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."

Jaclyn didn't back away from his threatening posture.

She tilted her chin up, forcing herself to maintain eye contact with him. She wanted him to see the absolute sincerity in her eyes.

But the massive emotional toll of the rebirth, combined with the physical trauma of falling down the stairs, suddenly crashed down on her.

A violent wave of dizziness slammed into her brain.

The room spun wildly. Gaines's face blurred into two overlapping images. A high-pitched, piercing whine echoed in her ears.

All the color drained from her face in a split second. Her skin turned the color of ash.

Her knees simply stopped working. She collapsed sideways, falling directly toward the jagged, exposed wires of the broken piano.

Gaines thought it was another act. His lips parted to deliver another cruel insult.

But his eyes registered the terrifying pallor of her skin and the way her eyes rolled back into her head.

His brain didn't have time to process the logic. His body took over.

Gaines lunged forward. His long arm shot out, his large hand wrapping firmly around her waist just inches before she hit the sharp wood.

He yanked her hard against his body.

Jaclyn slumped against his chest. Her forehead cracked against his collarbone with a dull thud. A soft moan of pain escaped her lips.

Her skin was freezing cold.

Gaines's heart seized. The impenetrable wall of ice he had built around himself cracked right down the middle.

"Damn it," he cursed under his breath. The panic in his voice was raw and unfiltered.

He bent his knees, slipped one arm under her legs, and scooped her up into his arms in one fluid motion.

The sudden loss of gravity made Jaclyn's stomach drop. Instinct took over. She threw both of her arms around his neck, clinging to him for dear life.

She buried her face deep into the crook of his neck.

Her warm breath washed over the sensitive skin of his pulse point.

Every single muscle in Gaines's body locked up. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.

He crossed the hallway in three long strides and threw the double doors open with such force that they slammed against the interior walls.

The room was pitch black, illuminated only by the faint orange glow of the streetlights outside.

Gaines didn't bother turning on the lights. He walked straight to the massive king-sized bed.

His movements were stiff, but he lowered her onto the mattress with agonizing care.

The moment her back hit the soft sheets, the tension in her face eased. But her arms remained locked tightly around his neck.

Gaines was forced to bend over her, his hands braced on the mattress on either side of her head.

Their faces were inches apart. He could feel the soft flutter of her breath against his lips.

In the dim light, he watched her long eyelashes tremble against her pale cheeks.

"Let go," Gaines ordered. His voice was a harsh, raspy whisper, vibrating with suppressed danger.

Jaclyn didn't let go.

Instead, she shifted her weight, pulling herself slightly closer to his chest.

"My head is spinning," she mumbled, her voice thick with exhaustion.

The total lack of defense in her posture hit Gaines like a physical blow to the stomach. His legendary self-control was crumbling into dust.

He closed his eyes, took a ragged breath, and reached up. He grabbed her wrists and began to pry her fingers off his neck, one by one.

Just as he pulled her hands away, Jaclyn flipped her palm and grabbed a fistful of his shirt sleeve. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

She opened her eyes halfway. Her gaze was unfocused, hazy with pain.

"Don't leave," she whispered.

Gaines froze.

Those two words pinned him to the floor.

He gritted his teeth. "I need to call Dr. Alan," he said coldly, desperate for an excuse to escape the gravitational pull of her bed.

Jaclyn shook her head stubbornly. A single tear leaked from the corner of her eye and soaked into the pillow.

"I don't need a doctor," she said softly. "I just need you."

A low, tortured groan ripped from Gaines's throat.

He gave up.

He didn't walk away. He collapsed onto the edge of the mattress, sitting with his back to her. He let her keep her grip on his sleeve.

He stared into the darkness of the room, his chest heaving, completely consumed by a terrifying, agonizing doubt.