The leather checkbook felt like a burning piece of coal against Evelyn's wet thighs.

Her entire body went rigid. A hot flush of deep humiliation crawled up her neck and burned the tips of her ears.

She grabbed the checkbook. She threw it as hard as she could right at Julian's chest.

Before the checkbook could even touch his chest, his large hand shot out and snatched it straight out of the air. His grip was so violently tight that the leather cover audibly creaked under his fingers. Julian did not even blink. A low, dark chuckle vibrated in his chest.

"You are sick, Julian!" Her voice shook with raw anger. "I am never agreeing to your disgusting terms!"

"Disgusting?" Julian lunged forward.

He planted both hands on the leather seat on either side of her hips. He caged her completely. His broad chest hovered inches from her face.

"You didn't think it was disgusting when you climbed into another man's bed for money three years ago, did you?"

The words sliced straight into Evelyn's heart like a serrated knife. The memory of that night, of the agonizing sacrifice she was forced to make to keep her family from total destruction, rushed back. Her throat closed up. Her eyes burned with unshed tears.

She dug her fingernails so hard into her palms that the skin broke. She swallowed the painful truth down. She lifted her chin and stared back at him with dead eyes.

"Yes. I love money. And that is exactly why I have a fiancé now. He will pay for this."

The temperature in the car dropped to freezing.

The mocking amusement vanished from Julian's face. A violent, dark storm took over his eyes.

He grabbed her waist. His large hands clamped down on her ribs. Even through the wet silk, his palms felt like branding irons burning into her skin.

"Preston Vance?" Julian spat the name out like a curse. "You think that useless trust-fund brat has seven figures in liquid cash?"

Evelyn's stomach plummeted. She knew Preston's finances were a mess. But she would rather die than show weakness to Julian right now.

"That is between my future husband and me. It is none of your business, Mr. Hawthorne." She pushed both hands against his hard chest, trying to shove him away. He did not move a single inch.

Julian's eyes turned lethal. He lowered his head until his lips brushed against hers when he spoke.

"Husband? You really think I am going to let you walk down that aisle?"

He was so close she could taste the mint and tobacco on his breath. Her heart beat so fast it hurt her ribs.

The intercom on the console suddenly beeped. Gus's voice broke the heavy silence.

"Sir, the intersection is clear. Where to?"

The voice broke the spell. Evelyn shoved Julian's chest with all her strength. He was distracted for a split second, and she managed to push him back. She scrambled wildly for the door handle.

"Let me out! Right here at the subway station!" she yelled, her voice bordering on panic.

Julian fell back against his seat. He watched her scramble like a terrified prey. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

"Pull over," Julian ordered into the intercom. His voice was dead.

The Rolls Royce glided to a stop next to the subway entrance. The locks clicked open. Evelyn shoved the heavy door open and threw herself out into the freezing rain.

She ran so fast she did not realize her beige Burberry trench coat had slipped off her lap and fallen onto the floorboard.

Julian sat in the dark cabin. He did not try to stop her. He watched her thin, soaking wet figure disappear down the concrete stairs of the subway station.

Slowly, he looked down at the floor.

He reached down and picked up the wet trench coat. The fabric still held the warmth of her body. It smelled faintly of rain and her signature rose perfume.

Julian lifted the collar of the coat to his nose. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. His Adam's apple bobbed hard. A sick, obsessive look washed over his sharp features.

He opened his eyes and pressed the intercom button.

"Gus. Look into the Vance family's accounts. Cut off every single line of credit Preston Vance has."

Evelyn stood shivering in the packed subway car. Water dripped from her hair onto the dirty floor. People stared at her ruined clothes, but she just hugged her arms tighter across her chest.

Her brain was spinning. Julian's threats. The million-dollar debt. Preston's uselessness. It felt like a physical weight crushing her lungs.

An hour later, she unlocked the door to her cheap apartment on the edge of Brooklyn.

She walked into the dark, cramped living room. Before she could even reach for the light switch, her phone let out a loud, sharp ping from inside her purse.

Evelyn pulled it out. Her hands were still shaking from the cold. It was a mass email from her company's HR department. Evelyn knew the firm had been desperately seeking a buyout for months, but seeing the buyer's name made her blood run cold.

URGENT NOTICE: The binding acquisition agreement with the Hawthorne Group has been finalized tonight. The new acting CEO, Mr. Julian Hawthorne, will be conducting an on-site inspection tomorrow morning.

The blue light from the phone screen illuminated Evelyn's pale face in the dark apartment.

The name Julian Hawthorne burned into her retinas.

Her knees gave out. She slid down the cold wooden door until she hit the floor. The phone slipped from her numb fingers and landed on the cheap rug with a soft thud.

Thunder rattled the thin windows of her apartment. Evelyn pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face in her arms. Her thin shoulders shook violently as a wave of absolute helplessness crashed over her.

The next morning, harsh sunlight sliced through the broken blinds and hit Evelyn's face.

She groaned and pushed herself up from the floor. Her head pounded with a vicious migraine. She walked into the tiny bathroom and gripped the edges of the sink. She stared at her swollen, red eyes in the mirror. She slapped her own cheeks hard, forcing the blood back into her skin.

Her phone started ringing on the floor.

She picked it up. It was Clara Mercer, her best friend and assistant.

Evelyn answered. Clara's panicked whisper immediately filled her ear.

"Eve! Did you read the email? That ruthless tyrant from Hawthorne Group actually bought our garbage company!"

Evelyn closed her eyes. Her throat felt like sandpaper. "I saw it, Clara. He isn't just a tyrant. He is..." She swallowed the words my ex-boyfriend.

Clara kept talking, her voice frantic. "HR is losing their minds. They are making everyone wear full corporate formal. He is coming in an hour. Do not be late!"

Evelyn hung up the phone. She looked at her closet full of cheap, worn-out blazers.

She made a decision. She was not going to stand in a cubicle and let Julian humiliate her in front of her coworkers. She needed to pay off that car repair debt today. She needed to cut the chain Julian had wrapped around her neck.

The only way to do that was to get the money from the owner of the wrecked car. Preston.

Evelyn pulled out her sharpest black blazer. It was a piece of armor to hide how badly she was shaking inside. She applied a dark, aggressive shade of red lipstick.

She didn't go to the office. She ordered an Uber and headed straight to the Upper East Side.

The car pulled up to The Obsidian Club, a highly exclusive private lounge. Evelyn paid the driver and walked in her heels toward the heavy gold-trimmed revolving doors.

A massive security guard stepped in front of her, holding up a thick hand.

"Sorry, ma'am. Members only. I need to see your black card."

Evelyn straightened her spine. She looked the guard dead in the eye with cold authority. "I am Preston Vance's fiancée. He is inside."

The guard checked an iPad. His posture immediately relaxed into submission. He stepped aside. "Mr. Vance is in VVIP Room 3. Go right in, ma'am."

Evelyn walked down the long corridor. The floor was covered in thick Persian rugs. The heavy bass from the club's sound system vibrated in the soles of her feet. The air smelled like expensive vodka and heavy perfume.

As she got closer to Room 3, her heart started to beat faster. A sick feeling settled in her stomach. Preston had told her he had a mandatory family trust meeting this morning.

She stopped outside the heavy velvet door. It was cracked open just an inch. Dim purple light spilled out into the hallway, along with the sound of women giggling and men cheering.

Evelyn held her breath. She leaned forward and looked through the crack.

Her pupils shrank to pinpricks.

Preston was slouched back on a massive leather sofa. His expensive shirt was unbuttoned to his stomach. He held a crystal glass of champagne, a sloppy, drunk smile on his face.

Straddling his lap was Kenzie Locke. She was a well-known socialite who spent her life in VIP sections.

Kenzie laughed loudly and popped a peeled grape into Preston's mouth. Their bodies were pressed tightly together. Three other rich men in the room whistled and clapped.

A cold chill shot from Evelyn's feet straight to the top of her head.

It wasn't just anger at the betrayal. It was a deep, sickening wave of self-pity. She had tolerated this pathetic excuse for a man just to keep her family afloat.

She dug her nails into her palms. The sharp pain cleared the fog in her brain. She wasn't here to cry over a cheating fiancé. She was here for the money.

Evelyn lifted her right foot. She kicked the heavy velvet door with all her strength.

The door flew open and slammed against the interior wall with a massive crash. The sound echoed over the heavy bass of the music.

The laughter inside the room died instantly. Every head snapped toward the doorway.

Evelyn stood there, her black blazer sharp, her red lips set in a cold, hard line.

Preston jumped so hard he spilled his champagne all over his pants. He shoved Kenzie off his lap. His face went pale.

"Eve... Evelyn? What are you doing here?"

The VIP room was dead silent. The heavy bass from the speakers kept thumping, vibrating painfully in everyone's chest.

Evelyn stepped into the room. Her heels clicked sharply against the floor. She ignored the empty bottles and discarded jackets on the rug, walking straight toward the leather sofa.

Kenzie Locke picked herself up from the floor. She didn't look embarrassed at all. She smirked, pulled her silk strap back up her shoulder, and leaned against Preston's arm.

The other men in the room exchanged excited glances. They loved watching a trainwreck. One of them let out a low, mocking whistle.

Preston's face turned red, then white. He stood up, trying to puff out his chest to look like a man in charge.

"Evelyn, have you lost your mind? Who let you in here?"

Evelyn didn't even look at Kenzie. She reached into her leather bag and pulled out the crumpled repair estimate for the Rolls Royce.

She slammed the paper down onto the crystal coffee table. The glass table shook violently.

"Yesterday, while I was driving your Aston Martin to pick up your dry cleaning, I rear-ended someone." Evelyn's voice was ice cold. "This is the repair bill. Pay it."

Preston blinked. He looked down at the paper. His eyes scanned the seven-figure number at the bottom. Then his eyes locked onto the gold stamp at the top: Hawthorne Group Legal Department.

Preston sucked in a sharp breath. He stumbled back a step.

"Are you insane?!" Preston's voice cracked into a high pitch. Pure terror flashed in his eyes. "You hit Uncle Julian's car?!"

The words 'Uncle Julian' felt like a rusted needle jabbing directly into Evelyn's heart. Her stomach dropped, but she forced her face to remain completely blank, suppressing the sudden wave of nausea.

"It is your car, Preston. It is your liability."

Preston looked around the room. His friends were watching him, waiting to see if he would fold. His fear quickly turned into deep, ugly embarrassment. He swiped his hand across the table, knocking the estimate onto the floor.

"My car? You are the one who doesn't know how to drive! Why the hell should I pay a million dollars for your mistake?" He pointed a shaking finger at her face.

Kenzie covered her mouth and giggled. "Oh, Preston. Can't your poor little fiancée afford a simple car crash? How pathetic."

Evelyn shot Kenzie a look so sharp and cold that the socialite instantly shut her mouth and stepped back.

"Preston," Evelyn said, her voice dropping an octave. "If you do not pay this, the Hawthorne legal team will sue you directly. Do you think your father will let you keep your trust fund when you drag the family into a public lawsuit with Julian Hawthorne?"

Evelyn had grabbed him by his throat.

Preston's face twisted with panic. He knew she was right. If he pissed off the tyrant of the Hawthorne family, his father would cut him off completely.

He gritted his teeth. He reached into his jacket, pulled out his checkbook, and furiously scribbled a string of numbers. He ripped the check out.

Evelyn reached out her hand to take it.

Preston suddenly yanked his hand back. He held the million-dollar check high in the air. A sick, malicious smile spread across his face. He wanted his pride back.

"You want the money? Fine."

Preston pointed down at his expensive leather shoes. A drop of spilled champagne stained the toe. Then he pointed at Kenzie.

"Get on your knees. Apologize to Kenzie for ruining our morning."

The room erupted into loud laughter. The rich men started clapping. "Yeah! Make her kneel! On your knees, princess!"

"Or," Preston added, his voice dripping with cruelty. He reached out and tipped Kenzie's chin up. "You can crawl over here, kiss the tip of my shoe in front of everyone, and I'll hand you the check."

All the blood rushed to Evelyn's head.

A wave of humiliation so intense it made her physically dizzy washed over her. Her hands shook violently. Her fingernails dug into her palms until she felt warm blood.

She stared at the piece of paper in his hand. That check was the only thing standing between her and Julian's absolute control. It was the price of her freedom.

The room went quiet. Everyone was waiting to see the ruined heiress break.

Evelyn closed her eyes. Her chest heaved. Slowly, her knees began to bend.

Preston threw his head back and laughed. The sound was loud, victorious, and disgusting.

Just as Evelyn's knees were an inch from touching the carpet, the heavy velvet door of the VIP room suffered a catastrophic impact.

A deafening crash shook the walls. The entire door, along with the wooden frame, was kicked completely off its hinges. It flew through the air and smashed into the floor, kicking up a massive cloud of dust.

The laughter in Preston's throat died instantly.