Two weeks later.

Jaclyn woke up in her childhood bedroom at the Hampton Lester estate. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn tight, blocking out the afternoon sun.

She sat up slowly. Her body was still weak, but the sedative haze had finally worn off.

The maid sitting in the corner of the room had fallen asleep, her chin resting on her chest.

Jaclyn slid out of bed. Her bare feet sank into the thick Persian rug. She moved silently toward the heavy oak desk near the window.

Her fingers closed around the cold, brass handle of a heavy letter opener.

She gripped it tight. The sharp metal edge pressed into her palm, grounding her.

She crept toward the bedroom door. She turned the knob with agonizing slowness. It clicked open.

She slipped out into the second-floor hallway. The air conditioning chilled her bare arms. She kept her back pressed against the wall, moving toward the grand staircase, avoiding the blind spots of the security cameras.

As she reached the top of the stairs, a figure stepped out from the shadows.

Bradford.

He was holding a crystal glass of red wine. He froze when he saw her. His eyes darted nervously down the hallway.

He quickly ran his free hand through his perfectly styled blonde hair, pasting on a look of deep concern.

"Jaclyn, baby," Bradford said, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. "You shouldn't be out of bed."

Jaclyn's stomach churned. The memory of the hickey on Cherri's neck flashed in her mind.

She took a step back. She raised the brass letter opener, pointing the sharp tip directly at his chest.

"Where is the trust fund money, Bradford?" she demanded. Her voice was raspy, but it didn't shake.

Bradford's fake smile vanished. The muscles in his jaw tightened.

"Put that down, you crazy bitch," he sneered. "You're nothing but a puppet with cut strings."

Footsteps echoed from the other end of the hallway.

Katelyn and Cherri walked out of the master suite. They saw Jaclyn holding the weapon, but neither of them looked scared.

Cherri let out her signature breathy giggle.

They moved forward, fanning out. The three of them formed a semi-circle, slowly forcing Jaclyn backward.

Jaclyn retreated step by step until her back was pressed against the cold glass of the floor-to-ceiling window at the end of the corridor.

The glass was cold against her back. Her breathing turned shallow and rapid.

Cherri walked right up to Bradford and wrapped her arms around his waist. She rested her chin on his shoulder.

"Did it hurt, Jackie?" Cherri asked, her eyes gleaming with malice. "When the baby tore out of you?"

A red-hot spike of fury drove straight into Jaclyn's brain.

She lunged forward, slashing the letter opener toward Cherri's face.

Bradford was faster. He dropped his wine glass. It shattered on the floor. His large hand shot out and clamped around Jaclyn's wrist.

He twisted her arm violently.

Pain shot up to her shoulder. Her fingers went numb. The letter opener clattered onto the hardwood floor.

Bradford shoved her backward with all his body weight.

Jaclyn stumbled. Her back slammed into the floor-to-ceiling window.

A loud, terrifying crack echoed through the hallway. The thick glass spider-webbed behind her.

Jaclyn twisted her head. She looked down. The stone patio was forty feet below.

Katelyn's eyes darkened. She tapped her index finger against her thigh.

"A depressed, grieving mother," Katelyn said slowly. "Jumping to her death. It's a perfect tragedy."

Bradford didn't hesitate. He lunged forward. Both of his hands clamped around Jaclyn's throat.

He shoved her upper body backward, forcing her through the shattered glass.

Gravity ripped at her.

Jaclyn threw her arms out. Her hands desperately clawed at the wooden window frame. Her fingernails dug into the wood until they bent backward and bled.

A massive, deafening crash erupted from the first floor.

The heavy mahogany front doors of the estate were kicked open with explosive force.

Jaclyn strained her neck to look down.

Gaines Acevedo burst into the foyer. He was flanked by four massive bodyguards.

Gaines looked up.

His dark, cold eyes locked onto Jaclyn dangling from the second-story window.

The mask of the ruthless billionaire shattered instantly. Pure, unadulterated terror contorted his face.

"Jaclyn!" Gaines roared. The sound tore from his throat, raw and desperate.

He sprinted toward the stairs, shoving a heavy marble table out of his way with brutal force.

The sound of Gaines's roar echoed up from the foyer, distant but unmistakable. Bradford's eyes darted toward the grand staircase for a split second, his attention momentarily broken.

Cherri stepped forward. She dug her sharp acrylic nails directly into the bleeding wounds on the back of Jaclyn's hands.

The blinding pain forced Jaclyn's fingers to open.

She lost her grip.

The wind roared in her ears.

She fell backward into the night air.

Time slowed down to a crawl. She looked up at the broken window. Bradford, Katelyn, and Cherri stared down at her, their faces blank and cold.

She shifted her gaze downward.

Gaines had already reached the edge of the stone patio. He threw his arms out, his body stretching to its absolute physical limit, trying to catch her.

His eyes were wide, filled with a desperate, agonizing love she had never seen before.

He wasn't the monster. He was the only one trying to save her.

A sickening, wet crunch echoed through the night.

Jaclyn's body slammed into the hard stone patio.

Every bone in her spine shattered. A massive wave of agony instantly overloaded her nervous system.

Warm blood pooled rapidly beneath her back, soaking through her clothes.

Her vision blurred into a hazy gray.

Strong, trembling arms scooped her upper body off the cold stone.

Gaines fell to his knees in the pool of her blood. He pressed his large hands desperately against the massive wound on her head.

Tears-hot and fast-dropped from his face onto her freezing cheeks.

"Don't sleep," Gaines begged, his voice cracking, completely broken. "Jaclyn, look at me. Do not close your eyes."

Jaclyn forced her heavy arm to lift. She wanted to touch his face. She wanted to trace the jawline she had hated for so long.

Her hand hovered in the air for a second before all the strength drained from her muscles. Her arm dropped heavily onto the stone.

Regret, sharp and suffocating, swallowed her whole.

She had spent her entire life fighting the wrong demon.

The darkness rushed in, absolute and final. The last thing she heard was the agonizing scream of the man who loved her.

Jaclyn gasped violently.

Her lungs expanded so fast it hurt. Her eyes snapped open.

She threw her hands out in front of her, bracing for the bone-crushing impact of the stone patio.

Her fingers grabbed fistfuls of soft, cool silk.

She was not falling. She was lying flat on her back.

Her chest heaved. Cold sweat soaked through the thin fabric of her nightgown. She inhaled sharply. The distinct scent of cedarwood and amber filled her nose.

It was Gaines's scent.

Her vision slowly focused. She was staring at the vaulted ceiling of the guest bedroom in the Acevedo Manhattan penthouse.

She sat up so fast her head spun.

There was no blood. There was no shattered spine. Her body felt whole, save for a dull, throbbing pain in her left ankle and a slight sting on her forehead.

She threw off the silk blanket and stumbled out of bed. Her bare feet hit the plush carpet.

She rushed to the full-length mirror leaning against the wall.

The woman staring back at her was pale, but alive. A small white bandage was taped over her left eyebrow.

A memory slammed into her brain like a freight train.

She had just married Gaines a month ago. She had tried to run away, tripped over her own heels, and tumbled down the carpeted stairs of the penthouse duplex.

Jaclyn spun around and lunged for the smart calendar glowing on the nightstand.

The digital numbers burned into her eyes.

The date confirmed it. She was back. Back to the day she fell, one month into her marriage.

The sheer weight of the information crushed her legs. Her knees buckled. She collapsed onto the carpet.

She was alive. She had come back.

She clamped both hands over her mouth, biting down on her own palm to stop the hysterical sob from ripping out of her throat. Hot tears flooded her eyes, dropping heavily onto her wrists.

Heavy, measured footsteps echoed in the hallway outside.

They were moving closer.

Jaclyn's heart hammered against her ribs. She knew those footsteps.

Gaines.

The memory of his broken, tear-streaked face from her death flashed in her mind.

She quickly scanned the room. Near the door, a crystal vase lay shattered into a dozen jagged pieces on the floor.

The memory clicked into place. Before she fell down the stairs, she had thrown that vase at his head.

In her past life, when Gaines walked through that door today, she had screamed at him, picked up a shard of glass, and slashed his forearm.

Jaclyn scrambled forward on her hands and knees.

She ignored the sharp sting as a tiny piece of glass sliced into her index finger. She frantically swept the jagged shards into a neat pile against the baseboard.

The footsteps stopped right outside the door.

The heavy brass handle slowly turned. The metal hinges let out a low groan.

Jaclyn stood up. She took a deep breath, forcing her racing heart to slow down. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

The thick oak door swung open.

Gaines Acevedo stood in the doorway. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His broad shoulders filled the frame. His face was a mask of absolute, terrifying coldness.

His dark eyes swept the room like a radar, instantly locking onto her.

His jaw was clenched so tight the muscle ticked. His hands were balled into tight fists at his sides, bracing for her inevitable screaming fit.

Jaclyn stared at him. He looked exactly the same, yet entirely different. This was the man before she had completely broken his soul.

Her eyes immediately welled up with fresh tears.

Gaines noticed the moisture in her eyes. His eyes narrowed. He assumed this was a new tactic.

"If you try to run again," Gaines said, his voice a low, gravelly threat, "I will freeze every single asset connected to the Lester family by midnight."

In her past life, that threat had ignited a screaming match.

Now, the words just sounded like a desperate, clumsy attempt to keep her from leaving.

Jaclyn didn't scream. She didn't throw anything.

She just stood perfectly still. She looked at him with eyes full of overwhelming guilt and water.

The silence stretched.

Gaines's brow furrowed. The rigid line of his shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. He stared at her, completely thrown off balance by the lack of flying objects.

Jaclyn took a small step forward.

Her injured left ankle gave out. A sharp pain shot up her leg. She gasped, her body swaying dangerously to the side.

Gaines's body reacted before his brain did. He lunged forward, his hand shooting out to catch her.

But he stopped himself mid-air. He forcefully pulled his arm back, shoving his hand deep into his trouser pocket. His knuckles bulged against the fabric.

Jaclyn saw the aborted movement.

The guilt swallowed her whole. She had trained him to expect violence every time he touched her.

She lowered her gaze to the floor.

"I'm sorry," Jaclyn whispered. Her voice trembled, thick with emotion.

The words hit the room like a physical shockwave.

Gaines's pupils dilated rapidly. He froze completely.

He stared at her face, his eyes searching frantically for the lie, for the trap. The tension in the air was so thick it was hard to breathe.

Gaines didn't say a word.

He stared at her for three more seconds, his jaw locked tight. Then, he turned on his heel and walked out of the guest room, his strides long and rigid.

He looked like a man fleeing a burning building.

Jaclyn watched his broad back disappear into the hallway. She took a deep breath, ignoring the throbbing pain in her ankle, and limped after him.

She stepped out of the hallway and into the massive, open-concept living room. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the glittering Manhattan skyline.

Right in the center of the room sat a pile of splintered black wood and tangled wire.

It was a Fazioli grand piano. A rare, discontinued model.

Jaclyn's breath hitched in her throat.

It was his wedding gift to her. He had spent months tracking it down in Europe. And she had taken a titanium golf club to it the night before she tried to run away.

Gaines was standing next to the ruined instrument. His back was to her. He reached out, his long fingers lightly brushing against a snapped piano wire.

The slump of his shoulders betrayed a profound, hidden exhaustion.

Jaclyn's chest tightened. She forced her bare feet to move across the cold marble floor, closing the distance between them.

Gaines heard her approaching.

He instantly straightened his spine. The vulnerability vanished. When he turned to face her, the ruthless billionaire mask was firmly back in place.

He pointed a long finger at the destroyed piano.

"If smashing things helps you process your anger," Gaines sneered, his voice dripping with ice, "I can have ten more delivered by tomorrow."

It was a test. He was trying to provoke her back into her normal, hateful state.

Jaclyn didn't take the bait.

She walked right up to him, stopping less than two feet away. She tilted her head up and looked directly into his dark, guarded eyes.

She didn't flinch. She didn't look away.

Gaines shifted his weight. He reached up and violently jerked at his silk tie, loosening it. The proximity was making him claustrophobic.

"What game are you playing, Jaclyn?" he demanded, his voice rising in volume. "Did the Lester family hire a new PR team? Is this the new strategy to get me to sign the divorce papers?"

At the mention of the Lester family, a flash of pure, arctic hatred sparked in Jaclyn's eyes.

She quickly blinked it away.

She shook her head slowly. "I broke something beautiful," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I was acting like a lunatic."

Gaines's eyes widened slightly. He looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language. He had no defense mechanism for a compliant Jaclyn.

"It's just wood and wire," Gaines snapped, his voice harsh. "The Acevedo group can absorb the loss."

He was trying to bury his feelings under money.

Jaclyn raised her right hand.

She reached out, her fingers trembling slightly. She lightly pinched the edge of his suit jacket lapel.

The moment her fingers made contact with the fabric, every muscle in Gaines's body turned to stone. He stopped breathing. He wanted to step back, but his feet refused to move.

"Did you go to Italy to find it yourself?" Jaclyn asked. Her voice cracked. A single tear escaped her eye and rolled down her cheek.

Gaines's eyes locked onto that tear. His jaw tightened so hard his teeth ground together. He didn't confirm or deny it.

The tear dropped off her chin. It landed directly on the dark wool of his suit jacket, leaving a small, dark stain.

"I'm sorry," Jaclyn whispered again. "I am so, so sorry."

The sound of her crying snapped something inside him. The violent clash of his anger and his overwhelming need to protect her erupted.

Gaines's hand shot up. He grabbed her wrist-the one holding his lapel.

His grip was bruising. Jaclyn winced, but she didn't try to pull away. She let him hold her.

He leaned down, his face inches from hers. She could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

"Do not use tears to manipulate me," Gaines hissed through his teeth. "It won't work."

Instead of shrinking back, Jaclyn pushed up onto her tiptoes.

She closed the final few inches between them.

"I'm not acting," she breathed against his jaw.

Then, she let go of his lapel and wrapped both of her arms entirely around his waist.