The second-floor private lounge was a sanctuary of extreme wealth. Dark mahogany paneled the walls, and the air smelled of expensive cigars and aged leather.

Gisele pushed the heavy door open.

Channing was sprawled across a massive silk sofa, his tie undone, intensely focused on a video game playing on an eighty-inch screen. He didn't even look up when she walked in.

"Close the door," he muttered, mashing the buttons on his controller. "The noise from downstairs is giving me a migraine."

Gisele closed the door quietly. She walked over to the edge of the sofa, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Her stomach was tied in painful knots.

"Channing," she started, her voice soft. "I need to talk to you about the hospital. The billing department called again. If I don't have the transfer by tomorrow-"

"Gisele, please," Channing groaned, pausing the game and throwing his head back against the cushions. "I told you I'm not in the mood. Go to the bar and pour me a whiskey. Three cubes of ice. Make yourself useful."

The dismissal was a slap to the face. Gisele's fingernails dug into her palms. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him her mother was dying, but she swallowed the bile rising in her throat. She needed his money.

She turned and walked to the crystal bar cart in the corner. She picked up the heavy decanter, her hands shaking slightly, and poured the amber liquid over the ice.

The glass door leading to the private terrace suddenly slid open.

A gust of cold night air blew into the room, bringing with it the sharp scent of cedarwood.

Gisele's hand jerked. The crystal tongs hit the side of the glass with a sharp clink. Her entire body went rigid.

Constantine walked into the room. He held a thick leather folder in one hand. He didn't even glance at Gisele. He walked straight to the single leather armchair at the head of the room-the seat of power-and sat down, crossing his long legs. He opened the folder and began reading.

The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. The air became heavy, suffocating.

Channing immediately sat up straight, tossing the game controller onto the rug. He smoothed his hair, his lazy demeanor vanishing into nervous energy.

Gisele picked up the whiskey glass. She walked over to Channing and handed it to him.

"Thank you," Channing said quickly, taking a sip. He looked at his brother. "Constantine, do you want a drink?"

Constantine didn't look up from his papers. "Sparkling water. No ice."

Channing snapped his fingers at Gisele, pointing to the bar. "You heard him. Go."

Gisele's jaw clenched. She was his girlfriend, not the hired help. But with Constantine sitting there, radiating cold authority, she didn't dare cause a scene. She turned back to the bar and poured a glass of sparkling water.

"And pick up my controller," Channing ordered from the sofa.

Gisele walked back. She set the water down on the glass coffee table in front of Constantine. Then, she bent down to pick up the controller from the rug.

Her dress had a slightly low neckline. As she bent over, she felt a sudden, intense prickle of heat on the back of her neck.

She glanced up.

Constantine wasn't looking at his papers anymore. His dark gray eyes were fixed directly on her. His gaze was heavy, dark, and burning with a suppressed, violent energy. He was watching her bend over for his brother.

Gisele snatched the controller and stood up quickly, her face burning with a mixture of shame and a strange, terrifying heat.

Constantine slowly shifted his gaze to the glass of water she had placed in front of him.

He stared at it for a long moment. Then, his jaw ticked.

"There is a fingerprint on the rim of this glass," Constantine said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

Gisele froze. "I... I held it by the base."

Constantine finally looked up at her. His eyes were devoid of any warmth. "Take it back. Wash your hands. Bring me a clean glass. I don't drink from dirty things."

The insult was so blatant, so intentionally cruel, that Gisele felt the blood drain from her face. Her stomach plummeted.

Channing let out a short, nervous laugh. "Jesus, Gisele. You're so clumsy. Go wash it. Try to act like you've been in a nice house before."

Gisele stared at Channing. Her boyfriend. The man who was supposed to protect her. He was laughing at her humiliation to score points with his brother.

A cold, dead feeling began to spread through Gisele's chest.

She picked up the glass without a word. She walked into the small attached kitchenette and turned on the sink. The sound of the water running covered the sound of her ragged breathing. She gripped the edges of the marble counter, her knuckles turning white. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back the tears of pure, unadulterated rage.

She saw the dishwasher, but knew that wouldn't be good enough. Her eyes scanned the pristine glass-fronted cabinets. Deep in the back of a lower cupboard, she found what she was looking for: a cardboard box of new crystal tumblers, still sealed from the manufacturer. She ripped the tape with her fingernail, pulled one out, its surface cold and untouched, and poured the sparkling water.

She walked back out and placed it gently on the table.

Constantine watched her face. He saw the dead, hollow look in her eyes. A muscle in his jaw feathered violently. He thought she was enduring this humiliation because she loved Channing. The thought made his blood boil with a toxic, irrational jealousy.

Channing tugged at his collar. "Gisele, come here. My tie is choking me. Fix it."

Gisele stood perfectly still for a second. Then, moving like a robot, she walked over to Channing. She stood between his knees. She looked down, her fingers reaching out to untie the silk knot.

Constantine's hands gripped the leather folder. The leather creaked under the immense pressure of his fingers. He watched her soft hands touch his brother's chest.

SLAM.

Constantine slammed the heavy folder shut. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the quiet room.

Channing jumped, violently shoving Gisele away from him.

Gisele stumbled backward, her heel catching on the rug. She fell hard onto her knees, the impact sending a sharp jolt of pain up her legs.

Constantine stood up. His towering frame dominated the room. He looked down at Gisele on the floor, his eyes blazing with a terrifying, destructive fury.

"This is a private family lounge," Constantine snarled, his voice vibrating with rage. He looked at Channing. "Not a cheap motel room for you to grope your hired company. Get her out of my sight before I have security throw her out."

The words were a brutal, fatal blow.

Channing's face went pale. He looked at his furious brother, then down at Gisele.

"You heard him," Channing spat at her, his voice dripping with venom to save his own ego. "Get out, Gisele. You're embarrassing me."

Gisele slowly stood up. Her knees ached. But the pain in her body was nothing compared to the absolute, freezing clarity in her mind.

She didn't cry. She didn't argue.

She looked at Channing. She saw him for exactly what he was: a weak, pathetic coward.

Then she looked at Constantine. She met his furious, burning gaze with eyes that were completely dead.

She turned around and walked out of the room. She closed the heavy mahogany door behind her, sealing the two monsters inside.

Gisele walked through the grand foyer of the estate like a ghost. The music from the ballroom sounded like underwater noise. She pushed open the massive front doors and stepped out onto the portico.

A violent Long Island thunderstorm had rolled in. Sheets of freezing rain lashed against the marble steps, driven by a howling wind. The driveway was empty. No taxis. No ride-shares. Just a wall of black water.

Gisele stood under the awning, shivering violently in her thin black dress. She wrapped her arms around herself, her teeth chattering.

Suddenly, the deafening roar of a V8 engine echoed from the underground garage.

A bright red Ferrari shot up the ramp, its tires screeching on the wet pavement. It skidded to a halt right in front of the portico.

The tinted passenger window rolled down.

Channing was in the driver's seat, wearing dark sunglasses despite the night. Sitting next to him, laughing and holding a bottle of champagne, was a stunning blonde woman in a dress that barely covered her chest.

Gisele's stomach violently heaved. The betrayal was so sudden, so brazen, it took her breath away.

Channing leaned over the blonde, looking at Gisele with absolute boredom. "I'm going to the city. Constantine ruined my night. Don't wait up."

Panic, raw and desperate, clawed its way up Gisele's throat. The hospital. The money.

She ran down the marble steps, the freezing rain instantly soaking her hair and dress. She grabbed the edge of the passenger window, ignoring the blonde's disgusted look.

"Channing, please!" Gisele screamed over the sound of the engine and the rain. "My mother! They're going to kick her out tomorrow! Just give me the loan you promised. Please!"

Channing rolled his eyes, a look of profound annoyance crossing his face. "Jesus, Gisele. You are a broken record. You ruin everything with your depressing poverty."

He reached into the center console. He pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills.

He didn't hand them to her. He threw them.

The heavy stack of cash hit Gisele in the chest and exploded. Dozens of Benjamin Franklins fluttered into the air, instantly caught by the wind and the driving rain, scattering across the muddy driveway.

"Buy yourself a cab," Channing sneered.

He hit the gas. The Ferrari roared, its rear tires kicking up a spray of dirty water that splashed across Gisele's legs, before disappearing down the long driveway.

Gisele stood alone in the torrential rain. The freezing water plastered her dress to her skin. She looked down at the hundred-dollar bills floating in the muddy puddles around her feet.

She didn't bend down to pick them up.

Her dignity was dead, but she wouldn't scrape it off the pavement.

"Miss."

Gisele turned slowly. The estate's head butler was standing under the awning, holding a large black umbrella. His face was a mask of polite disdain.

"Mr. Warner requested that you not loiter at the front entrance," the butler said coldly. "If you are unable to leave due to the weather, I have prepared a room for you in the staff quarters at the back of the house."

He wasn't offering hospitality. He was putting her in her place.

Gisele nodded numbly. She followed him around the side of the massive house, the wind biting through her soaked clothes.

The staff room was tiny, smelling of bleach and cheap linen. The moment the butler closed the door, leaving her alone, Gisele's legs gave out.

She slid down the wooden door, hitting the floor hard. She pulled her knees to her chest, buried her face in her arms, and let out a raw, agonizing sob. She cried until her throat was raw, mourning her mother, her pride, and the two years she had wasted on a monster.

After what felt like hours, her phone buzzed in her clutch.

It was a text from her younger brother, Miles.

Hospital just called. Mom's heart rate dropped again. They need the money by 8 AM or they stop the expensive meds. Please tell me you got it.

Gisele stared at the screen. Her vision blurred.

She wiped her eyes fiercely with the back of her hand. She couldn't break down. She stripped off the freezing, wet dress and found an oversized, faded cotton nightgown in the small closet. She pulled it on, shivering as the dry fabric touched her icy skin.

Her stomach let out a painful, hollow cramp. She hadn't eaten since yesterday morning. If she was going to fight tomorrow, she needed food.

She opened the door and crept down the dark, narrow servant hallways. The house was dead silent. It was past 2 AM.

She found the massive, industrial-grade main kitchen. Only a single, dim amber light burned over the massive marble island.

Gisele moved silently on bare feet. She didn't dare touch the expensive refrigerators. She opened a dry pantry and found a cheap box of plain spaghetti.

She filled a pot with water, turned on the gas stove, and watched the blue flames flicker. She stood there, staring at the water, her mind racing with desperate plans to find investors.

A soft, distinct sound of a leather slipper scuffing against the marble floor broke the silence.

Gisele froze. The wooden spoon in her hand slipped, clattering loudly against the edge of the metal pot.

She spun around.

Constantine was standing in the arched doorway of the kitchen.

He was wearing a dark gray silk robe, tied loosely at the waist, revealing a V of hard, muscular chest. He held an empty crystal water glass in one hand.

His dark, predatory eyes locked onto her, pinning her to the spot.

The silence in the kitchen was deafening, broken only by the hiss of the gas burner behind Gisele.

Constantine stood perfectly still in the doorway. His gaze slowly dragged down from her wet, tangled hair, over the oversized, cheap cotton nightgown that swallowed her frame, down to her bare, pale feet standing on the cold marble floor.

His jaw ticked. The muscle feathered under his skin.

Gisele's heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She immediately reached back and twisted the knob on the stove, killing the flame. She shrank back against the counter, her hands gripping the edge of the marble so hard her knuckles ached.

Constantine stepped into the kitchen. The silk of his robe whispered against his legs. Every step he took felt like a predator claiming its territory. The sheer size of him in the dim light was suffocating.

He walked straight to the massive marble island, directly across from her. He slammed the empty crystal glass down onto the stone. The sharp crack made Gisele flinch.

"I-I'm sorry," Gisele stammered, her voice raspy from crying. "I was just... I was hungry. I didn't touch anything expensive. Just the dry pasta."

Constantine let out a low, dark scoff. His eyes flicked to the pot of plain, unseasoned water.

"Playing the starving orphan now?" he mocked, his voice a lethal, vibrating baritone. "Your performance is getting sloppy, Miss Cooper. Where is your audience? Channing left you."

The reminder of Channing's betrayal felt like a knife twisting in her gut. Gisele bit her lower lip, tasting the faint metallic tang of blood again.

Constantine watched her teeth sink into her lip. His eyes darkened instantly. He turned away from her, walking to the built-in water dispenser. He filled his glass, pulled a small silver pillbox from his robe pocket, and tossed two white migraine pills into his mouth.

He threw his head back and swallowed the water. The movement exposed the thick, corded muscles of his neck and the sharp bob of his Adam's apple.

Gisele couldn't help but stare. The raw, masculine power radiating from him was terrifying, yet impossible to look away from.

Constantine lowered the glass. He caught her staring.

He set the glass down slowly. He turned fully toward her, placing both hands flat on the island, leaning his weight forward. The distance between them suddenly felt dangerously small.

"Since my brother is currently entertaining a blonde in Manhattan," Constantine said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, gravelly whisper, "are you down here looking for a new target to fund your little projects?"

The insult hit her like a physical slap. The heat of pure, blinding anger rushed into Gisele's face.

"You are a disgusting, arrogant bastard," she hissed, her voice shaking with rage.

She didn't care about the pasta anymore. She pushed off the counter, intending to storm past him and get out of this suffocating room.

She moved too fast.

Her bare foot hit a small puddle of water near the sink.

Her heel slipped. The world tilted violently. Gisele gasped as her feet flew out from under her, her body falling backward toward the hard marble floor.

A blur of dark silk moved faster than she could process.

A massive, incredibly strong arm wrapped around her waist like a vice.

Constantine caught her mid-fall. The momentum yanked her forward, slamming her body hard against his solid chest.

The air rushed out of Gisele's lungs. Her hands instinctively flew up, flattening against his chest to brace herself. Beneath the thin silk of his robe, his muscles were rock-hard and burning hot.

Constantine didn't let go. He pulled her flush against him, his arm locked around her lower back, supporting her entire weight.

The physical impact was electric. The scent of his cedar cologne and the faint, bitter smell of the medicine on his breath enveloped her completely.

Gisele looked up, her breath hitching in her throat.

Constantine was staring down at her. His face was inches away. The cold, mocking arrogance in his gray eyes was completely gone. In its place was a violent, raging storm of raw, unfiltered desire. His pupils were blown so wide his eyes looked almost black.

He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly against her palms.

"Let me go," Gisele whispered. Her voice trembled, not from anger, but from a sudden, terrifying spike of adrenaline.

Constantine's arm tightened around her waist, pulling her hips flush against his. The physical evidence of his arousal was undeniable, pressing hard against her stomach through the thin cotton of her nightgown.

Gisele gasped, her eyes widening in shock.

Constantine's jaw clenched so hard it looked like the bone might snap. He lowered his head, his nose brushing against her temple. His breath was scorching hot against her skin.

"If you move right now," he growled, his voice a dark, ragged vibration against her ear, "I will not be held responsible for what happens on this floor."

The threat paralyzed her. Her heart hammered wildly against his chest. She was trapped in the arms of the man who hated her, feeling the undeniable, violent proof of his physical obsession with her.

Behind them, the water in the pot suddenly boiled over.

The boiling water hit the hot gas burner with a loud, aggressive hiss.

The sound broke the spell like a gunshot.

Constantine flinched. He released her waist so abruptly Gisele stumbled backward, catching the edge of the island to stay upright.

Constantine took three rapid steps back. His chest was heaving. He ran a shaking hand through his dark hair, his face twisting into a mask of absolute self-loathing and disgust.

He looked at her, his eyes cold and dead again.

"Clean up this mess," he ordered, his voice harsh and breathless. "And don't ever come near me again."

He turned and practically fled the kitchen, the silk of his robe snapping around his legs.

Gisele stood frozen, her entire body trembling violently. She touched her stomach, where the heat of his body still burned through her clothes. The monster didn't just hate her. He wanted her. And that was the most terrifying thing of all.