Orville shoved Aubree hard into her bedroom.

She stumbled forward as the solid wood door slammed shut behind her with a deafening thud.

Click.

The sharp sound of the lock turning echoed in the room. Trapped.

Aubree threw herself at the door, slamming her palms against the wood.

"Dad, please! Let me out!" she screamed.

The only answer was the sound of his heavy footsteps fading down the hallway.

Her legs gave out. She slid down the door to the floor, her soaked nightgown clinging to her shivering skin.

Through the crack under the door, the muffled voices of two maids drifted in.

"Did you hear? The head butler was on the phone. Mr. Phillips' private jet is prepped. He's leaving New York tonight. For good."

The words struck Aubree like a physical blow. She shot up from the floor.

She ran to the nightstand and grabbed her phone. The screen lit up. She checked the date and time.

Ezra's flight was in less than two hours. There was no time to wait for her father to calm down.

She turned to the large French windows and yanked the heavy velvet curtains open.

The rain was coming down in sheets, but her eyes locked onto the sturdy ivy trellis bolted to the brick wall just below her window. An escape route.

She stripped off her wet nightgown, her movements swift and purposeful. She pulled open her closet and grabbed a black hoodie and tight jeans. She shoved her feet into a pair of combat boots with thick rubber soles. Practical. Durable.

She pushed the window open. The freezing wind blasted into the room.

Aubree took a deep breath, swung her leg over the sill, and grabbed the wet iron of the trellis. The metal was freezing.

The wind whipped at her, but she carefully lowered her foot onto the next rung and started to climb down.

The rain blinded her. Halfway down, her boot slipped.

Her body dropped.

A short gasp escaped her lips as her hands clamped down on the iron bar, knuckles turning white. Flakes of rust sliced into her palms, but she didn't let go.

She bit her lip, found her footing again, and climbed faster. When she was about six feet from the ground, she let go.

She landed hard in the soft, muddy flowerbed.

Ignoring the ache in her knees, she stayed low, using the dark bushes as cover as she moved toward the side gate.

She peeked out. Gus McCoy was in the main guardhouse, sipping coffee, his back to her.

Holding her breath, she scrambled over the low stone wall and dropped onto the public sidewalk.

She ran down the empty street, pulling out her phone and opening the Uber app, her fingers shaking but steady enough.

Ten minutes later, a black SUV pulled up. She yanked the door open and threw herself into the backseat.

"The Phillips building. Upper East Side. Please hurry," she told the driver.

The neon lights of New York blurred past the rain-streaked window. Aubree didn't wring her hands; she sat perfectly still, her mind racing, planning her words.

The SUV finally pulled into the private underground garage of the Phillips building. Aubree threw a hundred-dollar bill at the front seat and jumped out.

She ran toward the private elevator. Several men in black uniforms were loading massive suitcases into a transport van.

Standing by the elevator doors was Kai Bishop, Ezra's personal bodyguard.

Aubree ran straight toward him.

Kai turned. He saw Aubree, covered in mud, her hair a wet mess. His eyes instantly darkened with pure disgust.

He stepped sideways, physically blocking the elevator doors.

Aubree didn't push. She stopped a foot from Kai's chest.

"Let me through. I need to see Ezra," she demanded, her voice steady despite the tremor in her heart.

Kai didn't move an inch. "You've done enough damage to Mr. Phillips. Stay away from him," he sneered.

Another bodyguard, Leo Vance, walked over, crossing his arms and glaring at her.

Aubree's patience snapped. "Ezra!" she screamed, her voice echoing off the concrete walls. It wasn't a plea; it was a summons.

Kai's jaw tightened. He reached for the radio on his belt, pressing his finger to his earpiece, waiting for the authorization from the penthouse to have her removed.

Suddenly, a low, raspy voice crackled through Kai's earpiece. Kai's hand froze. His expression twisted into deep reluctance.

He took a deep breath, dropped his arm, and stepped aside, jerking his chin toward the doors.

Aubree didn't hesitate. She lunged into the private elevator.

The doors slid shut. The elevator shot upward. Aubree leaned against the cold metal wall, her heart hammering against her ribs. She looked down at her muddy boots and her bleeding palms, forcing herself to take slow, deep breaths.

Ding.

The doors opened to the penthouse. The air inside was freezing. The minimalist apartment was dark, the only light coming from the city skyline.

She saw him immediately.

Ezra sat in a wheelchair facing the glass, his broad back stiff. His right leg was stretched out, encased in a thick white cast.

Hearing her footsteps, Ezra used his hands to turn the wheelchair around.

His deep, dark eyes locked onto hers. There was no warmth, only a chilling emptiness. He looked at her like she was nothing.

Tears instantly flooded Aubree's eyes. Her legs trembled, but she forced herself to walk toward him.

Ezra watched her approach, his jaw ticking. The veins on the back of his hands bulged as he gripped the armrests.

"What are you doing here?" his voice cut through the dark room like a blade.

Aubree stopped in front of him. She opened her mouth, but he cut her off, a self-deprecating smirk twisting his lips.

"I'm leaving New York. Leaving all the space for you and Foster Newton. You don't need to come here to make sure I'm really gone," Ezra said, his tone dripping with ice.

The words stabbed her. She shook her head violently, tears flying from her cheeks.

"No, it's not like that—"

Ezra's eyes turned lethal. "Drop the act!" he shouted. "I am sick of your games!"

He pointed a shaking finger toward the elevator.

"Get out."

The raw hatred in his eyes broke her. Her knees gave out.

She dropped, landing hard on her knees right in front of his wheelchair.

Ezra flinched, his pupils dilating in shock. He instinctively tried to push the wheelchair backward.

Aubree lunged forward and grabbed his large, freezing hand, wrapping both of hers around it.

She looked up at him, her face wet with tears, her voice cracking.

"I'm sorry. I was so stupid."

Ezra pressed his lips into a thin line. He tried to yank his hand away.

Aubree refused to let go, her fingernails digging into his skin.

"I don't want you to go!" she cried out. "I like you!"

The confession exploded in the quiet room.

Ezra's entire body went rigid. He stared down at the girl kneeling at his feet, his chest heaving. He searched her face, trying to find the lie.

The silence stretched.

Ezra's Adam's apple bobbed. When he finally spoke, his voice was terrifyingly hoarse.

"Do you even know what you're saying?"

Ezra's eyes frosted over, a harsh shield slamming down. He ripped his hand out of her grip.

"Is this another one of your twisted games? Did Foster Newton teach you this cheap lie to get me on that plane?" he mocked, his voice laced with venom.

Aubree's hands fell to her sides. The accusation felt like a punch to the gut.

She didn't hesitate. She planted her hands on the carpet and pushed herself up.

Ezra watched her stand, a flicker of dark disappointment in his eyes. He thought she was giving up.

But Aubree didn't step back. She stepped forward, forcing herself right between his spread legs, pressing against the edge of his wheelchair.

Ezra leaned back hard. "Step back," he warned sharply.

Aubree ignored him. She reached out and slammed both hands against his jaw, forcing his head up to look at her.

Before Ezra could react, she leaned down and smashed her lips against his.

His body turned to stone, his dark eyes blowing wide open.

Aubree's kiss was desperate at first, then it softened, becoming a firm, deliberate press meant to convey every ounce of her truth.

Ezra's breathing stopped. His hands dropped to the sides of the wheelchair, fingers curling tightly around the metal rims. His brain screamed at him to push her away, but she was warm and smelled like rain. His lips parted slightly, almost involuntarily.

The second he felt himself slipping, reality crashed back in.

Ezra brought his hands up, grabbed her shoulders, and shoved her back.

They both stood there, panting. Dangerous, dark emotions swirled in his eyes as he glared at her.

Aubree didn't back down, her eyes clear and fiercely determined.

"Stay," she begged softly. "Give me a chance to prove it."

Ezra stared at her for a long time, searching her face for any sign of a lie. He found nothing.

He closed his eyes, letting out a long, heavy breath like a man losing a war with himself.

He reached down and pressed the intercom button on his armrest.

"Kai," Ezra said, his voice low and raspy. "Tell the crew to stand down. We're not leaving."

The tension drained out of Aubree's body so fast she almost collapsed. Fresh tears welled up, but this time, a huge smile broke across her face.

Ezra avoided her smile.

"Go home," he ordered coldly. "Before I change my mind."

Aubree knew better than to push. She nodded obediently.

"Goodnight, Ezra."

She turned and walked to the elevator. As the doors slid shut, she saw him still sitting there, staring at the empty space she had just left.

Aubree took an Uber back to Long Island.

Sitting in the backseat, she wiped her face clean. Her eyes grew sharp and cold. She had saved Ezra. Now, she had to cut the cancer out of her own house.

Half an hour later, she climbed over the stone wall of the estate. The rain had slowed to a drizzle.

She walked up to the front porch. The heavy wooden door was slightly ajar.

She stepped into the entryway. A sickening, dramatic sobbing drifted from the living room.

Aubree walked silently to the edge of the living room and stopped in the shadows.

Her cousin, Brandi, was curled up next to Orville on the sofa, wiping her red eyes.

"Don't be too mad at Aubree, Uncle," Brandi sniffled. "She's just confused."