The freezing marble bit through the thin silk shirt, sending a violent shudder down Giana's spine. She gripped the edge of the sink with both hands and tried to push herself up.

Cornel stepped into her space. He forced his knee between her thighs, pinning her hips against the stone counter. She couldn't move an inch.

"Let me go, you psycho!" Giana yelled. Her calm facade shattered. She raised her right hand and swung it toward his face.

Cornel caught her wrist in mid-air. He twisted her arm behind her back and shoved her chest flush against his. A cruel smile touched his lips.

"Women who try to slap me in this city usually end up at the bottom of the river," he whispered against her ear. His breath was hot, but the words froze the blood in her veins.

The memory of his past cruelty flashed in her mind. Her body went completely rigid. She stopped fighting.

Cornel felt the strength leaving her body. A dark sense of satisfaction spread through his chest. He continued to press her arms behind her back and reached for her phone with his other hand.

Giana twisted her torso, trying to get away from his hand. It was useless.

He pulled out her cracked iPhone.

"Passcode," he demanded. He shoved the screen in front of her face.

Giana clamped her mouth shut and turned her head away.

Cornel scoffed. He grabbed her right hand, isolated her thumb, and pressed it hard against the home button.

The phone unlocked with a soft click.

He tapped the screen rapidly. A second later, a custom black phone sitting on the bathroom counter began to vibrate.

Cornel ended the call. He typed something into her phone and tossed it onto the sink next to her.

Giana looked down. The screen showed a new contact saved. The name read: Little Trouble.

Her stomach churned with disgust. "Little Trouble? You are Nauseous."

"Nauseous?" Cornel grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "You weren't calling me sick when you were begging under me last night."

Humiliation burned in Giana's chest. She opened her mouth and sank her teeth into the thick muscle of his hand, right between his thumb and index finger.

Cornel frowned, but he didn't pull his hand away. He stood perfectly still and let her bite him.

The taste of copper filled Giana's mouth. The fact that he wasn't fighting back terrified her more than his anger. She slowly opened her jaw and let go.

"Done?" Cornel looked down at the deep, bleeding teeth marks on his hand. His eyes were entirely black.

He ducked his head and crashed his mouth against hers. He tasted his own blood on her lips. He kissed her with a punishing, suffocating force.

Giana couldn't breathe. She pounded her fists against his shoulders, but hitting his solid muscle felt like punching a brick wall.

The temperature in the small bathroom spiked. Cornel slid his hand up the back of her thigh, gripping bare skin.

"No... I have to go..." Giana choked out against his mouth.

A single tear spilled over her eyelashes and dropped onto the back of his hand.

The warm drop of water hit Cornel's skin like acid. He froze. He pulled his mouth away and stared down at her red, watery eyes. His chest heaved. He fought the violent urge to throw her on the floor and take her again.

"Get out," he growled. He stepped back, dropping his hands to his sides.

Giana grabbed her phone. She didn't look back. She scrambled out of the bathroom and ran for the suite door.

The heavy door slammed shut.

Cornel stood alone in the bathroom. He looked at the bloody bite mark on his hand. He slowly lifted his hand to his mouth and licked the blood off his skin.

He walked out of the bathroom,He picked up his black phone from the counter and dialed a number.

"Dave," Cornel said, staring out the window at the Manhattan skyline. "A girl just left my room. Put eyes on her. Find out everything."

The November wind slashed across the Manhattan streets like a razor. Giana pulled the oversized coat tight around her chest and pushed through the glass doors of a 24-hour CVS pharmacy.

She walked straight past the makeup aisles. She ignored the cashier's stare. She stopped at the family planning section, grabbed a box of Plan B, and walked to the register.

She paid with a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. As soon as she stepped back onto the sidewalk, she ripped the cardboard box open. She popped the pill out of the foil, tossed it into her mouth, and swallowed it dry.

The pill scratched the back of her throat. She coughed, but a massive weight lifted off her chest. She was done with him.

Across the street, parked in the shadows, a black armored SUV sat idling.

Dave Ortiz lowered his camera lens. He pressed the button on his encrypted earpiece.

Inside the glass-walled boardroom at the top of Stark Tower, Cornel sat at the head of a massive oak table. A senior VP was sweating through a presentation on quarterly margins.

Cornel's phone vibrated against the wood.

He glanced at the screen. Dave.

Cornel held up one hand. The VP stopped talking instantly. Cornel answered the call.

"Boss," Dave's voice came through the speaker. "She went into a pharmacy. Bought Plan B. Swallowed it on the sidewalk."

Cornel's fingers tightened around his custom fountain pen. The metal casing snapped. The sharp edge sliced into his palm, and black ink bled all over the financial reports in front of him.

A violent, blinding rage ripped through his chest. It felt like someone had poured gasoline on his lungs and lit a match.

He stood up so fast his heavy leather chair screeched backward across the floor.

"Meeting canceled," he said.

The executives stared at him in terrified silence. Cornel walked out of the room without looking back.

Twenty minutes later, Cornel sat in the back of his Maybach. His stomach cramped. His jaw ached from grinding his teeth.

He ripped his tie off and threw it on the floorboard. "Take me to Nightingale," he told the driver.

Inside the VIP room of Manhattan's most exclusive club, the manager lined up five top-tier models.

Cornel sat on the leather sofa, holding a glass of whiskey. He stared at the women. They were beautiful. They meant absolutely nothing to him.

A blonde woman in a tight red dress stepped forward. A heavy wave of Chanel No. 5 hit Cornel's nose.

"Mr. Stark..." she purred. She reached out, placing her hand with long red nails onto his thigh.

The second her skin touched his pants, Cornel's stomach violently heaved. A wave of pure, physical nausea shot up his throat.

"Get off me!" he roared.

He swung his arm out, striking her shoulder. The woman flew backward, crashing into the glass coffee table. The table shattered. Whiskey and glass exploded across the floor. The other women screamed and backed against the wall.

Cornel clamped a hand over his mouth. He stumbled out of the room and kicked open the door to the private restroom.

He turned on the faucet and splashed freezing water onto his face. He gripped the edges of the sink, breathing hard. He looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot.

He couldn't stand the touch of another woman. His body was physically rejecting them. He was completely addicted to the girl who had just swallowed a pill to erase him.

He pulled his fist back and punched the mirror.

The glass spider-webbed outward. Blood dripped from his knuckles into the white porcelain sink.

The bathroom door opened. Dave walked in and stopped. He looked at the broken glass and the blood.

"Boss..." Dave held out a clean towel.

Cornel ignored the towel. He let his blood drip. His gray eyes were dead and focused.

"Did you get a name?" Cornel asked. His voice was terrifyingly calm.

"Yes. Giana Caldwell. The adopted daughter of the Caldwell family."

Cornel repeated the name in his head. A dark, twisted smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

"Tell the team," Cornel said. "I am taking over every aspect of her life."

Giana pushed open the heavy oak door of the Caldwell mansion in Long Island. The hinges groaned, echoing through the massive foyer.

She stepped inside. Delilah was sitting on the Victorian sofa, holding a bone china teacup.

Delilah's eyes darted to Giana's messy hair and the oversized men's coat. A spark of malicious joy flashed in Delilah's eyes.

"Oh my god, Giana!" Delilah slammed the teacup down on the saucer. She jumped up and ran forward, her voice pitched loud enough to wake the dead. "Where have you been all night?"

The noise worked. Angele Caldwell hurried out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. Her face was tight with worry.

Delilah reached out, trying to grab Giana's arm to pull her into the light, wanting Angele to see the state she was in.

Giana's eyes went cold. She shifted her weight and stepped back. Delilah's hands grabbed empty air, and she stumbled forward awkwardly.

"Why are you screaming, Delilah?" Giana asked. Her voice was flat and steady. "Are you trying to make sure the neighbors know I wasn't home?"

Delilah froze. Her face flushed. She quickly put her hand over her chest and widened her eyes.

"I... I was just so worried! You drank so much at the party last night and then you vanished..." Delilah looked at Angele, making sure the word 'drank' landed.

Angele's expression hardened. "Giana, where exactly were you?"

In her past life, Giana would have screamed and thrown a tantrum. But screaming had gotten her absolutely nothing. She clenched her fists at her sides, digging her nails so deeply into her palms that the skin nearly broke. The sharp, grounding pain cleared the lingering fog in her head. It was time to play an entirely different game. She thought of every betrayal she had suffered, letting the genuine agony morph into a mask of vulnerability. She took a deep, shuddering breath, forced tears to well up in her eyes, and walked straight to Angele.

She threw her arms around her mother's neck and buried her face in her shoulder.

"Mom, I'm so sorry. I was so scared," Giana whispered. Her voice shook perfectly.

Angele stiffened. She wasn't used to Giana hugging her. The anger melted out of her posture. She awkwardly patted Giana's back.

"I went outside to get some air," Giana lied, her voice muffled against Angele's sweater. "Some drunk guys started following me. They cornered me."

"What? !" Angele gasped, pulling Giana back to inspect her face. "Did they hurt you?"

"No. A nice man saw what was happening and chased them off. He let me sleep in his guest room because I was too shaken up to drive. He lent me his coat." Giana pulled the oversized lapels tighter around her neck.

Delilah stared at Giana, her mouth slightly open. She had personally spiked Giana's drink. She had paid the waiter to take her to that old man's room. Hero? Guest room?

"Are you sure he was just being nice?" Delilah stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. "That coat..."

Giana snapped her head toward Delilah. Her eyes were like daggers. "You sound disappointed that I didn't get hurt, Delilah."

Delilah physically recoiled. Her face went pale. "No! I just..."

Angele frowned at Delilah. "That's enough, Delilah. Giana is safe. Stop asking questions."

Delilah bit her lip. Her fingernails dug into her palms. "Yes, Aunt Angele."

Giana leaned her head against Angele's shoulder. "Mom, I'm so tired. Can I just take a hot shower?"

"Of course, sweetie. Go upstairs. I'll have the kitchen make you some soup." Angele kissed her forehead.

Giana turned and walked toward the grand staircase. As she passed Delilah, she let a slow, mocking smirk spread across her face.

Delilah's stomach twisted with rage. She watched Giana walk up the stairs. She needed to know what actually happened last night.

She waited until Angele went back into the kitchen. Then, she slipped off her heels and crept silently up the stairs, following Giana's shadow.