The light in the penthouse was assaultive. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, scattering diamonds of light that pierced Felicity's headache.

Barnett didn't let her go. He gripped her waist, his fingers digging into her ribs through the fabric of his jacket. He steered her into the room like a prize heifer at a county fair.

"Look who I found!" Barnett announced to a group of B-list actors near the bar.

Heads turned. The whispering started immediately. It sounded like a hive of bees.

"Is that Felicity Aguilar?"

"Why is she wearing that?"

"I heard they lost everything. Even the Hamptons house."

Felicity kept her head down. She focused on the pattern of the Persian rug. Red. Gold. Black.

Barnett paraded her through the room. He was enjoying this. He was showing everyone that the untouchable girl was now touchable.

Dewitt stood on the mezzanine balcony. He held a glass of scotch. He hadn't taken a sip. He watched Barnett dragging Felicity through the crowd.

Carter Vance walked up to the railing next to him.

"Rough night for the princess," Carter observed. "Barnett is a piece of work. Parading her around like a pet."

Dewitt swirled the amber liquid in his glass. "As long as his pet doesn't have fleas that jump onto my guests."

Down below, a woman in a red dress bumped into Felicity. It was deliberate. A shoulder check.

"Oops!" the woman squealed. Her wine glass tipped. Cabernet splashed all over the front of Barnett's jacket that Felicity was wearing.

The dark stain spread rapidly.

Felicity gasped and stepped back. The cold liquid soaked through to her skin.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," the woman said. Her eyes were bright with malice. It was a stylist Felicity had fired two years ago for stealing jewelry.

Barnett didn't help. He laughed.

"Don't worry about it," he said loud enough for everyone to hear. "It's not like she has anything better to wear underneath."

The circle of people laughed. It was a cruel, low sound.

Felicity felt the heat rising up her neck. She felt naked. Exposed. She instinctively looked up. Toward the balcony. Toward the only person in the room who had more power than Barnett.

Her eyes locked with Dewitt's.

Help me, she pleaded silently.

Dewitt looked at her. He saw the wine stain. He saw the desperation.

He watched the pathetic display for a moment longer, a flicker of contempt in his eyes for the cheap drama unfolding on his marble floors. Then, without a word, he turned his back on the scene completely and faced the city skyline.

Felicity felt her heart stop. He wasn't going to help. He was one of them.

Barnett decided the show was over. He leaned into her ear.

"You're a mess. Let's go get you cleaned up."

He didn't mean cleaned up.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the crowd, toward the hallway that led to the guest suites.

Felicity tried to dig her heels in. "No, I want to go home."

"You don't have a home," Barnett whispered.

He dragged her into the shadows of the corridor.

Up on the balcony, Dewitt watched them disappear into the hallway. The noise of the party seemed to fade into a dull roar. His hand tightened around his glass.

He heard Carter talking about a merger, but the words meant nothing.

All he could see was the look in her eyes. It wasn't the look of a woman playing a game. It was the look of an animal caught in a trap.

Dewitt set his glass down on the railing. It made a sharp clink.

"I need air," he said.

Carter looked confused. "The terrace is that way."

Dewitt turned and walked toward the stairs. Toward the guest wing.

"I know where I'm going."

Barnett shoved her. Felicity stumbled backward and fell onto the plush duvet of the guest bed. The mattress was soft, but the impact jarred her spine.

Barnett kicked the door shut. He didn't lock it. He didn't think he needed to.

He started unbuckling his belt again. The metallic jingle of the buckle sounded like a gun cocking.

"You think Knight is going to save you?" Barnett sneered. "He thinks you're a whore. And tonight, you're going to earn the title."

Felicity scrambled backward, pushing herself up against the headboard. Her hand knocked over a lamp on the nightstand.

"Get away from me!" she screamed.

Barnett lunged. He grabbed her ankle-the same bruised one. He dragged her down the bed.

Felicity kicked him. Her foot connected with his chest. It wasn't a strong kick, but it surprised him.

Barnett grunted. He let go of her leg and slapped her.

Hard.

Felicity tasted blood again. Her lip split open.

Barnett climbed onto the bed, straddling her legs. He reached for his tie, which was still wrapped around his hand.

"I'm going to teach you some manners."

Felicity's hand scrabbled blindly on the nightstand. Her fingers brushed against cool glass.

A heavy crystal vase. Filled with water and orchids.

She grabbed the neck of the vase. Water sloshed out, soaking the sheet.

As Barnett reached for her throat, Felicity swung.

She aimed for his head. But her hands were shaking too much. The vase smashed into his shoulder.

The sound was sickening. A heavy thud followed by the crash of crystal shattering against the headboard.

Barnett howled. He rolled off her, clutching his shoulder.

"You bitch! You crazy bitch!"

Felicity didn't wait. She rolled off the other side of the bed. Her feet got tangled in the duvet. She hit the floor hard.

She crawled toward the door.

Barnett was up. He was hurt, but he was angry. He grabbed the back of the jacket she was wearing.

"Where do you think you're going?"

He yanked her back. Felicity's fingernails clawed at the carpet. She reached for the door handle.

Suddenly, the handle turned.

The door flew open with such force that it banged against the wall.

Dewitt stood there. He filled the doorway. Two security guards stood behind him like stone pillars.

Dewitt looked at the scene. The shattered glass. The water soaking the bed. Barnett clutching his shoulder. Felicity on the floor, bleeding, her dress hanging by a thread.

Barnett pointed at Felicity. "She attacked me! She's insane! Look at my shoulder!"

Dewitt didn't look at Barnett. He looked at the blood on Felicity's chin.

He stepped into the room. His shoe crunched on a piece of crystal.

"Get out," Dewitt said.

Barnett blinked. "But-"

"I said get out. Before I have you thrown off the balcony."

Dewitt's voice was quiet. It wasn't a shout. It was a statement of fact.

Barnett looked at Dewitt's eyes. He saw something there that made him forget about the pain in his shoulder.

He grabbed his jacket from the floor. He glared at Felicity.

"You'll pay for this," he muttered.

Then he pushed past Dewitt and ran.

The door clicked shut. The silence in the room was heavy. It pressed against Felicity's ears.

She was still on the floor. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around herself. She was shaking so hard her teeth chattered.

Dewitt stood over her. He looked at the exposed skin of her back where the dress had torn completely. He saw the map of bruises. Old yellow ones. Fresh purple ones.

He felt a muscle in his jaw jump.

His eyes narrowed at the jacket she was clutching-Barnett's. With a motion of pure revulsion, he ripped the garment from her shoulders and tossed it into the corner as if it were contaminated. He took off his own suit jacket. He dropped it over her.

"Put it on," he said.

Felicity flinched as the heavy fabric landed on her. She grabbed the lapels, pulling it tight. It smelled like sandalwood and expensive tobacco. It smelled like safety.

She tried to stand up. Her ankle gave way. She gasped.

Dewitt made a noise in his throat. Impatience.

He reached a hand down to help her.

Felicity scrambled back. She pushed herself along the floor until her back hit the wall. Her eyes were wide, terrified.

"Don't touch me!"

Dewitt's hand froze in mid-air. His eyes narrowed.

"I'm not him," he said coldly.

He withdrew his hand. He walked to the mini-bar and poured a glass of water. He didn't pour whiskey. He poured water.

He walked back and held it out.

"Drink this. Then fix yourself up. I don't want Henderson finding a corpse in the guest room."

Felicity looked at the glass. Then at him. She slowly reached out. Her hand shook so much that water sloshed over the rim.

She took the glass and drank. She drained it in one go.

"Thank you," she whispered. Her voice sounded like sandpaper.

Dewitt walked to the velvet armchair in the corner. He sat down and lit a cigarette. He crossed his legs.

"You have five minutes," he said.

Felicity blinked. "You're... staying?"

"This is my room," Dewitt said. "And I don't trust you not to steal the silverware."

It was a lie. He was staying because he saw the way she looked at the window. He was staying because he didn't trust her not to jump.

Felicity grabbed the front of his jacket. She stood up, leaning heavily on her good leg.

She limped into the bathroom and locked the door.

Dewitt listened to the click of the lock. He took a drag of his cigarette. His hand was trembling slightly. Just a little.

He looked at the blood on the carpet.

He pulled out his phone. He texted Henderson.

Bring a first aid kit. And a woman's outfit. Something warm. Now.