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.

Harley slowly turned her head. She stood her ground, her bare feet planted firmly on the cold floor, refusing to show a single ounce of intimidation. She looked down at Jaidyn.

"Five million dollars buys what, exactly?" Harley asked, her voice dangerously calm.

Jaidyn didn't answer. He simply tilted his head toward his brother.

Kian opened his black leather briefcase. He pulled out a thick, beautifully bound legal document and held it out to Harley.

Harley took it. The heavy paper felt like a weight in her hands. She looked at the cover page.

Special Companionship & Non-Disclosure Agreement.

She flipped to the first page. Her eyes scanned the dense legal jargon.

Clause 1: The Contractor (Harley Vance) shall relocate to the primary residence of the Client (Jaidyn Miles) for a period of six (6) months to serve as a full-time emotional anchor for the minor, Leo Miles.

Harley frowned. A live-in nanny? For five million?

She flipped the page. Her eyes widened as she read the next section.

Clause 4: Personal Presentation. The Contractor must adhere to a specific aesthetic profile. Wardrobe will be provided, consisting primarily of white dresses. Hair must be maintained long, straight, and dyed to color code 000000 (Jet Black). The Contractor will exclusively wear the provided bespoke perfume (Notes: Lily of the Valley and White Musk).

Harley's stomach churned. A wave of intense nausea hit her.

She wasn't being hired as a nanny. She was being hired as a prop. A living, breathing doll customized to look like someone else.

She looked up at Jaidyn. "What is this sick joke?" she demanded, shaking the papers at him. "You're dictating my hair color? My perfume?"

Jaidyn sat perfectly still. His ice-blue eyes didn't blink. "You possess the single most valuable asset in this transaction, Miss Vance. Your face."

Kian cleared his throat awkwardly, looking away. "Jaidyn, maybe we should phrase it differently-"

"Quiet," Jaidyn snapped, never taking his eyes off Harley.

Harley felt the air leave her lungs. The memory of Colvin throwing the prenup at her face flashed in her mind. Five years ago, she was a tool for a family trust. Today, she was a replacement for a dead woman.

The absolute disgust she felt for these billionaires and their God complexes boiled over.

Harley slammed the file shut. She threw it with all her strength. The heavy document smacked against Jaidyn's chest and clattered to the floor.

"Find another ghost to play dress-up with," Harley spat. "I'm not your dead wife."

Jaidyn's face darkened. The temperature in the room plummeted. He stood up slowly, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the bed.

"Do not let your pride make you stupid," Jaidyn warned, his voice dropping to a lethal register. "Without this money, your little startup studio will be bankrupt before the end of the month. I've seen your cash flow."

Harley's heart skipped a beat. He knew about the studio's financial trouble. But he called it a "little startup studio"-he didn't know she was L.A.N. He only saw the shell company's debt.

She lifted her chin, refusing to show fear. She walked past him, went to the closet, and pulled out her blood-stained hoodie and sweatpants. She walked into the private bathroom and shut the door.

Outside, Leo panicked. He ran to the bathroom door and wrapped his small arms around the doorframe. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaking out, terrified she was leaving.

Inside the bathroom, Harley leaned over the sink. She looked at her pale face in the mirror. She took a deep, shuddering breath, shoving the pity for the boy deep down. She couldn't let herself be chained again.

She changed quickly, wincing as the fabric rubbed against her stitches.

She opened the door. Leo was right there, looking up at her with red, pleading eyes. He grabbed the hem of her hoodie, his small knuckles turning white.

Harley knelt down. She gently pried his fingers open, one by one. "I have to go, Leo," she whispered softly.

Leo shook his head violently. Silent tears poured down his cheeks.

Jaidyn stepped in front of the main door, blocking her exit. He looked down at her. "You are staying."

Harley stood up. She walked right up to him, stopping inches from his chest. She tilted her head back to look him in the eye.

"You can buy Wall Street, Mr. Miles," Harley said, her voice like grinding glass. "But you can't buy me."

Jaidyn looked down at her defiant face. "If you walk out that door, I will make one phone call. You will never work on a film set in this country again."

Harley laughed. It was a harsh, bitter sound. "Do you think I scare easily? Try it."

She stepped forward and slammed her shoulder hard into Jaidyn's chest, forcing him to step aside.

Jaidyn stumbled back half a step. He didn't look angry. Instead, a dark, thrilling light ignited in his eyes. He watched her hand wrap around the brass door handle.

"Are you really going to leave without even writing him a note?" Jaidyn's deep voice echoed behind her.

Harley stopped.