The wind whipped Ashley's wet hair across her face. She held the phone steady against her ear. "GPS coordinates are 40.7 degrees North, 74.0 degrees West. Send the marine unit."

Edson's face turned purple. He lunged forward, his large hands reaching for the phone.

Ashley shifted her weight to her left foot and twisted her torso. Edson's hands grasped empty air. He stumbled forward, his chest heaving.

Devon stepped in, spreading his arms wide. "Ashley, you're in shock. Give me the phone."

He reached for her waist. Ashley lifted her right leg. The pointed toe of her soaked stiletto drove straight into the center of Devon's shinbone.

Devon let out a sharp grunt. His knee buckled. He dropped to the deck, his expensive trousers soaking up the dirty water. He clutched his leg, his eyes wide with shock.

Ashley looked down at him. Her chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths. She spoke into the receiver. "The suspect and his accomplice are currently attempting to physically assault me to take the phone."

The dispatcher's voice crackled through the speaker, elevating the priority of the call.

Brittany's fake tears stopped. Her face drained of color. She grabbed Edson's sleeve, her knuckles turning white.

"Get the phone from her!" Edson roared at the security detail standing by the stairs.

Four massive men in black suits stepped forward. Their heavy shoes thudded against the deck. They formed a tight semi-circle, backing Ashley toward the railing.

Ashley took a deliberate step backward. Her heels hit the bottom rung of the railing. The black, churning water of the Hudson River roared directly behind her.

"Take one more step," Ashley said, her voice dropping an octave. "And I go backward. The phone goes with me. The 911 line is open and recording."

The bodyguards stopped dead. They looked back at Edson.

A high-pitched wail pierced the night air. Red and blue lights cut through the darkness, reflecting off the black water. The socialites on the deck began to step back, their whispers turning into panicked murmurs.

Edson wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. He forced his facial muscles to relax into a sickeningly sweet smile. "Ashley, sweetheart. Let's not do this. Think of the company's stock price tomorrow."

"I don't care about your stock price, Edson," Ashley said. Her voice was flat.

Two heavy NYPD tactical boats flanked the yacht. Massive spotlights clicked on, blinding everyone on the deck. Brittany shrieked and threw her hands over her eyes.

"Cut the engines!" a voice boomed through a megaphone.

The yacht's deep rumble sputtered and died. The sudden silence was deafening, broken only by the slapping of waves against the hull.

A police captain vaulted over the railing, his heavy tactical boots hitting the deck. Four officers followed him, their hands resting on their utility belts. The captain's eyes scanned the crowd. "Who called it in?"

Ashley raised the phone high in the air. Her wet dress plastered to her skin, making her look fragile, but her spine was perfectly straight. "I did."

The captain stepped between Ashley and the bodyguards.

Brittany rushed forward. She clasped her hands together in front of her chest. "Officer, please. It was just a silly sisterly prank. She slipped."

The captain held up a hand, forcing Brittany to stop. "Step back, miss."

Ashley pointed a freezing finger at the deck. "Look at the water trail. If I slipped backward, the scuff marks from my heels would push forward. The marks go sideways. I was shoved from the right."

The captain looked down. He signaled to an officer, who immediately pulled out a camera and started taking pictures of the deck.

Devon stood up, wincing. He smoothed his ruined suit. "Captain, I am Devon Garrett. My family owns Garrett Financial. This is a private event."

The captain didn't blink. "Interfere with my investigation again, Mr. Garrett, and you'll leave this boat in cuffs."

Edson's private lawyer pushed through the crowd. He handed the captain a glossy business card. "Officer, this is a minor domestic dispute. We can handle this internally."

"I am a legal adult," Ashley said loudly. "And I am pressing criminal charges for attempted manslaughter today."

The captain turned to the lawyer. "Pull the security footage for this deck."

Edson's eyes darted to the side. He swallowed hard. The yacht's manager stepped forward, his hands shaking. "The, uh, the cameras on the aft deck are currently down for maintenance."

A low murmur rippled through the guests. The pristine image of the Sawyer family cracked right down the middle. Brittany bit her lower lip so hard a drop of blood welled up.

The captain sighed. He looked at Ashley. "Without the footage, and with her claiming it was an accident, I can't make an arrest right now. But we need everyone at the precinct for statements."

Ashley's jaw tightened. She knew this would happen. She nodded once. "Fine. Let's go to the precinct."

The officers began herding the furious guests toward the gangway. Edson grabbed a champagne flute from a passing tray and smashed it against the bar. The glass shattered, spraying over Devon's shoes.

The party was dead. The Sawyer name was a joke.

A female officer wrapped a crinkling silver foil blanket around Ashley's shoulders. Ashley walked down the gangway. The cold wind bit at her exposed calves. She stopped and looked back over her shoulder.

She locked eyes with Brittany. Ashley's stare was completely hollow, like looking at a corpse.

Brittany gasped. Her knees gave out. She stumbled on the metal stairs. Devon caught her by the waist, pulling her against him.

Ashley turned away and got into the back of the squad car. The neon lights of the city strobed across her pale face as they drove toward the precinct.

Two hours later, Ashley walked out of the interrogation room. Her muscles ached. The foil blanket rustled around her.

Edson stood at the end of the linoleum hallway. His lawyer walked up to Ashley.

"Ms. Sawyer," the lawyer said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Per your father's instructions, all of your credit cards and bank accounts have been frozen. Effective immediately."

Ashley looked at the lawyer. She let out a short, breathy laugh. Her lips curled into a smirk.

Ashley walked right past Edson. The automatic doors of the precinct slid open. The 2 AM wind hit her bare legs, carrying the smell of exhaust and damp asphalt.

She walked straight to the black Rolls-Royce parked at the curb and pulled open the heavy rear door. She slid onto the leather seat.

Edson stomped out of the precinct and threw himself into the passenger seat. He slammed the door so hard the chassis shook. "Drive to the Long Island estate. Now."

Ashley looked to her left. Brittany and Devon were pressed against the opposite door, trying to put as much space between themselves and Ashley as possible.

"Guilty conscience?" Ashley asked. Her voice was barely a whisper, but it cut through the silence of the car.

Devon leaned forward, his jaw clenched. "Watch your mouth, Ashley. You've done enough damage tonight."

Ashley closed her eyes. She rested her head against the cool glass of the window and completely ignored him.

The car was dead silent. The only sound was the rhythmic thud of the tires hitting the expansion joints of the bridge. Ashley calculated her heart rate. It was steady. She mapped out the layout of the Long Island manor in her head.

An hour later, the Rolls-Royce turned into the massive driveway. The wrought-iron gates groaned and clicked shut behind them. The physical lock echoed in the night.

Ashley pushed her door open. Her dress was half-dry, stiff with salt, chafing her skin. She kept her spine perfectly straight and walked up the stone steps.

She pushed the heavy oak double doors open. The crystal chandelier in the foyer blazed with blinding light.

Fleda Bell, her stepmother, sat dead center on the main living room sofa.

Justyn, Ashley's older brother, stood right behind Fleda. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest. His jaw was set. The entire room was staged like an execution block.

Fleda stood up. She forced her eyes to water. She rushed forward, reaching her hands out toward Ashley. "Oh, Ashley! You poor thing, you must be freezing!"

Ashley shifted her weight and stepped entirely out of Fleda's reach. Fleda's hands grasped empty air.

"Drop the act, Fleda. It makes me want to vomit," Ashley said.

Justyn lunged forward. His face was twisted in rage. He pointed a finger inches from Ashley's nose. "How dare you speak to her like that? You ruined your own party, you called the cops on your sister, and now you're disrespecting our mother?"

Ashley stared at her half-brother, the son of the woman sitting on the couch. The man who had been slowly poisoned by the woman sitting on the couch. Her chest felt hollow. "She's not my mother. And you're nothing but a brainless puppet."

Justyn roared. He raised his right hand high, aiming a vicious slap at her face.

Ashley didn't flinch. As his hand came down, she raised her left arm, blocking his wrist with her forearm. Her right hand shot out, gripping his wrist bone. She twisted his arm sharply backward.

Justyn screamed. His knees buckled from the intense pain in his shoulder joint.

As he bent over, Ashley's eyes locked onto the whites of his eyes. The sclera had a distinct, sickly yellow tint. Liver damage. The poison was already deep in his system.

"Stop it! Security!" Fleda shrieked.

Edson slammed his heavy wooden cane against the marble floor. "Enough!"

A maid scurried into the room, her head bowed. She held a silver tray with a steaming porcelain teacup. "Madam, the calming tea you requested for Ms. Ashley."

Fleda smoothed her skirt. "Drink this, Ashley. You are clearly having a manic episode. You need to calm down."

Ashley looked at the tea. The steam carried the scent of chamomile, but underneath it was a sharp, metallic chemical odor.

She picked up the cup. She swirled the dark liquid. A ring of unnatural, tiny bubbles clung to the porcelain edge.

"Haloperidol," Ashley said.

Fleda's breath hitched. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second.

Ashley turned her wrist and dumped the boiling tea directly onto the million-dollar Persian rug. The dark liquid soaked into the silk threads.

Fleda gasped, clutching her chest.

"A heavy antipsychotic sedative," Ashley continued, her voice clinical and dead. "You wanted to drug me, lock me in a room, and tell the press I had a mental breakdown."

Fleda's voice went up an octave. "You are insane! Edson, listen to her! She has paranoia!"

Brittany sobbed from the doorway. "She's completely lost her mind, Dad!"

Edson rubbed his temples. He pointed a thick finger at Ashley. "I don't care about the tea. You will log onto your social media right now. You will post a video apologizing to Brittany and saying the police call was a misunderstanding."

Ashley looked at the man who shared her DNA. Her heart rate didn't spike. She felt absolutely nothing. "No."

Edson grabbed the heavy crystal ashtray off the coffee table. He hurled it straight at her head.

Ashley tilted her neck. The heavy crystal grazed her skin and smashed into the drywall behind her. Shards of glass exploded outward. A sharp piece sliced across the side of her neck.

A line of hot blood ran down her collarbone. She didn't blink.

"You're acting this desperate because there's a crisis in the company you can't handle," Ashley said, her voice dripping with ice. "You're throwing a tantrum because you're on the verge of bankruptcy, aren't you?"

Edson's face turned a mottled purple. The veins in his forehead pulsed. "Lock her up! Take her to the Idaho facility! Now!"

Six massive bodyguards rushed into the room. They formed a tight circle around Ashley, cutting off every physical exit. Their massive frames blocked the light.

Fleda smiled. Brittany wiped her fake tears, her lips curving upward.

Ashley slid her hand behind her back. Her thumb found the side button on her phone. She clicked it twice, activating the emergency voice memo recording. Her eyes darted to the gap between the two largest guards.

Before the guards could grab her shoulders, a deafening crash shook the entire house.

The heavy oak double doors of the manor were kicked open with such violent force that the hinges snapped. The wood slammed into the walls.

The butler tumbled into the foyer, groaning on the floor.

The freezing night wind blasted into the warm living room. The crystal chandelier swayed violently, the glass pieces clinking together like frantic wind chimes.

Every bodyguard froze. Edson spun around.

Bennett Hawkins stepped through the ruined doorway. He wore a long, black cashmere overcoat. The cold air seemed to radiate from his very bones. His dark eyes swept the room, carrying the destructive force of a hurricane.

Two dozen elite tactical security contractors flooded in behind him. They moved in perfect, lethal synchronization. Their heavy boots hit the marble floor. Within three seconds, they had physically pinned Edson's bodyguards against the walls, twisting their arms behind their backs.

Edson's mouth fell open. He recognized the man who held the economic throat of Wall Street. Edson's purple face instantly morphed into a sickening, desperate smile. He rushed forward, his hand extended. "Mr. Hawkins! What an unexpected honor-"

Bennett didn't even look at him. He walked right past Edson, his shoulder brushing the older man aside. Edson's hand hung in the empty air.

Bennett stopped exactly one foot away from Ashley. His chest heaved once. His eyes locked onto the thin line of blood dripping down her neck.

The muscle in Bennett's jaw ticked so hard it looked like the bone would snap.

He reached up and grabbed the lapels of his cashmere coat. He stripped it off and stepped into Ashley's space. He wrapped the heavy, warm fabric tightly around her shivering shoulders, pulling the lapels together across her chest.

The scent of cedarwood, cold air, and faint tobacco engulfed Ashley's senses. The phantom smell of the warehouse fire vanished instantly.

Her breath caught. Her hands moved on their own. Her freezing fingers gripped the lapels of his coat, holding on to the fabric like a lifeline.

Bennett felt her hands shake. His eyes softened for a fraction of a second. He reached up and wrapped his massive, warm hand over her freezing knuckles.

"Sorry I'm late," he said. His voice was a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated in his chest.

Brittany stood by the stairs. Her eyes tracked Bennett's hand over Ashley's. Her chest tightened with pure, toxic jealousy. She stepped forward, pushing her chest out, trying to catch his eye.

Edson rubbed his hands together. "Mr. Hawkins, please, if this is about the port development project, we can discuss it in my study."

Bennett turned slowly. He kept Ashley tucked securely behind his broad back. He looked at Edson like he was looking at a cockroach.

"I am here to collect my fiancée," Bennett said. His voice was absolute zero. "We are fulfilling the marriage contract our grandfathers signed."

The room went completely dead. The only sound was the wind howling through the broken doors.

Fleda gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Brittany's eyes widened to the size of saucers.

Edson's brain scrambled to calculate the money. A greedy light sparked in his eyes. He took a step forward. "Mr. Hawkins, Ashley is... unstable. Her reputation is ruined. If you want to honor the contract, Brittany is much more obedient and suited for your status."

Brittany immediately smiled. She tilted her head, giving Bennett a look of pure, innocent submission.

Bennett let out a short, harsh laugh. The sound held no humor. He looked Brittany up and down.

"Does the Sawyer family make a habit of offering up garbage when someone asks for a diamond?" Bennett asked.

Brittany's smile shattered. The blood rushed to her face, turning her skin a blotchy, humiliated red. She took a step back as if he had physically struck her.

Devon stood in the corner. He heard the word 'garbage'. His fists clenched at his sides, but he kept his mouth shut. The oppressive weight of Bennett's power kept him pinned to the floor.

Bennett's chief assistant stepped out from behind the tactical team. He pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up his nose. He pulled a thick folder from his briefcase and threw it directly at Edson's chest.

The heavy paper smacked against Edson's sternum.

"If anyone in this house touches a single hair on Ms. Sawyer's head," the assistant said, his voice clinical, "Hawkins Group will short Sawyer stock at the opening bell. Your company will be scrap paper by noon."

Edson clutched the folder. Cold sweat soaked through his dress shirt. He nodded frantically. "Understood. Completely understood."

Ashley stepped out from behind Bennett's back. She looked at Devon.

"The engagement is over," she said.

Devon stepped forward, his pride finally overriding his fear. "You can't just decide that, Ashley. It's a family merger."

Ashley reached for her left hand. She grabbed the three-carat diamond engagement ring and yanked it off her finger. She threw it as hard as she could directly at his chest. The heavy platinum band smacked hard against his sternum. Devon flinched, instinctively taking a step back in shock. The ring bounced off his expensive suit jacket and hit the marble floor, rolling away with a sharp, metallic ping.

Ashley turned to Bennett. She looked straight into his dark eyes. "Get me out of this house. Now."

A dark, dangerous spark of pleasure flared in Bennett's eyes. He nodded. He wrapped his arm tightly around her waist, pulling her flush against his side.

Justyn broke free from his shock. He lunged forward. "You can't just leave! You haven't explained anything!"

Two tactical guards slammed Justyn face-first into the drywall. The plaster cracked.

Ashley stopped. She looked over her shoulder at her brother.

"The migraines and the blurred vision you've been having for the last month," Ashley said, her voice carrying across the room. "It's heavy metal poisoning. Check your blood."

Justyn froze against the wall. His pupils dilated. He slowly turned his head to look at Fleda. Fleda's face drained of all color. She looked away instantly.

Ashley turned back around. She walked in perfect sync with Bennett toward the ruined doors.

She paused on the threshold. The cold wind whipped her hair. "Get your lawyers ready. I am not dropping the charges for the yacht."

She stepped over the splintered remains of the ruined oak doors and walked out into the dark.