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.

The dust swirled in the harsh light spilling from the hallway.

A massive, broad-shouldered silhouette stepped through the ruined doorway. He looked like the grim reaper stepping into a graveyard.

The club music was still pounding. Julian Hawthorne stepped over the shattered wooden door, his face completely devoid of human emotion.

Behind him, Gus walked in, calmly slipping a GPS tracking tablet back into his jacket pocket. He had locked onto Evelyn's phone signal the moment she entered the building. Gus stepped forward and kicked the massive corner speaker with a heavy combat boot. The music died with a violent screech of static. The silence that followed was terrifying.

The rich kids in the room stared at the doorway. All the color drained from their faces. They looked like they were choking on their own tongues.

"Mr... Mr. Hawthorne!" one of the men stuttered, backing up so fast he knocked over a table of drinks.

Preston's hand, still holding the check in the air, froze. His victorious smile melted into absolute horror. His knees started knocking together so hard they made a sound.

Julian's eyes swept the room like a physical blade. They locked onto Evelyn.

She was still half-bent toward the floor, her eyes wide, her lips bitten raw.

When Julian saw her in that submissive, humiliating position, the veins on his forehead bulged. A violent, uncontrollable rage exploded in his dark eyes.

He took long, heavy strides across the room. His leather shoes hit the floor with a heavy thud that sounded like a war drum.

Evelyn stared at him, her brain completely paralyzed.

Julian reached her. His large, hot hand clamped around her upper arm. He yanked her up from her crouch with brutal force.

"Who gave you permission to kneel?" Julian's voice was a low, terrifying growl. His fingers dug painfully into her flesh.

Evelyn gasped in pain. She bit her lip and turned her head away, refusing to let him see the wet tears gathering in her eyes.

Julian pulled her hard behind his broad back, completely shielding her from the dirty stares of the men in the room. Then he slowly turned his head to look at Preston.

Preston looked like he was about to vomit. "Uncle... Uncle Julian. What are you doing here? I was just... we were just playing a joke on Eve..."

Before Preston could finish his sentence, Julian moved.

He was terrifyingly fast. Julian's hand shot out and grabbed the collar of Preston's shirt. He lifted the younger man completely off the floor.

Julian pulled his right arm back and drove his fist directly into the center of Preston's face.

A loud, wet crack echoed in the silent room.

Preston screamed. Blood exploded from his nose, spraying all over his expensive white shirt. Julian let go, and Preston flew backward, crashing hard into the glass coffee table. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces.

Kenzie shrieked in pure terror. She scrambled backward on her hands and knees and hid behind the sofa, shaking uncontrollably.

Julian did not stop. He walked over to where Preston was groaning in the broken glass. Julian lifted his heavy leather shoe and pressed it down hard on the center of Preston's chest, pinning him to the floor.

"A joke?" Julian sneered. He leaned down, grabbed a handful of Preston's blood-soaked hair, and yanked his head back.

"You use Hawthorne family money to play your disgusting little games, and you dare tell her to kneel?" Julian's voice was a lethal hiss. Every word was coated in venom.

"I'm sorry! Uncle, I'm sorry! I'll never do it again!" Preston sobbed hysterically. Blood bubbled from his mouth.

Julian looked at him with absolute disgust. He let go of Preston's hair, letting his head drop back onto the carpet. Julian stood up straight. He reached into his tailored suit jacket and pulled out a dark silk handkerchief.

He slowly wiped the blood off his knuckles. His voice was as cold as ice.

"Your trust fund is revoked. Get out of New York by tomorrow morning."

Preston's eyes rolled back into his head. He looked like he was going to pass out. His life was officially over.

No one in the room dared to breathe. They were paralyzed by the sheer violence of the tyrant.

Julian tossed the bloody handkerchief directly onto Preston's face. He turned around and walked back to Evelyn.

Evelyn was still frozen in shock.

Julian didn't say a single word. He suddenly bent down, wrapped his thick arm around the back of her knees, and hoisted her up into the air. He threw her over his broad shoulder like a sack of flour.

Evelyn gasped loudly. The sudden movement knocked the wind out of her. She started kicking her legs. "Julian! Put me down! What are you doing!"

Julian raised his large hand and slapped her hard on the backside. It was a sharp, stinging warning to stay still.

He adjusted his grip on her thighs and walked out of the destroyed VIP room, carrying her away while the rest of the room watched in absolute terror.