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."

Aubree stood in the shadows, her stomach churning at the sound of Brandi's fake, sweet voice.

She didn't hide. She stepped into the light.

Her heavy boots thumped against the hardwood floor.

Brandi snapped her head around. When she saw Aubree, soaked and glaring with murder in her eyes, she gasped and shrank back behind Orville.

Orville jumped up. "Where the hell have you been?" he roared.

Aubree didn't even look at him. She marched straight toward the sofa, towering over the trembling Brandi.

Brandi forced a look of terror onto her face. "Aubree, why are you so wet?" she asked, reaching a hand out to touch Aubree's hoodie.

Aubree's eyes went dead cold. She raised her right hand and slapped Brandi across the face. Hard.

Smack.

The sharp sound echoed in the high-ceilinged room. Brandi's head snapped to the side, a bright red handprint instantly blooming on her cheek.

The room fell silent. Brandi clutched her face, her eyes wide with genuine shock.

Orville froze, stunned. Then, his face turned purple, and he raised his hand to strike Aubree.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs. Foster Bradley rushed into the room and grabbed his father's raised wrist.

"Dad, stop!" he yelled, pulling Aubree behind him. "Aubree, what is wrong with you? Why did you hit her?"

Brandi saw her opening and threw herself onto the rug, wailing.

"I didn't do anything!" she sobbed. "She's just taking her anger out on me!"

Orville shook with rage. "Apologize to your cousin right now!"

Aubree stepped out from behind her brother, a short, cold laugh escaping her lips.

"She is a liar and a manipulator," Aubree said, pointing at Brandi. "She plays the peacemaker to your face, Dad, but she's the one fanning the flames behind your back."

Brandi's crying hitched. Panic flashed in her eyes before she buried her face in her hands. "That's a lie!"

Orville glared at Aubree. "Stop making up excuses."

Aubree's eyes narrowed. She held out her hand.

"Give me your phone, Brandi," she demanded sharply.

Brandi's body jerked, her hand instinctively clamping over the pocket of her robe.

Orville caught the tiny, defensive movement. A flicker of doubt crossed his face.

Aubree didn't wait. She lunged, grabbing Brandi's wrist and yanking her hand away from the pocket with brutal force.

"Stop! That's my privacy!" Brandi screamed. "Uncle, help me!"

Aubree ignored her, reached into the pocket, and pulled out the newest iPhone.

"Aubree, give that back," Orville ordered.

Aubree didn't listen. While Brandi was still struggling, Aubree's thumb moved swiftly over the screen, inputting a six-digit passcode she knew Brandi always used—her own birthday. The phone unlocked.

She opened the iMessage app. The main inbox was clean, but Aubree tapped straight into the "Recently Deleted" folder.

She found a message thread that hadn't been permanently wiped yet.

It was a text sent to Foster Newton.

Aubree shoved the phone into Orville's face.

"Read it, Dad," she said, her voice dripping with ice. "Read what your perfect niece just sent."

The text read: *Plan is working perfectly. Uncle is completely done with her.*