The night air outside The Plaza Hotel is sharp, but it does nothing to cool the sudden, frantic beating of Chantal's heart.

She stands at the edge of the red carpet, pulling her black coat tighter around her shoulders. She scans the crowd of wealthy socialites and businessmen, looking for Dell.

Suddenly, a large, heavy hand clamps down on her waist.

Chantal gasps, her entire body flinching. She whips her head around and crashes straight into Dell's solid chest.

He is wearing a custom tuxedo that makes him look devastatingly dangerous. His dark eyes lock onto hers, burning with an intensity she hasn't seen in weeks.

He leans down, his mouth hovering just an inch from her ear.

"Relax your shoulders," Dell orders, his voice a low, rough whisper.

Chantal's body goes completely rigid. She hates the feeling of his hand on her waist. She hates the sudden heat radiating from his body. She places her hands on his chest, trying to push him away.

Dell's arm tightens like a steel band. He jerks her flush against his body, eliminating every millimeter of space between them.

"Smile," he growls against her ear. "Unless you want to breach the contract."

Chantal's jaw clenches so hard her teeth ache. She forces the corners of her mouth up into a rigid, fake smile and tilts her head to look at him.

At that exact second, from the dark shadows across the street, three rapid, faint flashes of light go off.

Dell's eyes flick toward the flashes. A dark, satisfied gleam appears in his eyes.

He keeps his arm firmly locked around her waist and guides her toward the golden doors of the hotel.

As they walk, the high slit of the red dress falls open, exposing her bare leg to the freezing air and the stares of the men around them.

Dell notices the stares. His jaw ticks. He subtly shifts his body, blocking her from the view of the other guests.

They step into the massive, glittering lobby. The heat hits them instantly.

Chantal shrugs off her heavy black coat. The dress dips low in the back, exposing the smooth skin of her spine.

Dell's eyes drop to her bare back. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He quickly takes the coat and hands it to the coat check attendant.

He places his hand on the bare skin of her lower back. His touch is scorching hot.

He guides her to the VIP elevator. The doors slide shut, sealing them in a small, enclosed space.

Chantal takes a breath, and her lungs fill with the scent of his cologne. Cedarwood, dark tobacco, and something uniquely him.

The scent hits her brain like a physical blow.

Her vision blurs. The memory flash from weeks ago hits her again, but this time it is violent and vivid. The smell of that exact cologne mixed with sweat. The feeling of heavy hands pinning her down. The darkness.

Her chest heaves. She feels like she is suffocating. She presses her back against the elevator wall, her fingers digging into the brass railing.

"What is wrong with you?" Dell asks, his voice sharp, noticing her sudden panic.

Chantal shakes her head violently, forcing the memory back into the dark corners of her mind. She pinches her palm until the pain grounds her.

"Nothing," she snaps, her voice trembling slightly.

The elevator dings. The doors open to the penthouse VIP floor.

Dell's expression hardens back into a mask of corporate ruthlessness.

"We are meeting important people," Dell says, his voice cold. "Smile. Act like you belong to me."

"As you wish, boss," Chantal spits back, the venom in her voice clear.

Dell's lips twitch into a dark smirk. He offers her his arm.

Chantal takes a deep breath, wraps her hand around his bicep, and walks toward the heavy oak doors at the end of the hall.

The heavy oak doors of the VIP suite swing open, releasing a cloud of expensive cigar smoke and the low hum of power.

Chantal walks in, her hand gripping Dell's arm.

Two men are sitting on the plush leather sofas. One is Jay Elliott, Dell's Chief Technology Officer, holding a glass of amber liquid. The other man sits in the center. He radiates quiet authority. Senator Chauncey Lewis.

Jay whistles low. "Well, well. You finally let the wife out of the cage, Dell."

Dell ignores the comment. He leads Chantal to the sofa and introduces them.

When Chantal hears the name Chauncey Lewis, she extends her hand. As their fingers touch, a bizarre, unexplainable wave of familiarity washes over her. His eyes, a shade so similar to her own, hold a warmth that instantly puts her at ease.

Chauncey holds her hand for a second longer than necessary. His sharp eyes scan her face, a look of deep curiosity flashing across his features.

"It is a pleasure, Chantal," Chauncey says, releasing her hand. He smiles warmly. "What do you do to keep yourself busy?"

"I am the Design Director at Lumina Jewelry," Chantal says, expecting the politician to immediately lose interest.

Instead, Chauncey leans forward. "Lumina. You are dealing with the global supply chain disruptions in the diamond market, then. How are you pivoting the brand?"

Chantal's eyes light up. The crushing anxiety of the night vanishes. She sits forward and begins to explain her strategy for ethical sourcing and rebranding.

She speaks with fierce intelligence and passion. She is completely in her element.

Chauncey listens intently, nodding, his eyes filled with genuine admiration. "That is brilliant. I have several contacts in Washington who would be very interested in your new line. I will introduce you."

Chantal beams. A real, dazzling smile breaks across her face. "Thank you, Senator. That would mean everything to me."

Beside her, the temperature drops below freezing.

Dell is staring at the smile on Chantal's face. A smile she has never, not once, given to him.

A dark, violent wave of jealousy crashes through his chest. His jaw clenches so tight his teeth grind together.

Chantal reaches for her champagne glass on the table.

Before her fingers can touch the crystal stem, Dell's large hand shoots out. He grabs her glass.

He lifts it to his mouth and downs the entire glass of champagne in one aggressive swallow, his eyes locked dead on Chauncey.

The conversation dies instantly. Jay raises an eyebrow, highly amused by the sudden tension.

Dell slams the empty glass down on the glass table. The sharp crack makes Chantal jump.

"Do not make promises to my wife, Senator," Dell says. His voice is dangerously low. "She doesn't need your contacts."

Chantal stares at him in absolute shock. Her face burns with embarrassment.

Chauncey blinks, surprised by the hostility, but he recovers smoothly. "Just offering a helping hand to a talented woman, Dell. No offense intended."

Chantal is furious. Under the table, out of sight, she lifts the sharp heel of her shoe and stomps down hard on Dell's foot.

Dell does not even flinch. His face remains a mask of stone.

Before Chantal can pull her foot back, Dell's hand drops beneath the table. His long fingers wrap around her bare ankle like a vice.

He squeezes. Hard.

Chantal gasps, her spine snapping straight. The physical warning shoots up her leg. She freezes, terrified to move.

Dell stands up abruptly, pulling her up with him by her arm.

"We are leaving," Dell announces.

He doesn't wait for a response. He turns and drags Chantal toward the door.

"I am so sorry, Senator!" Chantal manages to call out over her shoulder, stumbling in her high heels as Dell pulls her into the hallway.

The heavy doors shut behind them.

Dell does not let go of her arm. He marches her down the long corridor toward the elevator, his entire body radiating a furious, explosive energy.

The silence in the backseat of the Rolls-Royce is a living, breathing thing.

Chantal sits pressed against the car door, as far away from Dell as physically possible. She rubs her wrist where his grip had bruised her skin. She stares out the window, her chest heaving with unspent anger.

Dell sits in the opposite corner. His arms are crossed over his chest. His eyes are closed, but the rigid line of his jaw shows he is still furious.

The car pulls into the Upper East Side townhouse.

The second the tires stop moving, Chantal shoves the door open. She practically jumps out of the car.

She storms into the house, throws her heavy black coat at Reginald, and marches up the stairs.

Dell follows her, his heavy footsteps echoing on the marble floor. He watches her flee to her bedroom like he is a monster.

Chantal slams her bedroom door. She kicks off the painful heels. She unzips the suffocating red dress and lets it fall to the floor. She digs through her drawers and pulls out the ugliest, thickest flannel pajamas she owns.

She pulls them on. Her stomach lets out a loud, painful rumble.

She realizes she hasn't eaten a single thing since lunch. The stress of the night has hollowed her out.

She grabs her phone, opens a delivery app, and orders a massive portion of Pad Thai from a local place. She selects the highest spice level available.

Forty minutes later, the security buzzer rings.

Chantal creeps out of her room. The house is completely dark and silent.

She walks down the stairs, takes the greasy paper bag from the security guard at the front door, and heads into the massive, marble-covered kitchen.

She sets the plastic container on the kitchen island and pops the lid. The sharp, stinging smell of chili oil and garlic fills the air.

She turns around to open the refrigerator to grab a bottle of ice water.

Suddenly, the overhead kitchen lights snap on, blinding her.

Chantal gasps and spins around.

Dell is standing in the doorway. He is wearing a dark gray silk pajama shirt and matching pants. His hair is slightly messy.

He walks into the kitchen and pulls out a barstool at the island. He sits down directly in front of her food.

"What are you doing down here?" Chantal snaps, clutching the cold water bottle to her chest.

Dell doesn't answer. He looks down at the plastic container of noodles.

He picks up the cheap plastic fork lying on the counter. He twirls a massive bite of the red, oil-soaked noodles and shoves it into his mouth.

Chantal's eyes widen in horror. "Are you insane? That's mine!"

She lunges forward to grab the container.

Dell easily lifts the plastic bowl high into the air, completely out of her reach.

He chews the noodles. The extreme spice detonates on his tongue, a brutal assault his palate is entirely unprepared for. A fire spreads down his throat, but he forces himself to swallow, his jaw tight, refusing to show any weakness.

His eyebrows pull together. The corners of his eyes instantly turn red.

He swallows it down, refusing to cough. He looks at her, his eyes watering, but his face locked in an arrogant smirk.

"Why are you eating my garbage food?" Chantal yells, furious and utterly confused by his bizarre behavior.

"Consider it a penalty," Dell says, his voice slightly hoarse from the chili oil burning his throat. "For flirting with another man in front of me."

Chantal lets out a loud, incredulous laugh. "You are a child! A petty, tyrannical child!"

She points her finger directly at his face.

Dell slams the plastic container down on the marble counter. He reaches out and grabs her pointing finger, pulling her violently forward.

Chantal's stomach hits the edge of the marble island. She is suddenly inches from his face.

His chest is rising and falling rapidly. The heat radiating from him is overwhelming. The air between them crackles with a sudden, dangerous electricity.

Dell stares at her mouth. He lets out a harsh breath.

He releases her hand, grabs the bottle of ice water from her grip, and downs half of it in three massive gulps.

He slams the bottle down, turns, and walks out of the kitchen, leaving Chantal staring after him, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.