Cordelia slowly reached her uninjured right hand toward the silver dagger resting on the bed.

Scarlett's eyes lit up with triumphant glee. Her glossy lips curled into a vicious, victorious smirk.

Cordelia's fingers wrapped firmly around the cold silver hilt of the weapon. The metal bit into her palm.

Scarlett leaned back slightly. She opened her mouth, preparing to offer more manipulative words of encouragement.

Suddenly, Cordelia's grip tightened on the hilt. Her knuckles turned stark white with the force of her hold.

With lightning speed, Cordelia lunged forward. She grabbed Scarlett's right wrist with her injured left hand.

Scarlett yelped in genuine surprise. She tried to pull her arm back, but the sudden grip caught her completely off guard.

Cordelia ignored the tearing, burning pain in her bandaged wrist. She held Scarlett in an iron vice grip.

Cordelia forcefully dragged Scarlett's hand over her own. She pressed Scarlett's fingers tightly around the hilt of the dagger.

Before Scarlett could process the movement, Cordelia pulled Scarlett's arm aggressively toward her own body.

Cordelia plunged the sharp tip of the dagger directly into her own left shoulder.

A sharp gasp escaped Cordelia's lips as the cold metal pierced her flesh. The pain was blinding and immediate.

Bright red blood instantly bloomed across the pristine white silk of her nightgown, spreading like a horrific watercolor painting.

Scarlett froze in absolute horror. Her hand was still physically trapped on the dagger's hilt, pushing it into Cordelia's skin.

Cordelia released Scarlett's wrist. She let the other woman's arm drop limply to the mattress.

Cordelia let out a blood-curdling, terrified scream. The sound echoed violently through the massive penthouse.

She screamed: "Scarlett! Please! Don't kill me! Please!"

Scarlett stammered, her eyes wide with panic: "I--I didn't--Cordelia, what are you--"

In the adjoining study, Damien heard the scream. He kicked the connecting door wide open without even touching the knob.

The heavy wood crashed against the wall. The doorframe splintered loudly under the sheer force of his kick.

Damien charged into the bedroom. He moved like a furious, unleashed apex predator defending its mate.

His eyes locked immediately onto the dark blood pouring rapidly from Cordelia's shoulder.

He saw Scarlett standing over the bed. Her hand was hovering mere inches from the dagger embedded in Cordelia's flesh.

A guttural roar of pure, unadulterated rage ripped from Damien's throat: "GET AWAY FROM HER!"

He crossed the massive bedroom in two long strides. He grabbed Scarlett directly by the throat.

He hurled Scarlett backward with terrifying, brutal force. He sent her flying through the air.

Scarlett crashed heavily into a glass side table. The thick glass shattered loudly, raining shards over the carpet.

Scarlett collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, clutching her bruised neck.

Damien dropped heavily to his knees beside the bed. His large hands hovered over Cordelia, trembling violently.

His face was pale with shock. His previous anger was completely replaced by a desperate, suffocating terror.

Cordelia looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. She whispered: "Damien... I was so scared. So scared."

Damien pressed his large, trembling hand directly over the bleeding wound on Cordelia's shoulder.

Warm blood seeped rapidly through his fingers. The red liquid stained his pristine white cuffs, soaking into the expensive fabric.

He roared at the top of his lungs: "Pierce! Call Dr. Evans! Now!" His voice cracked with panic.

Pierce sprinted down the hallway. He dialed the private physician's number frantically on his cell phone.

Damien leaned over Cordelia. He pressed his forehead against hers. He murmured frantic, breathless reassurances against her skin: "You're going to be okay. You're going to be okay. Just stay with me."

Cordelia winced. The sharp, burning pain in her shoulder radiated down her left arm, making her fingers twitch.

She looked up into Damien's dark eyes. She saw raw, unfiltered terror replacing his usual cold, untouchable detachment.

Damien grabbed the hilt of the silver dagger. He pulled it out in one swift, agonizing motion to prevent internal shifting.

Cordelia cried out. Her back arched completely off the blood-stained mattress.

Damien immediately grabbed a thick white bath towel from the nightstand. He applied extreme, heavy pressure to the open wound.

He cursed himself repeatedly, his voice breaking: "This is my fault. My fault. I let her in. I let that bitch in."

Cordelia weakly reached her right hand up. Her bloody fingertips touched his tense, rigid cheek.

She whispered: "It hurts. It really hurts."

Damien's breath hitched. A solitary tear escaped his dark eyes. It fell silently onto her pale cheek.

The sound of heavy, rapid footsteps echoed down the hallway, approaching the master bedroom.

Dr. Evans burst into the room. He carried a large, professional black trauma kit in his hands.

Evans took one look at the massive amount of blood soaking the bed. He immediately ordered: "Step back, Damien. Give me room."

Damien snarled like a protective wolf: "No. I'm not leaving her."

Evans raised his voice: "I cannot save her if you block my access. Move."

Damien's jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked visibly in his cheek. His breathing was heavy and erratic.

He slowly lifted his bloody hands. He retreated exactly one step backward, his entire body coiled tight like a spring.

Evans moved in quickly. He pulled out a penlight, assessing the depth and severity of the stab wound.

Evans pulled out a pair of trauma shears. He began cutting the ruined silk nightgown away from her shoulder.

Damien stepped forward instantly. He glared at Evans' gloved hands touching Cordelia. He emitted a low, dangerous warning growl from the back of his throat.

Evans ignored the death glare. He poured a bottle of sterile saline directly over the open wound to clean out the blood.

Cordelia whimpered loudly. She turned her face away from the stinging, biting pain of the saline wash.

Damien immediately moved to the other side of the bed. He knelt heavily on the floor beside her head.

He grabbed her uninjured right hand. He pressed her knuckles tightly against his lips.

He whispered dark, soothing promises against her skin: "You're going to be fine. You're going to be fine. I promise. I will handle everything. Just hold on."

Dr. Evans pulled out a syringe of local anesthetic. He tapped the plastic barrel with his finger to remove the air bubbles.

He warned Cordelia in a calm, clinical voice: "There will be a sharp pinch."

The needle pierced the sensitive skin right around the wound. Cordelia flinched violently, her breath catching in her throat.

Damien's grip on her hand tightened instantly. His thumb stroked her knuckles in a slow, rhythmic motion to ground her.

He glared up at Evans and warned in a low, dangerous voice: "Be gentle. Or I will break your fingers."

Evans rolled his eyes internally. He maintained a professional, unbothered exterior, focusing entirely on the wound.

The anesthetic took effect quickly. The sharp, burning pain around the stab wound dulled into a heavy numbness.

Evans threaded a curved surgical needle. He prepared to close the deep laceration in her shoulder.

He began the first stitch. He pulled her skin taut with a pair of metal medical forceps.

Cordelia watched Damien's face. She noted the extreme, painful tension pulling at his brow and the corners of his mouth.

She realized with a sharp pang of guilt just how deeply her reckless actions affected his emotional state.

Evans finished the final knot. He snipped the excess black thread with a pair of small surgical scissors.

He applied a thick, sterile white dressing over the sutured wound. He taped it down securely to her skin.

Evans packed up his trauma kit. He gave Damien strict, clear instructions: "Change the dressing twice a day. Keep it dry. Antibiotics every eight hours. Watch for fever."

Damien dismissed Evans with a sharp, curt nod: "Fine. Go." He did not take his eyes off Cordelia's pale, exhausted face.

Evans exited the room. He pulled the heavy double doors softly shut behind him.

The massive bedroom fell into a heavy, emotionally charged silence. The only sound was Cordelia's shallow breathing.

Cordelia tugged weakly on Damien's hand. She pulled his attention down to her eye level.

She looked up at him with wide, vulnerable eyes. She broke the tense silence between them.

She asked: "Damien... spread the rumor that Scarlett tried to assassinate me. For the Montgomery inheritance."

Damien's eyes narrowed slightly. He analyzed the cold, calculated nature of her request.

He realized she was actively trying to destroy Scarlett's reputation in New York high society.

A flicker of dark, predatory approval flashed in his eyes. He remained suspicious of her sudden change, but he liked her ruthlessness.

He nodded slowly. He promised her: "By morning, Scarlett will be utterly ruined in this city."

Cordelia let out a soft sigh of relief. Her eyelids grew incredibly heavy from the massive adrenaline crash.

She shifted slightly on the pillows. She patted the empty space beside her on the mattress with her good hand.

She whispered a soft, hesitant request: "Stay. Please. Hold me while I sleep."

Damien froze. His entire body went completely rigid at the unexpected, highly intimate request.

He hesitated for a long moment. He battled his deep fear of her manipulation against his desperate, overwhelming need for her.

Slowly, he kicked off his ruined leather shoes. He carefully lay down beside her, pulling her uninjured side flush against his chest.