The heavy bass of club music vibrated through the floorboards of the boutique hotel in SOHO.

Adriane gripped her cane, stepping out of the elevator onto the top floor. The air was thick with a sweet, cloying incense that made her lungs feel heavy.

Brandi was waiting at the door of the penthouse suite. She grabbed Adriane's elbow and pulled her inside.

The music in the suite was deafening. It completely drowned out any noise from the hallway.

"Drink this, you look tense," Brandi shouted over the music, pressing a cold glass into Adriane's hand.

Adriane was exhausted and parched. Without thinking, she lifted the glass and took a large gulp. The icy club soda slid down her dry throat.

"I'll go get the costumes," Brandi said. She walked into the bedroom and quietly locked the door behind her.

Less than three minutes later, Adriane's stomach cramped.

A sudden, unnatural heat flared in her lower belly. Her heart rate spiked, hammering wildly against her ribs. The gray fog in her vision began to spin dizzily. Her arms and legs felt like they were turning to heavy lead.

Adriane dropped the glass. It shattered on the floor.

Panic seized her throat. The water. The water was spiked.

She tried to stand up, but her knees buckled. Her white cane slipped from her grasp, sinking silently into the thick carpet.

She fell to her hands and knees. She dragged herself toward the wall, her palms scraping against the rough wallpaper, leaving angry red marks on her skin.

Her breathing grew ragged. The drug was moving fast, melting her brain, replacing her fear with a terrifying, burning physical need.

She bit down hard on her own tongue. The sharp, metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth. The intense pain gave her exactly one second of clarity.

Her hand found the cold metal doorknob. She yanked it down and threw her body out into the hallway.

The blast of air conditioning in the corridor hit her burning skin, but it wasn't enough. The drug surged back stronger. She stumbled forward, dragging her hand along the wall, desperately searching for the elevator.

Three floors down, a private Wall Street mixer was in full swing.

Chase Barnett, disgusted by the fake smiles and cheap talk, stepped into the private VIP elevator. He pressed the button for the top floor, needing a moment of silence.

The elevator doors chimed and slid open. Chase stepped out. He reached up and yanked his silk tie loose.

He looked down the long, empty corridor.

His breath stopped.

At the far end of the hall, a woman was stumbling toward him. She was panting heavily. Her trench coat was pulled open, revealing the flushed, sweaty skin of her chest and neck.

It was Adriane.

Chase's pupils dilated. A sickening weight dropped into his stomach.

Adriane heard the heavy footsteps. Her drug-addled brain thought Brandi had come out to get her. She let out a whimpering cry of terror.

She tried to run, but her legs tangled together. She pitched forward, falling hard.

She didn't hit the floor.

She crashed into a wall of solid muscle. The scent of cold mint and expensive cigars wrapped around her.

Chase.

The drug completely destroyed her logic. His scent was the only safe thing she knew. She threw her burning arms around his waist, clinging to him like a drowning woman.

"Please," Adriane sobbed, her voice thick and slurred with desire. "Help me."

Chase stood frozen. He looked down at the woman in his arms. Her face was flushed dark red. Her eyes were glazed over. She was practically begging him to touch her.

At the end of the hallway, Brandi peeked around the corner. She held up an iPad, the red recording light blinking steadily. Phase one was complete.

Chase's large hand clamped down hard on Adriane's waist.

Her skin was burning hot through the thin fabric of her clothes. She trembled violently against his chest, her hips instinctively pressing into him.

Before Chase could speak, Brandi stepped out from the shadows of the hallway.

Brandi walked up to Chase with a sickeningly sweet, apologetic smile. She held out the iPad.

"I am so sorry, Mr. Barnett," Brandi said, playing the role of a high-end madam perfectly. "Ms. Owens is a bit eager tonight. But she has already been booked by another client."

Chase looked at the screen. It displayed a completed crypto transaction. Two hundred thousand dollars. The recipient name was Adriane Owens.

The numbers burned into Chase's retinas. The last thread of his sanity snapped.

He remembered her begging for exactly two hundred thousand dollars in his study. She wasn't lying about needing the money. She was just willing to sell her body to get it.

A wave of violent, possessive rage exploded in his chest.

Chase snatched the iPad from Brandi's hands and smashed it against the wall. The screen shattered into a hundred pieces.

Brandi gasped and jumped back.

Chase turned his eyes on her. They were pitch black and lethal. "Get out of my sight before I kill you."

Brandi didn't wait. She turned and ran for the stairs.

Chase looked down at Adriane. She was writhing against him, whimpering in pain from the drug.

He bent down and scooped her up into his arms. He carried her down the hall and kicked open the door to his private presidential suite.

He slammed the door shut with his foot. The heavy lock clicked into place.

Chase walked over to the massive leather sofa and threw her down.

Adriane let out a soft moan as she hit the cushions. Her unseeing eyes were wide and filled with a hazy, terrifying mix of fear and need.

Chase ripped his tie completely off and threw it on the floor. He stood over her, his chest heaving.

"Is this what you are?" Chase snarled, his voice dripping with venom. "A two-hundred-thousand-dollar whore?"

Adriane couldn't understand the words. The drug was boiling her blood. She only knew that the cold air radiating from him was the only thing that could stop the burning.

She reached up. Her trembling, hot hands grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down.

That single, desperate action set Chase on fire.

He crashed down onto her. He captured her lips in a brutal, punishing kiss. There was no tenderness. It was pure, violent possession. He bit down on her bottom lip until he tasted blood.

Adriane gasped, her lungs burning for air. A single tear escaped her eye and rolled into her hair, but her body betrayed her, arching up to meet his anger.

The sound of tearing fabric filled the silent room.

The pain of his rough hands mixed with the agonizing pleasure of the drug. Adriane thrashed wildly beneath him, her hands grasping for anything to push him away. Her fingers caught the edge of his tailored sleeve, pulling hard against the fabric. A sharp snap echoed in the dark as the chain of his custom black onyx cufflink broke under her desperate grip, sending the heavy metal piece tumbling silently onto the nightstand. Adriane's fingernails dug deeply into the broad muscles of Chase's back, dragging down and leaving long, bloody scratches across his skin.

Chase felt the sting of her nails. It only fueled the dark, twisted satisfaction in his gut. She belonged to him. Only him.

The heavy, suffocating darkness of the suite swallowed them whole.

The punishment lasted for hours. Every touch was a battle, every breath a war of misunderstandings.

Hours later, the drug finally burned itself out. Adriane's body went completely limp. She passed out from sheer exhaustion and pain.

Chase sat up against the headboard. He lit a cigar. The cherry glowed red in the dark. He stared at the bruised, broken woman sleeping beside him, his chest tight with a heavy, unnamable darkness.