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.