The sky over the Upper East Side was thick with gray clouds.

Outside St. Patrick's Cathedral, a line of black luxury SUVs idled at the curb. Paparazzi pressed against the velvet ropes, their cameras flashing rapidly.

Daisy wore the cheap black suit she bought at the thrift store. She kept her head down, a pair of oversized sunglasses hiding her face. She slipped into a group of distant relatives dressed in mourning attire and walked right past the security checkpoint at the main doors.

She stepped into the cavernous hall of the cathedral.

The air was heavy with the cloying scent of hundreds of white lilies. A massive pipe organ played a low, mournful hymn that vibrated in the floorboards.

Daisy scanned the crowd. She spotted him immediately.

Emmett sat in the very first row. He wore a tailored black suit that made his shoulders look impossibly broad. His profile was sharp and unreadable.

Sitting right next to him was Eryn. She wore a sheer black lace dress that looked more suited for a gala than a funeral. She was leaning heavily toward Emmett, her shoulder brushing his arm.

A cold smile touched Daisy's lips. She reached up and pulled off her sunglasses. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the folded motel stationery.

She stepped out from the back row and walked directly down the center aisle.

The sharp click-clack of her cheap heels echoed loudly over the organ music. Heads began to turn.

Corinne, Eryn's manager, was standing near the front. She saw Daisy approaching and her eyes widened in horror. She stepped into the aisle to block her.

Daisy didn't slow down. She locked eyes with Corinne and shot her a glare so venomous that the manager instinctively stepped back, letting her pass.

Emmett felt the shift in the room. He turned his head.

When his eyes landed on Daisy, his breath hitched. Shock rippled across his stoic features.

He immediately started to stand up, his body turning toward her.

Seeing this, Eryn let out a dramatic gasp. She swayed on her feet and collapsed sideways, falling directly against Emmett's arm.

Emmett's reflexes kicked in. He caught her by the elbow to stop her from hitting the floor.

Daisy saw his hands on Eryn. Her heart turned to stone.

She reached the front row. She slammed the piece of paper down onto the wooden prayer kneeler directly in front of Emmett.

"Sign it," Daisy said. Her voice was crystal clear, cutting through the murmurs of the crowd. "Don't make me embarrass you in front of a dead woman."

The people sitting nearby gasped. Whispers erupted through the cathedral like wildfire.

Emmett stared down at the cheap paper. He read the words Divorce Agreement written in her handwriting. The veins in his neck bulged.

"Are you out of your mind?" Emmett hissed, his voice a lethal whisper. "Get outside with me. Now."

He reached out to grab her arm.

Daisy jerked backward to avoid his touch.

At that exact moment, a worker pushing a heavy metal cart loaded with massive floral wreaths came down the side aisle. His vision was blocked by the flowers. He lost his footing on the slight incline of the floor.

The heavy metal cart rolled forward, picking up speed, heading straight for Daisy's back.

Emmett's eyes widened in sheer terror. "Daisy, move!" he roared.

He lunged over the pew to grab her.

He was a second too late. The sharp metal corner of the cart slammed brutally into the back of Daisy's calf, tearing deeply into the muscle.

Daisy let out a sharp cry of pain. The impact knocked her legs out from under her, and she crashed to the floor.

Blood instantly soaked through her black trousers, pooling onto the pristine marble floor.

Screams echoed through the church. Chaos erupted.

Emmett vaulted over the wooden pew. He didn't care about the dirt on the floor. He didn't care about his severe germaphobia. He dropped to his knees right in the middle of the growing puddle of blood.

He pressed his bare hands violently against her bleeding leg, trying to stem the flow. His expensive suit cuffs soaked up the red liquid.

"Emmett!" Eryn screamed from behind him, trying to grab his shoulder.

Emmett snapped his head back. He shot Eryn a look of such murderous rage that she shrieked and fell back into her seat.

Emmett slid his arms under Daisy's body. He lifted her into his chest, ignoring the blood smearing across his shirt.

"Clear the hall!" Emmett roared at his bodyguards. He turned and sprinted toward the private rooms at the back of the cathedral.

Emmett kicked the heavy oak door of the priest's private lounge open with his boot.

He carried Daisy inside and gently laid her down on the vintage leather sofa.

He spun around and slammed the door shut with a deafening crash, locking it. The chaotic noise of the crowd and Eryn's frantic voice were instantly severed.

Emmett ripped the silk tie from his neck. His hands were covered in her blood. He moved to wrap the tie tightly around her calf, just above the deep gash, to create a makeshift tourniquet.

Daisy hissed in pain. She pushed herself up on her elbows and shoved both her hands hard against his chest.

"Don't touch me," she gasped, her breathing ragged.

Emmett's hands froze. He looked up at her, his dark eyes wide and frantic.

Daisy reached into her jacket pocket. Her fingers were stained with her own blood. She pulled out the crumpled divorce agreement she had picked up from the floor.

She held the bloody paper up to his face. Her eyes were defiant and cold. "Sign it. Or get away from me."

Emmett stared at the paper. The sight of her blood on the word 'Divorce' snapped the last thread of his sanity.

He snatched the paper from her hand. His knuckles turned white. With one violent, continuous motion, he ripped the paper in half. Then he ripped it again, and again.

He threw the shredded pieces into the air. They fluttered down like dirty snow, landing in the blood on the floor.

"You want a divorce?" Emmett snarled, his voice vibrating with a terrifying, possessive rage. "Unless I am dead, you are my wife."

He grabbed her leg, ignoring her weak attempts to kick him away. He wrapped the tie around her calf and pulled the knot tight.

Daisy let out a sharp, agonizing cry. Tears sprang to her eyes, spilling over her lashes.

Hearing her cry out, Emmett's body jerked. The rage drained from his face, replaced instantly by raw panic.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he muttered frantically, his hands hovering over her leg, afraid to cause her more pain. "The ambulance is two minutes away. Just hold on."

Daisy let out a weak, bitter laugh. "Save your act, Emmett. Your true love is crying outside. Go comfort her."

Emmett's jaw tightened. "Daisy, the hospital-"

Before he could finish, loud pounding hit the door. "Sir!" Kelton's voice shouted from the other side. "The paparazzi have breached the side doors! They are coming down the hall!"

Emmett cursed viciously. He couldn't let the media photograph Daisy bleeding and broken on a sofa.

He stood up. He pointed a bloody finger at her. "Do not move. I will clear them out and be right back."

He unlocked the door, stepped out, and pulled it shut behind him.

The second the latch clicked, Daisy sat up. White-hot pain shot up her leg, making her dizzy.

She looked around the room. At the back of the lounge, a small glass window was propped open, leading out to a fire alley.

Daisy gritted her teeth. She dragged herself off the sofa. She hopped on her good leg, leaning heavily against the wall, leaving bloody handprints on the wallpaper.

She reached the window. She pulled herself up onto the sill. The pain in her calf was blinding.

She threw her legs over the edge and dropped down into the alley.

She hit the wet pavement hard, landing next to a row of foul-smelling garbage cans. The impact tore the wound open further, sending a blinding shockwave of agony up her spine. Fresh blood soaked the makeshift tourniquet.

Daisy bit her lip so hard it bled again to keep from screaming out loud. Her vision swam with dark spots, and a cold sweat broke out across her forehead. She pushed herself up against the brick wall, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. Every movement felt like broken glass grinding inside her leg, but she forced herself to limp desperately toward the street exit, dragging her injured limb behind her.

Three minutes later, Emmett threw the lounge door open, paramedics rushing in behind him.

He stopped dead. The sofa was empty.

He saw the bloody handprints on the wall. He saw the open window.

The blood drained from his face. He rushed to the window and looked out into the empty alley.

"Daisy!" he roared into the rain. The sound was guttural, like a wounded animal.

He grabbed his radio from his belt. "Lock down the entire grid!" he screamed at his security team. "Find her! Now!"

Two blocks away, hiding in the deep shadows of a narrow alleyway, Daisy watched three men in black suits sprint past her hiding spot. She pressed her hand over her mouth, holding her breath.

Daisy pressed her back flat against the cold, wet brick wall of the alley.

Her calf throbbed with a sickening, rhythmic pain. She looked down. Blood was pooling in her shoe. She was getting dizzy. She knew she couldn't outrun Emmett's security team on foot.

She peeked around the corner of the brick wall.

A beat-up Ford pickup truck was idling at the red light just outside the alley. The passenger side window was rolled halfway down.

Daisy bit down on her tongue to keep herself conscious. She waited until the two bodyguards at the end of the street turned their backs.

She pushed off the wall and lunged out of the shadows.

She grabbed the door handle of the truck, yanked it open, and threw herself into the passenger seat.

The driver, a young guy in a faded flannel shirt with a scruffy beard, jumped in his seat. "Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?" he yelled.

He reached over to shove her out, but he stopped. He saw her pale, terrified face. Then he saw the blood soaking her leg and dripping onto his floor mats.

Daisy forced tears into her eyes. Her whole body trembled.

"Please," she sobbed, her voice cracking perfectly. She pointed a shaking finger toward the men in black suits down the street. "My controlling ex-husband. He's trying to drag me back. Please, just drive."

The guy looked out the window. He saw the massive, intimidating men scanning the street with radios in their hands.

His jaw set. "Bastards. Always the rich pricks thinking they own everyone," he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on the wheel. He slammed his foot on the gas pedal.

The truck lurched forward just as the light turned green. The tires squealed against the wet asphalt.

One of the bodyguards whipped his head around at the sound. He pointed directly at the fleeing truck and started yelling into his radio.

Daisy watched them shrink in the side mirror. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

"Thank you," she whispered, leaning her head back against the seat.

The guy handed her a wad of napkins from the glove compartment. "You need a hospital, lady."

"No hospitals," Daisy said quickly. "He has people everywhere. Just take me to Brooklyn. A local clinic."

Outside the cathedral, Emmett stood on the sidewalk. The rain washed the blood off his hands, but his face was a mask of pure terror and rage.

The head of his security detail ran up to him, out of breath. "Sir. She got into a blue Ford pickup. We have the license plate."

Emmett's chest heaved. The thought of her bleeding, sitting in a stranger's car, made his vision go red with jealousy and fear.

"Track it," Emmett ordered, his voice deadly quiet. "Use the NYPD grid. Find out exactly where that truck is going."

"Do we intercept, sir?"

Emmett closed his eyes. If they chased her, the driver might panic and crash. She was already hurt.

"No," Emmett said, opening his eyes. "Just follow her. She's bleeding. She has to go to a hospital eventually. And I own the board of every major hospital in this city."

He was arrogant enough to believe she couldn't escape his system.

Up on the second floor of the cathedral, standing behind a stained-glass window, Eryn watched the chaos below.

She saw Emmett yelling at his men. She saw the panic in his posture.

A cold, victorious smile spread across her face.

She pulled out her phone and typed a message to her manager, Corinne.

The idiot ran away. The plan is working perfectly. Get ready to close the net.

The Ford pickup pulled to a stop outside a dingy, unmarked community clinic deep in Brooklyn.

Daisy reached into her pocket and pulled out the last of her crumpled cash, trying to hand it to the driver.

He pushed her hand away. "Keep it. Good luck with the psycho." He drove off.

Daisy limped into the clinic. She paid in cash, used a fake name, and sat on a plastic chair while a tired nurse stitched up her leg.

She stared at the white bandage wrapping her calf. She had survived the night, but she knew the real war hadn't even started.