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.

Jaclyn pressed her cheek flat against the center of Gaines's chest.

Beneath the crisp white fabric of his dress shirt, she could hear his heart. It was hammering against his ribs in a frantic, erratic rhythm.

Gaines froze completely.

His arms hung uselessly at his sides. He stopped breathing. The sudden, overwhelming sensation of her soft body pressed against his rigid frame short-circuited his brain.

He looked down at the top of her head. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her hair. His fingers twitched.

Five agonizing seconds passed.

Gaines's survival instincts finally kicked in.

He grabbed both of her shoulders. His fingers dug into her flesh. He shoved her backward with brutal force.

Jaclyn's injured ankle buckled under the sudden weight shift. She stumbled backward, her arms flailing. Her hip slammed into the edge of the destroyed piano.

Gaines's eyes flared with panic. He took a half-step forward, his arms tensing as if to catch her, before he caught himself and froze, his hands clenching into white-knuckled fists at his sides.

He stood tall, looking down at her with eyes as cold as liquid nitrogen. A cruel sneer twisted his lips.

"Very impressive," Gaines mocked. "Trying to get close enough to claim I hit you? Looking for domestic abuse evidence for the divorce settlement?"

Jaclyn gripped the edge of the piano to steady herself. Her heart ached at how deeply she had damaged his trust.

She didn't yell. She just looked at him, her eyes clear and calm.

"If I was looking for evidence," Jaclyn said softly, "why did you push me away?"

The logic of her question hit him like a physical blow. Gaines's mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. His brow furrowed in deep confusion.

Before he could formulate a response, a shrill ringtone shattered the silence.

It was coming from the cell phone resting on the glass coffee table.

Jaclyn turned her head. The caller ID flashed brightly on the screen: Cherri.

The blood in Jaclyn's veins turned to ice. Her fingernails dug into the wood of the piano.

Gaines saw the name. A harsh, ugly laugh escaped his throat.

"Answer it," Gaines commanded, gesturing toward the phone. "Let's hear what your handler wants you to do next."

Jaclyn took a deep breath. She walked over to the coffee table, picked up the phone, and hit the speaker button.

"Jackie!" Cherri's sickeningly sweet voice filled the living room. "Are you okay? Did that monster hurt you after you fell?"

Gaines crossed his arms over his chest. He watched Jaclyn intently, waiting for her to launch into her usual tirade about how much she hated him.

Jaclyn stared blankly at the wall.

"I'm fine, Cherri," Jaclyn said. Her voice was completely flat, devoid of any emotion. "He didn't touch me."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Cherri was clearly thrown off by the lack of hysteria.

"Well... Bradford is going crazy with worry," Cherri pushed, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "When can you sneak out to see him?"

At the sound of Bradford's name, the phantom sensation of his hands around her throat choked Jaclyn.

She lifted her eyes and looked directly into Gaines's dark, suspicious gaze.

She leaned closer to the phone.

"I am a married woman, Cherri," Jaclyn said, enunciating every single syllable. "Do not ever mention his name to me again."

Gaines's arms dropped to his sides. His jaw went slack. A storm of shock and disbelief raged in his eyes.

"Jackie? What are you talking about-" Cherri stammered.

"My head hurts from the concussion. I'm hanging up," Jaclyn interrupted coldly.

She pressed the red button and tossed the phone back onto the table.

The massive living room fell dead silent. The faint hum of Manhattan traffic bled through the glass windows.

Gaines stared at her like she had just grown a second head. His brain was spinning, desperately trying to calculate the angle of this new manipulation.

A woman who despised him didn't just cut off her lover in front of him.

It had to be a trap. A massive, lethal trap.

He took slow, predatory steps toward her until he was standing right in her personal space.

"Whatever game you and the Lesters are playing," Gaines whispered, his voice vibrating with dark menace, "you are going to lose."