Amalia woke to the feeling of ice in her veins. She was lying on the cold tile floor of the penthouse kitchen. A violent cramp seized her stomach, twisting her insides like a wet towel. She groaned, curling into a tight ball as the hunger clawed at her organs.

She placed her bruised palms flat against the freezing floor and tried to push herself up. Her legs felt like jelly. They gave out instantly, and she crashed back down, her hip slamming hard against the base of the wooden cabinets.

The kitchen door swung open. Alton walked in, holding a steaming mug of black coffee. The rich, bitter smell filled the room. He looked down at Amalia sprawled on the floor, his upper lip curling in deep disgust.

Amalia swallowed hard. Her throat was so dry it felt like it was lined with sandpaper. She gathered every ounce of strength she had left and looked up at the massive security guard.

"Water," she whispered. Her voice was a harsh, scraping sound. "Please. Just a little food."

Alton didn't even blink. He turned his back to her, taking a slow sip of his coffee, preparing to walk out.

Panic flared in Amalia's chest. If she didn't eat, she was going to die right here on this floor. She lunged forward, her bloody fingers grabbing the fabric of his tailored suit pants.

Alton let out a sharp breath of annoyance. He kicked his leg back, striking Amalia's wrist with the hard leather of his shoe.

Her hand flew back and smashed against the metal handle of the cabinet door. A bright red welt instantly formed across her pale skin. She pulled her hand to her chest, biting her lip to stop the cry of pain.

Alton paused at the door. He looked at her pathetic, trembling form. He walked over to the stainless steel trash can, reached near the rim, and pulled out a half-eaten, cold sandwich wrapped in plastic. He tossed it onto the floor.

The sandwich hit the tiles, the bread spilling out of the wrapper.

Amalia didn't care. She abandoned every last ounce of her human dignity. She scrambled forward on her hands and knees, grabbed the cold, slightly dusty bread, and shoved it into her mouth. She chewed frantically, her jaw working overtime.

The bread was stale and dry. A large piece lodged in the back of her throat. Amalia gagged, her eyes widening in terror as her airway blocked. She hit her own chest with her fist, coughing violently. Tears of suffocation streamed down her face as she forced the dry lump down her esophagus.

Alton let out a cold, mocking laugh. He turned and walked toward the inner office to report to Chadwick, leaving the kitchen door slightly ajar.

Amalia sat on the floor, taking small, painful bites of the remaining food. She stopped chewing. Through the crack in the door, she heard Alton's deep voice.

"The police are asking questions downtown," Alton said.

Amalia instantly stopped breathing. Her heart hammered in her ears. She leaned closer to the door, straining to hear any mention of the agency or her passport.

"Have they found Davina Vazquez?" Chadwick's voice cut through the air. It was low, but it carried a weight that made the hairs on Amalia's neck stand up.

Amalia frowned. Davina Vazquez?

"No," Alton replied. "And the NDA... it was destroyed."

A heavy, terrifying silence fell over the inner room. Then, the sound of glass shattering violently against a wall echoed through the apartment. Amalia jumped, her shoulders hitting the cabinet behind her. A cold sweat broke out across her forehead.

She thought Davina was another victim. Another girl who had crossed this mobster, who had her non-disclosure agreement destroyed, and was now running for her life. A deep, sickening fear for her own life settled in Amalia's gut.

She tried to slide backward, wanting to hide in the dark corner between the fridge and the counter. But before she could even shift her weight, the heavy, terrifying silence in the inner room was broken by a deliberate shift in tone. Chadwick's voice suddenly dropped, slicing through the air with lethal precision. "The rat hiding in the kitchen," he said coldly, his words echoing off the high ceilings. "How much longer are you going to listen?"

Amalia's heart stopped beating. The blood drained completely from her face. Dead silence.

Heavy, deliberate footsteps approached the kitchen. Each step sounded like a death knell. Amalia looked around wildly, her eyes darting from the pantry to the island, but there was nowhere to hide.

The kitchen door was pushed wide open. Chadwick's massive frame filled the doorway. His eyes were completely black, locked onto Amalia with the intensity of a predator looking at a trapped rat.

He crossed the room in three long strides. Before Amalia could even raise her hands to defend herself, Chadwick grabbed a fistful of her dark hair. He yanked upward with brutal force.

Amalia screamed as she was dragged to her feet. The roots of her hair felt like they were being ripped from her scalp. Hot tears immediately flooded her eyes.

"What did you hear?" Chadwick demanded. His face was inches from hers. His breath smelled of mint and cold danger. He looked at her as if he were deciding how to dispose of her corpse.

"Nothing!" Amalia sobbed, shaking her head as much as his grip would allow.

Chadwick tightened his fist. The pain in her scalp flared into absolute agony. Amalia's toes barely touched the floor.

"I was just... I was just dizzy from hunger!" Amalia cried out, her voice cracking. "I bumped the counter! I didn't hear anything, I swear!"

Chadwick stared at her pale, tear-streaked face. His eyes dropped to her mouth, noticing the crumbs of stale bread clinging to the corner of her lips. His jaw clenched tight, a muscle ticking violently under his skin. He was assessing her lie.

"Sir," Alton's voice came from the doorway. "The overseas video conference. They are waiting."

The interruption hung in the air. Chadwick stared at Amalia for one more agonizing second.

Then, he opened his hand.

Amalia dropped to the floor like a discarded ragdoll. Her knees hit the hard tiles, and she gasped for air, her chest heaving as she rubbed her burning scalp.

"If you breathe a word of what happens in this house," Chadwick said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper, "I will make sure you disappear from this earth. Completely."

He turned and walked out of the kitchen. The sheer physical pressure of his presence left the room with him. Amalia slumped against the cabinets, her entire body soaked in a cold, clammy sweat.

Her hands shook violently as she reached out, picked up the last piece of dirty bread from the floor, and shoved it into her mouth. She chewed through her tears, a desperate, burning vow forming in her chest. She had to escape this monster.

Alton threw a damp, chemical-smelling rag directly at Amalia's face. It hit her cheek with a wet slap and dropped to the floor.

"Clean the wine stains off the living room rug," Alton ordered, his voice flat. "Consider it a test. Pass, and maybe you get your passport."

Amalia didn't argue. She picked up the rag and a bottle of heavy-duty carpet cleaner. She walked into the massive, sunlit living room and dropped to her knees on the expensive Persian rug. She sprayed the cleaner and scrubbed the red stains with all her strength, her bruised knuckles aching with every movement. She kept her head down, trying to make herself invisible.

The heavy front doors of the penthouse suddenly burst open.

Amalia's hands froze. She scrambled backward, pressing her body deep into the shadow of the large leather sofa, her heart kicking into a frantic rhythm.

Two men in black suits dragged a third man into the living room. The man in the middle was covered in blood. Thick, dark drops of it fell from his clothes, staining the pristine hardwood floor.

Chadwick walked out of his study. He held a crystal glass filled with amber whiskey. His face was a mask of absolute, terrifying calm.

One of the bodyguards placed a silver, sealed cooler box on the glass coffee table. He unlatched the heavy metal locks with a loud click.

The moment the lid popped open, the heavy, metallic stench of raw blood flooded the living room. It hit Amalia's nose, making her stomach heave violently.

Driven by a morbid, uncontrollable terror, Amalia slowly raised her head. She peeked over the edge of the leather sofa.

Inside the cooler, resting on a bed of melting ice, was a severed human hand. The flesh at the wrist was hacked clean, the bone and muscle exposed in a gruesome display.

Amalia gasped, slapping both her hands over her mouth to muffle the sound. Her eyes widened so far they hurt. Her lungs refused to take in air.

"Is this Montgomery Astor-Clarke's man?" Chadwick asked, taking a slow sip of his whiskey. He looked at the severed hand with the same boredom one might look at a misplaced pen.

"Yes, sir," the bodyguard nodded. "He was trying to destroy the last security tape of Davina."

Chadwick let out a short, dark chuckle. He downed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp and slammed the heavy crystal glass onto the table. The sound made Amalia flinch.

"Box it up. Mail it to Montgomery," Chadwick ordered, his voice cold and detached.

Amalia's entire body was shaking so violently she couldn't control her limbs. As she tried to press herself further into the corner, her elbow hit the plastic bottle of carpet cleaner.

The bottle tipped over and hit the floor with a hollow thud.

Every head in the room snapped toward the sofa.

In less than a second, the two bodyguards drew their guns. The black muzzles pointed directly at the shadow where Amalia was hiding.

Amalia let out a choked sob. She threw her hands in the air, tears streaming down her face, her whole body trembling like a leaf in a hurricane.

Chadwick raised his hand. The bodyguards lowered their weapons.

He walked slowly around the sofa. His long legs brought him to where Amalia was cowering on the floor. He stood over her, a dark silhouette blocking out the light.

"I... I was just cleaning," Amalia stammered, her teeth chattering so hard she could barely form the words. "I didn't see anything. I swear."

Chadwick slowly crouched down. He reached out into the cooler, his fingers brushing the melting ice, and then moved his hand toward Amalia's face.

His freezing, wet fingers traced the line of her jaw. The shocking cold against her warm skin sent a violent shudder through her entire body.

"Are you scared?" Chadwick whispered. His voice was incredibly soft, almost intimate, but it carried a psychotic edge that made Amalia's blood run cold.

Amalia nodded frantically. Hot tears spilled from her eyes, running down her cheeks and dripping onto the back of Chadwick's icy hand.

Chadwick stared at the tear on his skin. His expression twisted into sudden, violent disgust. He snatched his hand back as if she had burned him.

He stood up abruptly. "Alton. Clean up the blood. And get rid of this crying nuisance. Throw her in the storage room."

Alton grabbed Amalia by the upper arm. His grip bruised her skin instantly. He dragged her across the floor toward the hallway.

Amalia thought they were going to kill her. The image of the severed hand flashed in her mind. Pure survival instinct took over. She twisted her body and dug her fingernails deep into the back of Alton's hand, dragging them down to draw blood.

Alton hissed in pain. He let go of her arm, pulled his hand back, and slapped her across the face with brutal force.

The impact snapped Amalia's head to the side. Bright lights exploded behind her eyes. A sharp ringing filled her ears, and the metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth from a cut inside her cheek. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed.

Alton grabbed her by the collar, dragged her down the hall, and threw her into a narrow, pitch-black storage room.

"Make another sound, and you lose a hand," Alton warned, his voice dripping with malice.

The heavy door slammed shut. The lock clicked loudly.

Amalia lay on the cold floor, surrounded by total darkness. Only a thin sliver of light leaked in from under the door. Her cheek throbbed in agony.

She slowly reached into the pocket of her jeans. Her trembling fingers brushed against a small plastic bag. Inside were three strong sleeping pills she had secretly packed before leaving her home country, a desperate measure of protection she had prepared because she was terrified of traveling alone.

She pulled the bag out. She stared at the sliver of light under the door. The paralyzing fear in her chest began to harden into something else. Desperation.

She gripped the pills tightly in her fist, her fingernails digging into her palm. She was going to drug him. It was her only way out.

The lock on the storage room door clicked open.

Alton stood in the doorway, his massive frame blocking the light. He tossed a piece of fabric at Amalia. It landed on her face. It was a flimsy, black silk slip dress, the material so thin it was practically transparent.

"Put it on," Alton ordered coldly. "Go to the master bedroom and serve the boss. This is your last chance to breathe."

Amalia pulled the silk from her face. Her hands gripped the delicate fabric tightly. A wave of intense humiliation washed over her, making her face burn, but she bit her tongue and kept her head down. She couldn't fight Alton.

Alton reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, bright pink pill. He held it out to her. It was the standard compliance protocol for any woman sent into the master suite, a chemical guarantee to maintain the boss's flawless, aggressive public facade, regardless of what actually happened behind closed doors.

"Take this," he said, his eyes narrowing with cold detachment. "It's a party favor. Don't lay there like a dead fish and ruin his mood."

Amalia's heart pounded against her ribs. She reached out with a trembling hand and took the pink pill. She brought it to her mouth, pretending to place it on her tongue, but quickly pushed it deep into the pocket of her cheek with her finger.

She tilted her head back and swallowed loudly, making a show of gulping it down.

Alton watched her neck muscles move. Satisfied, he nodded once and turned away, closing the door behind him.

The second the latch clicked, Amalia spat the pink pill into her palm. She grabbed a piece of tissue from a nearby shelf, wrapped the pill tightly, and shoved it into the pocket of her jeans.

She quickly stripped off her dirty clothes and pulled the black silk dress over her head. The cold air in the room hit her bare skin, making her shiver violently. She pulled the bag of sleeping pills from her jeans. Placing the white tablets on her palm, she used the edge of a heavy coin from her pocket to crush them into a fine, chalky powder.

She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She pushed open the heavy door to the master bedroom.

The room was massive, lit only by the dim, warm glow of a bedside lamp. From the attached bathroom, the loud, steady sound of a running shower echoed through the space. Chadwick was inside.

Amalia walked on her tiptoes, the thick carpet swallowing the sound of her footsteps. Her heart beat so fast she felt dizzy. She approached the nightstand.

A crystal glass filled with ice and clear water sat next to the lamp.

Her hands shook uncontrollably as she hovered her palm over the glass. She tipped her hand, letting the crushed white powder fall into the water.

The powder hit the ice and began to dissolve, leaving a cloudy swirl in the clear liquid.

Amalia grabbed the small silver stirring rod resting on a napkin. She stirred the water frantically, the metal clinking softly against the glass, until the liquid turned completely transparent again.

Suddenly, the sound of the shower stopped.

Amalia gasped. Her hand jerked, and the silver stirring rod slipped from her fingers, dropping onto the thick carpet with a muffled thud.

She yanked her hands behind her back, standing frozen next to the bed. Her lungs seized up. She couldn't draw a breath.

The bathroom door swung open. A cloud of hot steam rolled into the bedroom.

Chadwick stepped out. He wore nothing but a white towel slung low around his waist. Drops of water clung to his broad shoulders and ran down the hard ridges of his stomach. The overwhelming scent of expensive soap and raw, aggressive male heat filled the room.

He ran a hand through his wet hair and stopped. His sharp, predatory eyes locked onto Amalia standing by the bed.

He recognized the girl who had fought him in the hallway. A dark, mocking smirk curled the corner of his mouth.

Chadwick walked slowly toward her. Every step he took felt like a hammer striking Amalia's tightly wound nerves. She wanted to run, but her feet were glued to the floor.

He stopped right in front of her. He reached out and picked up the glass of ice water from the nightstand.

Amalia stopped breathing. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms they almost broke the skin.

Chadwick brought the rim of the glass to his lips. He paused. His dark eyes flicked over the rim, staring directly into Amalia's terrified face.

Amalia quickly looked down at the floor, her heart threatening to burst out of her chest. Drink it. Please, just drink it.

Chadwick tilted his head back. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed the entire glass of spiked water in three long gulps.

A massive wave of relief crashed over Amalia. Her shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch.

Chadwick slammed the empty glass onto the nightstand. Before Amalia could react, his large hand shot out and clamped around her jaw, forcing her to look up at him.

He leaned in close. The coldness of the ice water lingered on his breath, mixing with his intense heat.

"Take off this useless dress," he ordered, his voice a low, rough rasp.

Amalia stared into his wide, alert eyes. He wasn't sleepy at all. Panic seized her throat. The pills needed time to work. She had to stall.