The electronic beep of the suite's front door unlocking cut through the silence.

Kaliyah stopped dead. She held her breath. Her lungs burned. She stepped backward, melting into the deep shadows beside the bathroom door.

Cassian Thorne walked into the suite. Two large men in black suits followed him.

Cassian looked around the empty living room. He turned to the men.

"Wait in the hall. Do not let anyone on this floor."

The men nodded and stepped out. The heavy door clicked shut.

Cassian walked into the bedroom. He pulled a phone from his pocket and dialed a number.

Kaliyah peeked around the doorframe. Water dripped from her hair onto the floor.

"The suite is empty," Cassian said into the phone. "But someone definitely spiked Mr. Lott's drink. I need the security feeds from the lobby to the roof. Now."

A low groan came from the bathroom floor.

Bryton shifted. His hand twitched against the wet tiles.

Cassian hung up the phone immediately. He rushed toward the bathroom.

The moment Cassian turned his back and stepped through the bathroom doorway, Kaliyah moved. She slid out of the shadows. Her bare feet made zero sound on the floor. She darted across the room and slipped behind the heavy velvet curtains of the massive four-poster bed.

"Mr. Lott," Cassian's voice came from the bathroom. "Are you alright?"

A string of hoarse, violent curses filled the air. Bryton's voice was rough, like sandpaper rubbing against stone.

"Get out," Bryton snarled. "Get the hell out. I need to clean off this filth."

"Sir, we need to find out who..."

"I said get out!"

Footsteps retreated. Cassian walked out of the bedroom. The main door of the suite opened and closed.

Kaliyah let out a slow, silent breath. Her chest ached.

The sound of the shower turning on high echoed from the bathroom. Bryton was washing her off him.

Kaliyah stepped out from behind the curtains. She walked over to the nightstand to grab her clutch. As she moved, her eyes caught the crumpled men's suit jacket discarded near the screen. The freezing night air outside demanded protection. She snatched the heavy, oversized blazer from the floor and pulled it over her torn blouse, the fabric swallowing her small frame.

A phone lay face up on the polished wood. The screen lit up. The vibration buzzed against the table.

The caller ID displayed a name: Preston Acevedo.

The bathroom door cracked open. Steam rolled out. Bryton's cold, harsh voice cut through the room. He stood leaning heavily against the doorframe, water dripping from his jaw. He held a phone in his trembling hand, the device set to speakerphone as he fought through the lingering haze of the drug.

"Preston," Bryton said. The disgust in his tone was physical. It felt like a slap.

Kaliyah froze. She stared at the phone.

"Do not call me again," Bryton spat. "You are a pathetic social climber. Selling your own daughter to keep your sinking ship afloat makes me sick."

Kaliyah's stomach dropped.

"And that useless, invisible wife you forced on me?" Bryton laughed. It was a cruel, hollow sound. "She is not even fit to shine my shoes. Tell her to keep hiding. If I see her face, I will hand her the divorce papers myself."

Kaliyah's fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. The skin broke. A tiny drop of blood welled up.

The fear and humiliation in her chest vanished. A hot, blinding anger took its place. The blood rushed to her ears.

She opened her clutch. She pulled out her wallet with shaking fingers. She took out a crumpled, worn one-hundred-dollar bill.

She picked up the heavy Montblanc pen resting next to the phone. She pressed the nib against the paper.

She wrote fast. The ink bled slightly into the fabric of the bill.

"Terrible technique. Here is a tip."

She slammed the pen down. She lifted Bryton's heavy platinum watch and shoved the bill underneath it. The green edge of the money stuck out, impossible to miss.

The water in the bathroom shut off.

Heavy footsteps moved toward the door.

Kaliyah looked at the main entrance. Cassian and the guards were right outside. She turned her head toward the glass doors leading to the private terrace.

She walked fast. She pushed the glass door open. The freezing night wind of New York hit her wet clothes. She shivered, but she did not stop.

She walked to the edge of the terrace. She looked over the stone railing. The drop to the street was dizzying. But the terrace of the adjacent building was only about six feet away.

For a normal person, it was suicide. For a former operative, it was a warm-up.

She took three steps back. She took a deep breath.

The bedroom door handle clicked.

Kaliyah sprinted forward. Her foot hit the stone railing. She pushed off with explosive force. Her body launched into the dark, empty air just as Bryton stepped into the bedroom.

Bryton walked out of the bathroom. A white towel hung low on his hips. He grabbed another towel and rubbed the freezing water from his hair. His muscles still twitched from the chemical aftershocks.

He walked to the nightstand. He reached for his watch.

His fingers stopped in mid-air. The watch was moved.

He saw the edge of the green paper. He pulled the watch away. The crumpled one-hundred-dollar bill sat on the dark wood.

Bryton stared at the black ink.

The words registered in his brain. His pupils contracted into tiny pinpricks. The air in his lungs completely vanished.

A hot, violent flush of pure rage crawled up his neck. The vein at his temple throbbed against his skin.

He snatched the bill off the table. He crushed it in his fist. His knuckles popped.

He threw his arm back and hurled the crumpled ball at the floor. He kicked the heavy brass floor lamp next to the bed. The metal snapped. The lamp crashed into the wall and shattered into pieces.

The main door flew open. Cassian rushed in, his hand reaching inside his jacket.

Cassian stopped. He looked at the broken lamp. He looked at Bryton's heaving chest and the absolute murder in his eyes. Cassian immediately lowered his head. He stared at the carpet.

"Lock down the hotel," Bryton's voice was a low, terrifying growl. "Pull every camera. Check every exit."

"Sir?"

"Find the woman who was in this room!" Bryton roared. The sound vibrated in the windows. "Dig up the entire city if you have to. When you find her, bring her to me."

Two buildings away, Kaliyah's boots hit the concrete of the adjacent terrace. She rolled to absorb the impact. Her shoulder slammed into the ground. Pain shot down her arm.

She ignored it. She scrambled to her feet and ran for the fire escape.

She climbed down the rusted iron stairs. The freezing wind cut through her torn blouse. She reached the bottom and dropped into a dark, narrow alleyway.

She leaned her back against the cold brick wall. She gasped for air. Her chest burned.

She reached into her clutch and pulled out her phone. She dialed Preston's number.

He answered on the first ring. "Kaliyah? Did it happen? Is it done?" His voice was thick with fake concern and raw greed.

A wave of nausea hit her stomach. "Did you spike his drink?" Her voice was dead. Flat.

"What? No! I just arranged the room. I wanted you two to bond. To secure the marriage."

"You drugged him," Kaliyah stated. The cold brick pressed against her spine. "You thought if I got pregnant, the Lott family would bail out your sinking company."

Preston's tone changed. The fake warmth vanished. "You listen to me, you ungrateful brat. You do what I say. If you ruin this, you will never see a dime of your grandmother's trust fund. I will freeze it forever."

The last thread holding her heart to this man snapped. She felt the physical break in her chest. It left behind a hollow, freezing void.

"Keep the money," Kaliyah said. Her voice was ice. "Do not ever contact me again."

"Kaliyah! You little-"

She pulled the phone away from her ear. She hit end. She went into the settings and blocked his number.

She shoved the phone back into her bag. She pulled the oversized men's blazer she had snatched from the hotel room tighter around her chest and walked out of the alley into the harsh streetlights.

She walked two blocks until she found a twenty-four-hour convenience store. The bell chimed as she pushed the door open.

She walked to the candy aisle. She picked up a cheap strawberry lollipop. She paid the cashier, unwrapped it, and shoved it into her mouth.

The intense, artificial sugar hit her tongue. It forced the bile back down her throat. It was a physical anchor. A habit from her operative days when the stress made her want to kill someone.

She walked out and raised her hand. A yellow cab pulled over.

She gave the driver the address to a cheap, run-down apartment building near the university.

She leaned her head against the cold glass of the window. The neon lights of the city blurred as the car sped forward. She looked at her own pale reflection in the glass.

She needed money. She needed it fast. The game had just changed.

The morning sun hit the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Apocalypse Corp headquarters.

Bryton sat behind his massive desk. His face was a mask of cold stone. He held a custom fountain pen in his hand.

Cassian stood on the other side of the desk. He placed a thick manila folder on the glass surface.

"The drug was traced back to Vice President Leland Finch's people," Cassian said. "They meant to send a companion to your room to secure leverage."

Bryton let out a short, humorless laugh. "Cut all funding to Leland's projects. Strip his access. Throw him out."

"Done, sir." Cassian shifted his weight. He looked uncomfortable. "About the woman..."

Bryton's fingers tightened around the pen. "Show me."

"We pulled the hotel feeds. The cameras on the top floor hallway were hacked. Wiped clean during that exact thirty-minute window. Just static."

Bryton's jaw clenched. The muscles in his cheek jumped.

"What about the street cameras?" Bryton demanded.

Cassian tapped a tablet. The large screen on the wall flickered to life. The footage was grainy and dark.

A slender figure in an oversized men's coat moved through an alley. The person kept their head down, perfectly utilizing the shadows. They moved with terrifying efficiency, avoiding the direct line of sight of three different traffic cameras.

Bryton stared at the screen. The pen in his hand snapped.

The sharp crack echoed in the silent office. Black ink exploded over his fingers, staining his skin. He did not blink.

This was no escort. This was no random gold-digger. The woman who slept with him, insulted him, and jumped off a building was a ghost.

A dark, dangerous thrill settled in his stomach. The humiliation morphed into a sharp, obsessive need to hunt.

"Expand the grid," Bryton said softly. He grabbed a cloth and wiped the ink from his hands. "Check every female guest, staff member, and contractor in a five-mile radius. Bring her to me."

Miles away, in a large lecture hall at the NYU Stern School of Business.

Kaliyah sat in the very back row. She wore a baggy gray hoodie. Thick, black-rimmed glasses hid half her face.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard of her laptop. The screen displayed a complex, multi-layered architectural schematic.

A black, encrypted chat box popped up in the bottom right corner of the screen.

[K. Burns]: King. The client in Dubai is doubling the offer. Do we take the project?

Kaliyah stared at the blinking cursor. She typed a single word.

[King]: No.

She hit enter and closed the chat. Rejecting an eight-figure contract stung, especially when she was currently living off cheap noodles to maintain her impoverished student cover, but staying completely off the radar was a matter of life and death.

The loud buzz of the class bell rang. Students packed their bags.

"Miss Acevedo. A moment, please."

Kaliyah froze. She closed her laptop and walked down the steps to the front podium. Professor Alistair Pinter held out a piece of thick, expensive paper.

"Your structural analysis paper was flawless," Pinter said. "I am submitting your name for the elite internship program at Apocalypse Corp."

Kaliyah's stomach hit the floor. Her lungs tightened.

"No," she said quickly. Too quickly. She forced her voice to soften. "Thank you, Professor. But I need to focus on my thesis. I cannot take on an internship."

She did not wait for his reply. She grabbed her backpack and walked fast out of the double doors.

She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up over her head. She kept her eyes glued to the pavement. Apocalypse Corp was Bryton's empire. She needed to put an ocean between herself and that company.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket.

She pulled it out. It was an automated message from the university administration.

[MANDATORY: All full-ride scholarship recipients must attend the corporate sponsor mixer tomorrow at 2:00 PM. Attendance is required to maintain funding status. ]

Kaliyah stopped walking. She stared at the screen. A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck.