Harley moved quickly. She grabbed the heavy wooden crates scattered around the room and dragged them to the wall, directly under the air vent. The wood scraped harshly against the concrete.

With every crate she lifted, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through her left leg, echoing the trauma of the car crash. She gritted her teeth, ignoring the sweat forming on her forehead.

She stacked three crates on top of each other, creating a shaky, unstable staircase. She pressed her weight onto the bottom box. It creaked loudly but held.

Harley turned around. The little boy was still huddled in the corner, watching her every move.

She walked over to him and dropped to one knee. She held out her hand. "Come here," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "I need you to be brave right now."

Leo stared at her hand. He bit his lower lip again. Then, he looked up into Harley's eyes. He saw no pity, no anger-just a fierce determination. Slowly, his tiny, trembling hand reached out and grabbed her fingers.

Harley pulled him into her arms and stood up. The heat radiating off his small body was terrifying. He felt like a furnace.

She walked to the crates and stepped onto the first one. The wood groaned under their combined weight. Leo whimpered, burying his face into Harley's neck. His small arms wrapped tightly around her throat.

"Don't look down," Harley whispered.

She stepped up to the second crate, then the third. She was now standing precariously near the ceiling. She balanced Leo on her left hip, holding him tight with one arm.

With her right hand, she reached up and grabbed the rusted metal louvers of the vent grate. She pulled hard. The rust cracked, and the grate popped off, falling to the floor below with a loud crash.

A dark, narrow, dust-filled tunnel lay ahead.

"Okay, buddy," Harley said, lifting Leo up toward the opening. "You go first. Crawl inside. I'm right behind you."

Leo grabbed the edge of the metal duct and pulled himself in. He turned around, lying on his stomach in the dust. He reached his small hand back out, trying to grab Harley's fingers to pull her up.

Harley bent her knees, preparing to jump and grab the ledge.

CRACK.

The bottom wooden crate splintered and gave way. The entire stack collapsed instantly.

Gravity yanked Harley downward.

"No!" Harley gasped.

She threw both hands up and blindly grabbed the sharp metal lip of the ventilation duct. Her body slammed hard against the wall, her legs dangling in the air.

The sudden, violent jerk ripped through her left shoulder-the exact shoulder that had been crushed in the rollover accident five years ago.

A blinding, white-hot agony exploded in her joint. Harley let out a choked scream. Her vision went black at the edges. Her fingers started to slip on the dusty metal.

Inside the duct, Leo let out a panicked cry. He scrambled forward and grabbed the collar of Harley's sports bra with his tiny fists, trying desperately to hold her up.

Harley heard his cry. In that split second, her mind flashed back to the wreckage of her Ford sedan. The smell of blood. The absolute, crushing loneliness of waiting to die in the rain, knowing no one was coming to save her.

Not again, she thought. I am not dying in the dark.

A feral growl ripped from Harley's throat. She ignored the tearing sensation in her shoulder. Using every ounce of core strength she had developed as a stunt double, she swung her legs up, kicked against the wall, and violently hauled her torso over the metal ledge.

She tumbled forward into the duct, gasping for air.

The sharp, unfinished edge of the metal sliced deeply across her exposed stomach and waist. Warm blood instantly welled up, sliding down her skin.

Harley lay on her back in the cramped space, her chest heaving. She didn't look at the cut. She rolled over and pulled Leo close to her chest.

The dust in the duct was thick. Leo started to cough, a harsh, rattling sound.

Harley immediately pulled off the thin cotton t-shirt she wore under her sports bra. She wrapped it gently around Leo's nose and mouth. "Keep this on," she ordered softly.

She began to crawl forward on her elbows and knees. The metal was freezing. Every movement pulled at the fresh cut on her waist and the torn muscles in her shoulder.

They crawled in total darkness for what felt like hours, though it was only ten minutes. Finally, a faint, dirty yellow light appeared ahead.

They reached the end of the duct. It opened up over the alley behind the club, directly above the dumpsters.

Harley kicked the thin wire mesh covering the exit. It popped out easily. She stuck her head out. The drop was about two meters.

She pulled Leo out of the duct and held him against her chest. "Hold on tight," she whispered.

Harley took a deep breath and pushed herself out of the hole.

They fell through the air. Harley twisted her body mid-fall, ensuring her back faced the ground. She slammed hard into a pile of black trash bags filled with rotting food and cardboard.

The impact knocked the wind completely out of her lungs. Her internal organs felt like they had been violently shaken. She let out a low, painful groan.

Leo rolled off her chest, landing safely on a soft bag. He wasn't hurt.

He scrambled to his knees and looked at Harley. She was lying flat on the garbage, her face deathly pale, her waist covered in blood, her skin smeared with black dust.

Tears welled up in Leo's large eyes. He reached out his small, trembling hand. With the sleeve of his expensive suit, he clumsily wiped the dirty sweat from Harley's forehead.

Harley felt the soft touch. She opened her heavy eyelids and looked at the boy. The corners of her mouth twitched upward into a weak, exhausted smile.

"You're safe now," she whispered.

The adrenaline finally crashed. The pain from her shoulder, her bleeding waist, and her old leg injury hit her brain all at once. The world tilted sideways.

Harley raised a shaking finger and pointed toward the end of the alley. "Go... find help."

Her hand dropped to the trash bags. Her eyes rolled back, and the dark alley faded into absolute blackness.

Six massive, black Cadillac Escalades roared down the wet streets of Manhattan, ignoring every red light. Tires screeched as they slammed on their brakes, forming a solid blockade across the front entrance of "The Apex."

The street was instantly paralyzed. Horns blared from angry drivers, but the noise died the second the Escalade doors opened.

Over a dozen men in identical black suits stepped out. They moved with military precision, instantly securing every entrance and exit of the club.

The door of the center vehicle, a custom Rolls-Royce Phantom, was pulled open.

Jaidyn Miles stepped out. His expensive leather shoes splashed into a puddle on the asphalt. He wore a perfectly tailored midnight-blue suit. His face was a mask of absolute, terrifying calm, but the air around him felt like it had dropped below freezing.

Mickey O'Connell, the owner of the club, came running out the front doors. Sweat poured down his fat face. He bowed so low he almost folded in half.

"Mr. Miles! We are so honored-"

Jaidyn didn't even look at him. He walked straight past Mickey, his long strides eating up the distance to the doors.

Jaidyn stepped into the club. The heavy bass of the EDM music was vibrating the floorboards. Jaidyn raised two fingers.

Immediately, his security team stormed the DJ booth. The music was brutally cut off in the middle of a beat. The flashing strobe lights were killed, replaced by the harsh, bright house lights.

The crowded dance floor erupted in angry shouts. But as people turned and recognized the man standing at the entrance-the ruthless apex predator of Wall Street-a dead silence fell over the room.

Kian Miles, Jaidyn's younger brother, jogged down the stairs from the VIP lounge. His face was pale.

"Jaidyn," Kian said, his voice tight. "Leo slipped away from the detail. We can't find him."

Jaidyn's jaw locked. He reached out, grabbed Mickey O'Connell by the lapels of his tacky jacket, and lifted him onto his toes.

"You have three minutes to pull every camera feed in this building," Jaidyn said. His voice was barely a whisper, but it carried a lethal promise. "If my son is hurt, I will burn this place to the ground with you inside it."

Mickey's legs gave out. "Security room! Now!" he shrieked.

Jaidyn dropped him. They marched to the back office.

On the grainy security monitors, they watched the footage from thirty minutes ago. A tiny figure in a suit-Leo-wandered away from his distracted bodyguard. He pushed open the door to the unfinished third floor and disappeared down the dark hallway.

Jaidyn's eyes narrowed. He turned and sprinted out of the room, his security detail right behind him.

They reached the third floor. Jaidyn stood in front of the heavy acoustic door of VVIP 9. He saw the heavy deadbolt that had automatically locked from the outside when the door shut.

"Break it," Jaidyn ordered.

A bodyguard stepped forward and kicked the door right at the lock. The metal frame splintered, and the door flew open.

Jaidyn rushed in. The room was empty.

He looked at the floor. He saw the broken wooden crates. He followed the debris upward and saw the open ventilation duct near the ceiling.

Kian pressed his earpiece into his ear. "Team Two, sweep the back alley. Look for the HVAC exhaust vents."

Ten agonizing seconds passed. Then, the radio cracked.

"Boss. We found the boy. Alleyway."

Jaidyn spun around and ran. He tore through the club's kitchen, shoved the heavy metal back doors open, and stepped into the cold, damp alley.

Under the flickering yellow light of a broken streetlamp, Jaidyn saw him.

Leo was kneeling on a pile of garbage bags. For a child with severe PTSD who violently rejected physical contact from anyone-even his own father-what Jaidyn saw next made his heart stop.

Leo was gripping the hand of a woman lying unconscious on the trash. He was holding onto her like she was his lifeline.

Jaidyn rushed forward. "Leo!"

He reached down to pick his son up, to check him for injuries.

Leo let out a sharp, piercing scream. He violently slapped Jaidyn's hands away. He threw his small body over the woman's arm, glaring up at his father with fierce, protective anger. He pointed a shaking finger at the woman, refusing to move.

Jaidyn froze. He looked down at the woman for the first time.

She was covered in black dust. A nasty, bleeding gash ran across her stomach. She was wearing only a sports bra and sweatpants.

"Light," Jaidyn commanded.

A bodyguard stepped forward and clicked on a high-powered tactical flashlight, aiming the beam directly at the woman's face.

The bright light washed over her pale, dirt-streaked features.

Jaidyn's breath caught in his throat. His muscles locked up. The world around him vanished.

Behind him, Kian let out a sharp intake of breath. He stepped close to his brother, leaning in so only Jaidyn could hear. "Jaidyn," Kian whispered, his voice trembling with absolute shock. "It's her face. It's Amelie's face."

Jaidyn stared at the unconscious woman. The shape of her jaw, the curve of her nose, the dark, thick lashes resting on her pale cheeks. It was a ghost. It was the face of the woman he had buried years ago.

A violent storm of shock, grief, and a sudden, dark possessiveness erupted in Jaidyn's chest.

He slowly took off his custom suit jacket. He knelt down in the garbage, ignoring the filth. He wrapped the expensive wool jacket tightly around Harley's shivering, bleeding body, covering her exposed skin.

He slid his arms under her knees and behind her back, lifting her effortlessly against his chest. She was so light.

Jaidyn turned to Kian, his eyes cold and completely unreadable.

"Clear the top floor of the Miles Medical Center," Jaidyn ordered. "Now."

The smell of bleach and expensive lavender oil slowly pulled Harley out of the darkness.

She opened her eyes. The ceiling above her wasn't the water-stained plaster of her cheap apartment. It was pristine, bright white.

She lay on a high-end, motorized hospital bed. The sheets were softer than anything she had ever touched. She tried to sit up.

A sharp, pulling pain ripped across her waist. She hissed, looking down. Her torso was wrapped in thick, clean white bandages. The dull ache in her left shoulder had been numbed by painkillers.

The heavy oak door of the room pushed open. A man in a crisp white coat walked in, followed by two nurses.

"Ah, you're awake," Dr. Evans said, offering a polite, practiced smile. "I'm Dr. Evans. You suffered a mild strain to your rotator cuff and a superficial laceration on your abdomen. We've stitched and dressed the wound. You're going to be fine."

Harley didn't smile back. Her eyes darted around the room. It looked like a penthouse suite at the Ritz, not a hospital room.

"Where is the boy?" Harley demanded, her voice raspy.

Dr. Evans stopped at the foot of the bed. He didn't answer. Instead, he took a step back and bowed his head slightly, clearing the doorway.

A man walked into the room.

He wore a tailored charcoal-grey suit that screamed wealth. He had one hand casually tucked into his trouser pocket. His footsteps were silent, but his presence sucked all the oxygen out of the room.

Behind him walked Kian, and holding onto Kian's hand was Leo.

The moment Leo saw Harley sitting up, he ripped his hand away from Kian. He ran on his short legs across the room and stopped right beside Harley's bed. He stared at her with wide, anxious eyes.

Harley felt the tension in her chest release. She let out a breath. Without thinking, she reached her hand out and gently stroked Leo's soft hair.

Leo didn't flinch. He leaned into her palm, rubbing his cheek against her knuckles like a stray cat that had finally found warmth.

Standing at the foot of the bed, Jaidyn Miles watched the interaction. His ice-blue eyes narrowed. A complex, dark emotion flickered in his gaze.

Jaidyn raised his hand and flicked his wrist.

Dr. Evans and the nurses immediately turned around and walked out, pulling the heavy door shut behind them. The click of the lock echoed in the quiet room.

Jaidyn pulled a leather armchair closer to the bed and sat down. He crossed his long legs. He stared at Harley. His gaze was heavy, analytical, and deeply invasive. He looked at her not as a person, but as a priceless asset he was evaluating for purchase.

Harley met his stare head-on. She didn't shrink back. Her eyes were sharp, guarded, and feral.

"Jaidyn Miles," he said. His voice was a low, magnetic baritone that vibrated in the quiet room.

Harley's heart gave a hard thump against her ribs. She knew that name. Everyone in New York knew that name. He was the apex predator of Wall Street. A man who destroyed companies for sport.

She kept her face completely blank. "Harley Vance," she replied flatly.

Jaidyn slowly reached up and adjusted his left cufflink. It was a calculated, predatory movement.

"You saved my sole heir, Miss Vance," Jaidyn said smoothly. "The Miles family does not leave debts unpaid."

Kian stepped forward from the shadows. "Whatever you want, Miss Vance. A penthouse in Tribeca, a fleet of sports cars, or a direct line to the top casting directors in Hollywood. Name your price."

Harley let out a short, cold laugh. She pulled her hand away from Leo's hair and crossed her arms over her chest, wincing slightly at the pull on her stitches.

"I didn't pull him out of that vent for a reward," Harley said, her voice dripping with disdain. "I did it because I'm not a monster who lets a child burn up with a fever in a locked room. Keep your cars."

Jaidyn uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. The physical distance between them closed. The heavy scent of cedar and expensive cologne washed over her.

"Noble," Jaidyn murmured, his eyes locking onto hers. "But stupid. Especially for a woman whose bank accounts are currently overdrawn, who is three months behind on rent for a dilapidated apartment in Brooklyn, and who risks her neck doing cheap stunt work just to buy groceries."

Harley's blood ran cold. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second.

While she was unconscious, this man had completely stripped her life bare. He had dug through her finances, her address, her miserable existence.

Anger flared hot in her chest. She threw the soft blanket off her legs. She reached over to the bedside table and slammed her palm down on the call button. When the intercom buzzed, she spoke with absolute, freezing authority. "Send a nurse in to take this IV out. I'm discharging myself."

"Hey!" Kian shouted, stepping forward.

Harley ignored him. She didn't wait for the nurse. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet hitting the cold floor, ready to walk out.

Jaidyn didn't move to stop her. He just sat there, watching the fierce determination in her eyes.

"Five million dollars," Jaidyn said.

Harley froze. Her bare feet hovered an inch above the floor.

Five million. That number echoed in her skull. It was exactly what she needed. It would fully fund Atelier L.A.N. It would pay for the patent lawyers to destroy Alyssa. It was the key to her revenge.

Jaidyn watched her back stiffen. He saw the exact moment her pride collided with her desperation. A cold, victorious smirk touched the corner of his mouth.

He had her.