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.

The master bedroom was dead silent. The only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioning vent above them.

Gaines sat on the edge of the mattress. His spine was completely rigid. He looked like a statue carved out of tension.

Jaclyn lay behind him. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the windows. She stared at the broad expanse of his back, her gaze slowly moving upward.

Her eyes stopped at the collar of his dress shirt. He had unbuttoned the top two buttons.

Just below his collarbone, a harsh, angry red scratch marred his tanned skin. It looked fresh.

The memory hit her like a physical strike.

On their wedding night, when he had tried to carry her into this very room, she had fought him like a wild animal. She had taken the massive diamond engagement ring Bradford had given her and dragged it violently across Gaines's chest.

A suffocating wave of guilt crashed over her.

Jaclyn slowly let go of his sleeve. She lifted her trembling hand, reaching out toward the red scratch on his skin.

Gaines felt the shift in the air.

Just as her fingertips were about to brush his skin, he violently jerked away. He shot up from the bed as if he had been burned.

He spun around. His large hand shot out and clamped around her wrist, stopping her hand in mid-air.

His grip was brutal. Jaclyn gasped in pain, her eyebrows pulling together.

Gaines stared down at her. His dark eyes were burning with a mixture of suppressed rage and the humiliating sting of his wounded pride.

"What are you doing?" Gaines sneered, his lip curling in disgust. "Checking to see if you cut deep enough to hit an artery?"

Jaclyn shook her head frantically. Fresh tears spilled over her lashes.

"No," she choked out, her voice thick with tears. "I just... I wanted to see it. I wanted to apologize for what I did."

Gaines let out a harsh, barking laugh. The sound was completely devoid of humor.

He shoved her hand away and took a large step backward, putting a safe physical distance between them.

"Your acting is pathetic," he spat, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Yesterday, you couldn't even stand to look at my face without gagging. Now you want to touch me?"

Jaclyn pushed herself up on her elbows, ignoring the spinning in her head.

"Gaines, please listen to me," she pleaded. "I see everything clearly now. Bradford is a liar. The Lesters are-"

"Shut up."

Gaines cut her off. His voice was like a whip cracking in the silent room.

He glared at her, his chest rising and falling with heavy, angry breaths.

"I don't care if you're playing hard to get, or if you've completely lost your mind," Gaines stated, his voice turning to absolute ice. "I am never signing those divorce papers."

He leaned forward, his hands resting on his hips.

"You can hate me. You can try to run. But you will die in this penthouse as Mrs. Acevedo."

It was a cruel, possessive declaration. But underneath the brutal words, Jaclyn heard the desperate, bleeding insecurity of a man terrified of losing her.

She didn't scream back. She didn't throw a pillow at him.

She sat up slowly, resting her back against the headboard. She looked at him with nothing but deep, unconditional pity and warmth.

"I won't ever ask for a divorce again," Jaclyn said quietly.

The calmness of her response hit Gaines like a physical slap. It completely derailed his anger. His eyes narrowed, his suspicion skyrocketing to dangerous levels.

He stared at her for a long, agonizing moment, trying to dissect her soul.

Then, he spun around and marched toward the door.

He stopped with his hand on the brass knob. He didn't look back.

"Dr. Alan will be here in thirty minutes," Gaines said coldly. "Be ready."

He walked out and slammed the heavy oak door shut behind him. The loud bang echoed off the walls, rattling the windows.

The room fell silent again.

Jaclyn slumped back against the pillows. She covered her face with both hands. A muffled, broken sob ripped through her fingers.

Outside the room, Gaines didn't walk away.

He leaned his back against the cold wood of the door. His chest heaved as he gasped for air.

He squeezed his eyes shut. His hands curled into tight fists, his fingernails biting painfully into his palms. He fought every instinct in his body screaming at him to open the door and pull her into his arms.

He forced his eyes open. The vulnerability vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating glare.

He pushed off the door and walked toward his study. He needed facts. He needed to find out exactly what the Lester family had done to her brain.

Thirty minutes later, the doorbell of the penthouse chimed.

Dr. Alan, Gaines's highly paid private physician, arrived with his black medical bag.

Gaines stood at the end of the hallway. His face was an unreadable mask. He pointed a finger toward the master bedroom.

"Examine her," Gaines ordered flatly. "I'll be in the study."

Gaines walked into his dark, wood-paneled study. He sat down behind his massive desk and clicked a button on his laptop. The live feed from the hidden security camera in the master bedroom popped up on the screen.

Dr. Alan knocked softly and entered the bedroom.

He turned on the bedside lamp. The warm light illuminated Jaclyn. She was sitting up in bed, her knees pulled to her chest, her eyes red and swollen.

Dr. Alan checked her pupils with a penlight. He gently examined her swollen ankle.

"Mrs. Acevedo," Dr. Alan asked in a soothing voice. "Can you tell me what caused you to fall down the stairs?"

Jaclyn knew Gaines was watching. She could feel his eyes on her through the camera lens.

This was her chance.

She immediately dropped her gaze to her lap. Her fingers began to nervously twist and pull at the edge of the silk blanket. She made her breathing shallow and erratic.

"I... I had a nightmare," Jaclyn stammered, her voice trembling perfectly. "Everyone was trying to push me. They were trying to kill me. Gaines was the only one who caught me."

In the study, Gaines's hand froze halfway to his mouth. The unlit cigar slipped from his fingers and dropped onto the mahogany desk.

Dr. Alan frowned. He pulled out a small notepad and quickly jotted down: Suspected Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) with mild paranoia.

Ten minutes later, Dr. Alan walked into the study.

"Mr. Acevedo," the doctor said gravely. "The physical trauma from the fall, combined with extreme psychological stress, has caused her defense mechanisms to collapse."

Dr. Alan adjusted his glasses. "Her sudden attachment to you is... concerning. It could be a complex trauma response. Sometimes, under extreme stress, the brain latches onto a figure of authority or power as a source of safety, even if that same figure was previously perceived as a threat. We need to observe her carefully."

Gaines's face turned the color of granite. His stomach twisted into a painful knot.

He would rather she be acting than have her docility be a symptom of a broken brain.

Before Gaines could respond, the intercom on his desk buzzed.

"Sir," the head butler's voice crackled through the speaker. "Miss Cherri Lester is in the lobby. She insists on seeing her cousin."

Gaines's eyes darkened. He wanted to throw the girl out onto the street. But he looked at Dr. Alan's notes.

"Send her up," Gaines commanded. He needed to see how Jaclyn reacted to her family in this state.

A few minutes later, Cherri strutted into the master bedroom, carrying a ridiculously expensive fruit basket.

Jaclyn saw Cherri's face. The phantom feeling of the pillow pressing over her mouth suffocated her. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin nearly broke.

But she forced her facial muscles to relax into a blank, vacant stare.

Cherri sat on the edge of the bed. She reached out and grabbed Jaclyn's hand.

"Jackie," Cherri whispered, her eyes darting around the room. "Why were you so weird on the phone? Did that psycho force you to say that?"

Jaclyn violently flinched. She snatched her hand back and pressed herself against the headboard.

"My head hurts," Jaclyn whined, her eyes darting nervously. "I don't remember. I'm just scared."

A spark of gleeful triumph flashed in Cherri's eyes. The fall really had scrambled her stupid cousin's brain.

Cherri leaned in closer. "Listen to me. Gaines is a monster. Bradford loves you. You need to sign the new trust documents so we can get you out of here."

Jaclyn laughed internally. It was so easy to see the manipulation now.

She grabbed her own hair and pulled slightly, feigning distress.

"But..." Jaclyn said, her voice loud and slightly manic. "Gaines said if I'm a good girl, he will fix the piano for me."

Cherri froze. She stared at Jaclyn like she was looking at a rabid dog. The sentence made absolutely no sense in the context of their conversation.

In the study, Gaines stopped breathing.

He stared at the monitor. His heart slammed against his ribs. That sentence wasn't crazy. It was a direct, laser-guided message aimed straight at him.

Cherri stood up abruptly, smoothing down her skirt in disgust.

"You need rest," Cherri muttered, backing away toward the door.

The moment the door clicked shut behind Cherri, the vacant, crazy look vanished from Jaclyn's face.

She sat up straight. A cold, calculating smirk touched the corners of her lips.

The game was officially on.