--"

Damien cut her off. His voice cracked with a raw, suppressed agony: "You tried to kill yourself as a negotiation tactic? To get back to your lover? That is sick. That is sick, Cordelia."

He released her shoulders abruptly. He stepped back, stumbling slightly as if he had been physically burned by her proximity.

Damien turned his back to her. He ran a trembling hand through his perfectly styled dark hair, ruining the expensive cut.

He kicked the heavy wooden leg of the bedside table. The impact rattled the remaining medical supplies, a raw display of his explosive frustration. Cordelia flinched at the sudden violence, pulling the comforter tighter around herself.

Cordelia shrank back against the pillows. Her stomach plummeted. She realized her poorly chosen words had just triggered his deepest, most painful insecurity.

Damien marched toward the bedroom door. He didn't look back. He left her entirely alone in the center of the massive bed.

The heavy oak door slammed shut. The loud sound echoed off the high ceiling of the silent, cavernous bedroom.

Cordelia looked down at her left arm. The perfectly wrapped white bandage rested starkly against the dark silk sheets.

She traced the edge of the gauze with her right index finger. A bitter, self-deprecating smile formed on her dry lips.

She recalled the exact moment in her past life when Julian had handed her those forged documents. He had manipulated her into hating Damien with surgical precision.

She remembered Scarlett's fake, sugary sisterly love. That same love had ultimately led to her being locked inside the burning warehouse, gasping for air as the flames licked her skin.

Her hands curled into tight fists. Her fingernails dug painfully into her palms.

An unsettling calm replaced the vulnerable exhaustion in her eyes. The tears dried up instantly.

The sleek, modern intercom on the bedside table suddenly buzzed. The sharp electronic sound broke the heavy silence of the room.

Cordelia startled. She stared at the blinking red light on the black console.

She leaned over the edge of the mattress. She pressed the answer button with her uninjured right hand.

Nash's gruff, professional voice came through the small speaker: "Mr. Sterling, Scarlett Montgomery is in the lobby. She is demanding immediate entry."

Cordelia's breathing hitched. Just hearing that name sparked a pure, unadulterated hatred deep in the center of her chest.

Out in the hallway, Damien stood rigid. He glared at the wall-mounted security monitor displaying the live feed of Scarlett pacing in the marble lobby.

He pressed his earpiece and ordered: "Nash, throw her out. Physically. Onto the avenue."

On the security feed, Nash nodded visibly. The large man stepped forward, preparing to execute the physical removal.

Inside the bedroom, Cordelia pressed the intercom button again. Her voice cut through the secure line, clear and steady: "Nash, let her come up."

In the hallway, Damien stared at the intercom speaker on the wall. His jaw clenched in absolute, staggering disbelief.

His mind immediately jumped to the worst conclusion. He assumed Cordelia wanted to see her sister to receive secret messages or escape plans from Julian.

He punched the reinforced wall beside the monitor. His knuckles turned stark white from the impact.

Damien pressed the master talk button. His voice was laced with pure venom: "Nash, escort Scarlett directly to the master bedroom."

He turned his head and ordered Pierce, who was standing nearby: "Activate the hidden audio surveillance in the master suite."

He walked into the adjoining study. He left the connecting door open just a fraction of an inch.

Damien stood in the pitch-black study. He positioned himself perfectly to observe the bedroom bed without being detected.

Cordelia heard the sharp click of the intercom disconnecting. She knew Damien's paranoid nature. She knew he was likely watching her right now.

When the soft, melodic ding of the private elevator opening in the foyer echoed through the penthouse, her shoulders slumped. Her gaze fell to the sheets, presenting the very image of a broken, helpless woman.

She pulled the comforter up slightly higher, hiding the tense, ready muscles in her arms. Her enemy had arrived.

The heavy bedroom door opened slowly. Scarlett stepped into the room, wearing a pristine, pale pink designer dress.

Scarlett rushed immediately to the side of the bed. Her face was twisted into an exaggerated, theatrical expression of sisterly worry.

She grabbed Cordelia's uninjured right hand. She squeezed it tightly with her perfectly manicured fingers.

Scarlett let out a dramatic, loud gasp upon seeing the thick white bandage wrapped around Cordelia's left wrist.

She leaned down and whispered loudly: "Damien is a cruel monster. He keeps you locked up in this penthouse like a common prisoner."

Cordelia suppressed the intense, violent urge to rip her hand away. She forced her neck to move, offering a weak, pathetic nod.

Scarlett leaned in closer. Her expensive, overpowering floral perfume assaulted Cordelia's senses, making her stomach churn.

Scarlett whispered conspiratorially: "Julian is waiting for you. In a black car. Right outside the building."

Cordelia's heart remained perfectly steady. She feigned a look of desperate, tragic hope, widening her eyes slightly.

Scarlett looked around the massive room. Her eyes darted suspiciously into the corners, checking for visible security cameras.

Satisfied they were alone, she unclasped the gold hardware on her oversized Hermes Birkin bag resting on her lap.

Scarlett reached deep inside the expensive leather bag. Her eyes locked intensely onto Cordelia's pale face.

She pulled out a small, intricately carved silver dagger. It was hidden inside a black velvet pouch.

Scarlett slid the cold metal dagger under the edge of the silk blanket. She pressed the hilt directly against Cordelia's thigh.

She whispered: "Julian sent this. It is the only way to help you escape the monster holding you captive. Use it on Damien tonight. Right when his guard is down. When he is sleeping."

Cordelia stared down at the silver hilt peeking out from the fabric. She remembered this exact, horrifying moment from her past life.

In the past, she had taken the weapon. She had actually tried to stab Damien with it, breaking his heart completely.

Cordelia slowly raised her eyes. She met Scarlett's eager, malicious gaze head-on.

For a fleeting second, a flicker of something other than fear--something cold and sharp--passed through her eyes before vanishing.

Scarlett blinked rapidly. She looked genuinely confused and unsettled by the sudden, chilling shift in her sister's demeanor.

In the dark adjoining study, Damien stood completely frozen. He peered through the slightly open connecting door.

His sharp eyes locked onto the glint of the silver dagger partially hidden under the blanket.

A massive wave of profound betrayal and suffocating fury washed over his rigid body. His chest tightened painfully.

He watched Cordelia stare at the weapon. He misinterpreted her silence as active, serious contemplation of his murder.

Damien's large hand hovered over the brass doorknob. He was ready to burst into the room and stop her from making the biggest mistake of her life.

His breathing turned shallow and ragged. His chest ached with actual, physical pain at her perceived betrayal.

He forced his hand to drop. His masochistic side demanded to see if she would actually accept the weapon from Julian.

He tightened his grip on the edge of the doorframe instead. His knuckles popped loudly in the silent study.

Damien's eyes darkened into a pitch-black abyss. He braced his entire body for the ultimate heartbreak.