Antoinette stopped right beside Hiram. She stood close enough to feel the heat radiating from his large frame. The sheer size of his shoulders created a physical wall between her and the rest of the town. Her racing heartbeat began to slow.

Fabian's face turned an ugly shade of purple. He took a reckless step forward, his hand reaching out to grab Antoinette's arm again. "You're coming with me-"

Hiram's eyes dropped to the extended hand. The temperature in the air seemed to plummet.

He didn't move. He just stared at Fabian's hand with a look so violently cold that Fabian froze. The younger man's hand hovered in mid-air, trembling slightly under the crushing weight of Hiram's glare, before slowly dropping back to his side.

Antoinette took a deep breath. She turned to face the crowd of neighbors and a seething Eleanor.

"The verbal engagement between Fabian and me is over," Antoinette announced, her voice projecting clearly. "It never existed."

A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers.

Fabian's jaw tightened. Humiliation burned in his eyes. He quickly plastered on a look of deep sorrow. "Everyone, please. She's not in her right mind. She needs to be evaluated by a doctor immediately."

"Enough."

Hiram's voice cut through Fabian's performance. It wasn't loud, but it carried a terrifying authority.

"I am the emergency contact designated by her late father," Hiram stated flatly. "I am taking her."

Antoinette tilted her head up. She looked at the sharp, unforgiving line of Hiram's jaw. "Please," she whispered. "Take me to New York."

Hiram looked down. His dark eyes scanned her tear-stained face, lingering on the fierce, desperate determination in her gaze.

Silence stretched for three agonizing seconds.

Hiram gave a single, curt nod. "Done."

Eleanor lost her mind. She pushed past a neighbor, her face red. "You can't just take her! She's a minor! Her trust fund and the estate need to be managed by locals who know the family!"

The front passenger door of the Range Rover opened. Alex Porter, Hiram's security assistant, stepped out and smoothly blocked Eleanor's path.

Alex wore a crisp suit and a polite, dead-eyed smile. He pulled a heavy, cream-colored card with stark, engraved lettering from his inner pocket and handed it to Eleanor.

"The legal team of the Graves family will be handling the liquidation of the Rasmussen estate," Alex said, his tone leaving zero room for argument. "Any further inquiries can be directed to our top-tier law firm in Manhattan."

Eleanor stared at the prestigious name on the card. The color drained from her face. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

Fabian stood paralyzed. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. He watched his carefully laid plans for wealth evaporate into thin air.

Hiram ignored them. He turned his back on the town and pulled open the heavy, armored door of the Range Rover.

Antoinette gathered the skirt of her black dress and climbed into the back seat without a single backward glance.

Hiram got in beside her. The heavy door slammed shut with a solid thud, instantly cutting off the murmurs and the greedy stares of the crowd.

The interior of the SUV was a sanctuary. It smelled of expensive leather and a faint trace of cedarwood. It was so quiet she could only hear the soft hum of the air conditioning.

Hiram reached into the center console. He pulled out a crisp white tissue and held it out to her.

He didn't ask why she hit Fabian. He didn't ask why she broke off the engagement.

Antoinette reached out with both hands to take the tissue. As she pulled it from his grasp, her cold fingertips brushed against his warm knuckles.

A tiny jolt of electricity shot up her arm. Her breath hitched.

The Range Rover accelerated smoothly, pulling away from the curb and leaving the town behind.

Antoinette turned her head to look out the tinted window. In the side mirror, Fabian's distorted, furious face grew smaller and smaller until it disappeared completely.

She gripped the tissue tightly in her lap. Her fingernails dug into her palms. She swore to herself, right then and there, that she would never be a victim again.

Beside her, Hiram leaned back against the leather seat. From the corner of his eye, he watched the stubborn set of the girl's profile. A complex flicker of curiosity sparked in his dark eyes.

The Range Rover glided into the underground parking garage of a luxury hotel in Upstate New York. The darkness of the night was replaced by harsh fluorescent lights.

Alex handled the check-in at the front desk. He returned with two key cards for connecting penthouse suites.

Antoinette followed Hiram into the private elevator. They rode up in silence, stepping out onto the top floor and entering their respective rooms.

The suite was massive. Antoinette walked straight into the marble bathroom. She stripped off the heavy mourning dress and stood under the scalding shower, scrubbing the smell of the funeral and Fabian's cologne off her skin until it turned pink.

She stepped out, wrapping herself in a thick, oversized white hotel bathrobe.

Standing in front of the fogged-up mirror, reality crashed back into her. She needed to secure her parents' life insurance money immediately. Fabian had tried to stall the process, and she couldn't leave any loose ends.

She walked over to her duffel bag and dug out the crumpled insurance claim form.

It required the signature of a legal guardian to be processed. She needed Hiram. Now.

Antoinette walked over to the heavy wooden connecting door between their suites. She raised her knuckles and knocked twice.

No answer. Just the faint hum of the central air conditioning.

The insurance form felt like a burning coal in her hand. Fabian could be actively working against her right now. She couldn't afford to wait. Taking a deep breath, she tried the handle, hoping he was just in the living area. It turned easily. The door wasn't locked.

Antoinette pushed the door open and stepped quietly into Hiram's living room.

It was empty. But from the direction of the master bedroom, she heard the loud rush of running water.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. He was in the shower. She immediately turned around, planning to sneak back into her room before he noticed.

Suddenly, the water shut off.

Before she could take a step, the frosted glass door of the master bathroom slid open.

Hiram walked out.

Steam rolled off his body in thick waves. He was wearing nothing but a white towel slung dangerously low on his hips.

Drops of water clung to his broad shoulders, tracing the deep cuts of his chest and sliding down the hard, defined ridges of his eight-pack abs before disappearing into the edge of the towel.

Antoinette sucked in a sharp breath. Her brain short-circuited. She stood frozen, her eyes wide, completely forgetting how to look away.

Hiram's head snapped up. His sharp eyes locked onto the intruder instantly. A deep frown carved into his forehead.

Pure, unfiltered panic seized Antoinette. She scrambled backward, desperate to escape the room.

She moved too fast. Her bare heel caught the thick edge of the Persian rug.

Her ankle twisted violently. A sharp gasp tore from her throat as her center of gravity vanished. She fell backward.

Hiram's eyes darkened. His body reacted before his conscious mind did.

He lunged forward like a striking predator. His long arm shot out, his large hand wrapping securely around her narrow waist.

Antoinette crashed hard into his solid, burning-hot chest. Her nose was instantly filled with the sharp, clean scent of cedarwood body wash and damp skin.

The moment their bodies collided, both of them went completely rigid.

Antoinette scrambled to push herself upright, but the moment she put weight on her right foot, a blinding pain shot up her leg. She gasped, her knee buckling.

Hiram felt her give way. He looked down at her foot. The skin around her ankle was already starting to swell and turn red. His jaw clenched tight.

He didn't say a word. He just bent his knees, slipped one arm under her legs, and scooped her up into a smooth, effortless bridal carry.

Antoinette let out a startled squeak. Her hands flew up, her fingers instinctively gripping the lapels of his bathrobe-wait, he wasn't wearing one. Her hands flattened against his bare, damp chest.

Hiram ignored the contact. He carried her across the room with long, purposeful strides and gently deposited her onto the wide leather sofa in the living room.

Hiram dropped to one knee in front of the sofa.

His large, calloused hand reached out and wrapped entirely around Antoinette's slender, pale ankle.

His palm was burning hot. The intense heat pressed against her cool skin, sending a violent shiver up her calf.

Hiram's thick fingers pressed gently into the swollen flesh.

Antoinette flinched, a sharp hiss escaping her lips. She tried to pull her leg back.

Hiram didn't look up. "Don't move," he commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated in the quiet room.

The sheer authority in his tone pinned her to the cushions. She froze, not daring to breathe.

Satisfied nothing was broken, Hiram stood up. He walked over to the kitchenette cabinets and pulled out a standard hotel first-aid kit.

He cracked an instant cold pack, wrapped it in a clean hand towel, and returned to the sofa. He carefully pressed the makeshift ice pack against her throbbing ankle.

Once it was secure, he grabbed a throw blanket from the back of the sofa and tossed it over her bare legs. Only then did he turn around, walk into the bedroom, and put on a dark grey bathrobe.

When he walked back out, the flush on Antoinette's face had slightly faded. She quickly grabbed the crumpled insurance claim form she had dropped on the cushion and held it out to him.

"Fabian withheld some of the original documents," she explained, her voice slightly shaky. "He was trying to delay the payout so he could control me."

Hiram took the paper. His dark eyes scanned the legal jargon. As he read, the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. His eyes turned into chips of black ice.

He didn't yell. He didn't scold her for being careless.

He walked over to the coffee table and picked up the suite's landline phone.

He dialed a number from memory. "Get the Detroit legal team on the line," he ordered, his voice laced with lethal calm.

He paced the length of the room. "I want a cease and desist sent to Fabian Cash within twenty-four hours. File for a restraining order. And contact the insurance underwriter. Every single cent of that payout goes directly into a new, independent trust account under Antoinette Rasmussen's name. If Cash tries to block it, bury him in litigation until he bankrupts."

Five minutes later, Hiram slammed the phone down. He turned to look at the girl sitting on the sofa.

"Fabian Cash is no longer a problem," Hiram stated. "His plans are dead."

The tight knot of anxiety that had been sitting in Antoinette's chest since she woke up at the funeral finally unraveled. She let out a long, shaky exhale. Hot tears of pure relief pricked the corners of her eyes.

Hiram walked over to the single armchair opposite the sofa and sat down. He crossed his long legs, his posture dominant and unyielding.

He looked at her with absolute seriousness. "Starting today, I am initiating the legal process."

He leaned forward slightly. "I am fulfilling my promise to your father. I will be your sole legal guardian."

Antoinette stared at him. In her past life, she had fought alone. She had never known what it felt like to have someone stand in front of her like a brick wall.

She swallowed hard and nodded her head firmly. "Okay."

Hiram watched her obedient response. The hard, unforgiving lines around his mouth softened by a fraction of a millimeter.

He stood up. "Stay in this room tonight. Keep your weight off that foot."

He walked toward the connecting door. "I need to meet with Alex next door to finalize the paperwork."

Hiram stepped through the doorway and pulled the door shut behind him.

Click.

The sound of the lock didn't make Antoinette feel trapped. For the first time since she opened her eyes in this life, she felt entirely, undeniably safe.

She leaned back against the sofa, looking at the ice pack on her ankle. She had found her fortress.

On the other side of the door, Hiram stared at a faxed background check on Fabian Cash. His eyes were pitch black. Taking the documents was just the legal step. He fully intended to make sure the boy learned what happened when you touched someone under the protection of Hiram Graves.