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.