Everette didn't look at the card. He stepped forward, his massive body forming an impenetrable wall between Deliah and the exit.

He glanced down at the back of his hand, which was slightly red from the hot coffee. "A card isn't enough."

Deliah frowned, pulling Leo tighter against her leg. "What exactly do you want?"

Everette lied without blinking. "My arm has second-degree burns. You are going to escort me to a clinic to have it treated."

Joshua's eyes widened. The red mark didn't even need a band-aid. But he kept his mouth shut.

Deliah checked her watch. Her pulse spiked. She had less than two hours before the dress rehearsal at the Manhattan fashion show.

"I can give you double the medical expenses right now," she offered, her tone desperate.

Everette's eyes were dead and cold. "I don't need your money."

Leo tugged on Deliah's coat. "Mom, let's just go with the mister. It was my fault."

Deliah looked at her son, then at the immovable man blocking her path. She let out a frustrated breath. She had no choice.

Ten minutes later, they were sitting in the back of a black Rolls-Royce Phantom. The air pressure inside the car was suffocating.

Everette sat across from Deliah. His eyes roamed over every inch of her face, searching for scars, for any sign of plastic surgery. He was dissecting her with his stare.

Deliah felt her skin prickle under his gaze. She turned her head, staring out the tinted window to avoid him.

The car pulled up to a private VIP medical center near the airport. A doctor rushed in to examine Everette's hand.

The doctor looked at the faint red mark and opened his mouth to say it was fine. Then he met Everette's murderous glare. The doctor swallowed hard. "It... needs an ice pack and observation."

Everette sat in the treatment chair. He closed his eyes as the ice pack was applied, forcing his breathing to slow down.

Deliah's phone vibrated violently in her pocket. It was Mara, the show coordinator, demanding she get to the venue immediately.

Deliah looked at the man with his eyes closed. She made a decision.

She stood up silently. She pulled all the cash from her wallet and placed it on the glass coffee table, along with her business card.

She grabbed Leo's hand. They tiptoed to the door, opened it a fraction of an inch, and slipped out into the hallway. They ran for the emergency exit.

Five minutes later, Everette's eyes snapped open.

The faint scent of citrus perfume in the air was fading.

He turned his head. The sofa was empty.

Everette ripped the ice pack off his hand and threw it. He stood up so fast the heavy chair scraped harshly against the floor.

Joshua opened the door to report, saw the empty room, and froze.

Everette walked to the table and picked up the business card. His eyes locked onto the title: Architect & Guest Designer.

"Sir," Joshua said nervously. "You have a three-billion-dollar merger board meeting on Wall Street in an hour."

Everette crushed the business card in his fist. "Cancel everything. Get the car."

"The penalty fees-"

Everette shot him a look so lethal Joshua stopped breathing.

Everette stalked out of the clinic, his body radiating the dark energy of a predator tracking its prey.

He got into the back of the Rolls-Royce. "Lincoln Center," he ordered the driver. "I will tear this city apart to find her."

Deliah pushed open the heavy doors to the backstage area of the Lincoln Center. The room was a chaotic blur of models, makeup artists, and clothes.

She threw her coat over a chair and shoved an earpiece into her ear. Her mind instantly shifted into work mode.

Mara, the coordinator, ran up to her, shoving a clipboard into her hands. "They changed the lineup."

Deliah scanned the paper, her eyes sharp. She started barking orders, adjusting the structural set pieces and the spatial flow of the runway with absolute precision.

Leo sat quietly on a prop box in the corner, wearing noise-canceling headphones, his fingers flying across his laptop keyboard.

Outside the Lincoln Center, a fleet of black SUVs ignored the traffic cones and pulled right up to the edge of the red carpet.

Bodyguards jumped out and opened the door. Everette stepped onto the pavement. His face was a storm of dark fury. The flashing cameras of the paparazzi instantly went dead as the photographers shrank back from his aura.

Security guards rushed to clear a private path for him.

Everette strode into the glamorous lobby of the venue. His eyes swept over the crowd of socialites and billionaires, dismissing them instantly.

He pushed through the VIP section. Then, near the entrance to the backstage hallway, he caught a flash of a black suit and the faint scent of citrus.

Everette shoved past two Wall Street executives and marched straight for the hallway.

Two massive security guards in sunglasses stepped in front of the door, crossing their arms. "Staff only, sir."

Everette's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "Move."

The guards sweated under his stare, but they didn't budge.

Joshua ran up behind Everette, grabbing his arm. "Mr. Baird, please. The press is everywhere. If you force your way in, Baird Capital's stock will tank by morning."

Everette closed his eyes. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. He forced the violent urge down.

He opened his eyes, gave the door one last chilling look, and turned toward the stairs leading to the second-floor VIP suites.

He entered a private suite that overlooked the entire venue. He sat in the shadows, a panther waiting in the dark.

Down below, the lights dimmed. The heavy bass of the music shook the glass. The fashion show began.

Everette didn't look at the clothes. His eyes were glued to the backstage exit.

He pulled out his phone. "Joshua. Get me the background check on Deliah Buck. Now."

Half an hour later, the show ended. The head designer didn't come out for a bow. Everette's frown deepened.

The lights came back up. The announcer invited the VIP guests to the Showroom for pre-orders.

Everette stood up, adjusting his cuffs. He was going down there.

Just as his hand touched the doorknob, the door swung open from the outside. A sickeningly sweet wave of perfume hit his face.

A woman in a revealing haute couture dress swayed into the room.

Everette's stomach turned. It was Arvilla Quinn.

Arvilla gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in fake surprise. "Everette? I had no idea you'd be in this suite."

Everette let go of the door handle and took a step back. He looked at her as if she were a piece of rotting garbage on his shoe.

Arvilla ignored his disgust. She stepped closer on her ten-centimeter heels, invading his space.

She lowered her voice, forcing her eyes to water. "Today is the five-year anniversary of my sister's death."

At the word sister, the temperature in the room plummeted. Everette's jaw turned to granite.

"I saw you downstairs," Arvilla whispered, reaching out a hand with blood-red nails to touch the sleeve of his suit. "You looked so lonely. It breaks my heart."

Everette violently slapped her hand away.

The force of the movement made Arvilla stumble backward. She barely caught her balance.

"Don't touch me with your filthy hands," Everette snarled, his voice a blade of pure ice.

Arvilla's face paled, but she forced a pathetic pout. "I just care about you. Deliah wouldn't want you to be alone."

A cruel, dark laugh ripped from Everette's throat. "You don't have the right to say her name."

He took a step toward her. The sheer physical dominance of his frame made Arvilla shrink back. "Stop with these disgusting games. You've spent five years trying to dress like her, act like her. It's pathetic. Just like that desperate lie you tried to feed Deliah five years ago. You were never pregnant."

Arvilla's vanity shattered. Her hands curled into tight fists at her sides, her face flushing with humiliation.

Joshua stepped into the room, placing his body between them. "Mr. Baird requires privacy. Leave, Miss Quinn."

Arvilla glared at Joshua, too terrified to yell at Everette. She gritted her teeth. "I am the heir to the Quinn family. You can't treat me like this." She spun around and stormed out.

The door clicked shut. Everette immediately took off his suit jacket-the one her nail had grazed-and threw it directly into the trash can.

He walked over to the one-way glass window looking down at the Showroom.

Joshua handed him an iPad. "The file on Deliah Buck, sir."

Everette stared at the screen. The file showed a rising star in European architecture. But the timeline before five years ago was completely blank.

His eyes narrowed. The data was too clean. It had been scrubbed by a professional hacker.

"Hire the private investigators," Everette ordered. "Dig up every medical record in Europe under her name."

Suddenly, a sharp, shrill scream echoed from the Showroom below, followed by the loud crash of shattering glass.

Everette looked down through the window.

In the center of the room, Arvilla was screaming at a staff member.

And then, Everette's heart stopped.

Walking out from the backstage doors, heading straight toward Arvilla's tantrum, was Deliah.