The heavy soundproof door opened with a soft, expensive friction sound against the thick carpet.

A narrow beam of light from the chandelier outside sliced into the dim, shadowy interior of the private room. It illuminated the edge of a velvet sofa.

Claire's pupils contracted violently.

On the sofa, Cooper and Kendall were locked in an intimate, compromising embrace. Cooper had her pinned against the backrest, his hand firm on her waist as he kissed her with a hunger that left no room for doubt.

The click of the door handle broke the silence.

Kendall gasped, breaking the kiss abruptly. She scrambled backward, putting distance between herself and Cooper.

Her hands flew up, hurriedly straightening the collar of her silk blouse and smoothing her skirt with trembling fingers.

Kendall looked up at Claire. In less than a second, tears pooled in her large eyes, making them shine like a frightened deer caught in headlights.

"Claire..." Kendall whimpered, her voice trembling with a perfectly executed sob. "I'm so sorry. I didn't... he just..."

A single tear spilled over her eyelashes and tracked down her flushed cheek. She grabbed her Birkin bag from the floor, keeping her head bowed in shame as she rushed toward the exit.

As Kendall squeezed past Claire in the doorway, the sobbing woman's expression shifted. Where Cooper couldn't see, Kendall's lips curled into a rapid, razor-sharp smirk.

Then she was gone, leaving the door wide open behind her.

Claire stood frozen on the threshold. Her hands balled into fists, her fingernails digging so deeply into her palms that the skin threatened to break. She gripped the wet fabric of her coat, anchoring herself to the floor.

Cooper took his time. He slowly stood up from the sofa, his broad shoulders blocking the dim light. He reached up, his long fingers calmly adjusting the collar of his wrinkled dress shirt.

When he finally turned to look at Claire, his dark eyes were devoid of a single ounce of guilt.

He stepped toward her. His long legs closed the distance between them with predatory grace.

The heavy thud of his leather shoes on the carpet sounded like a pendulum counting down to an execution.

He stopped exactly one inch away from her. The heat radiating from his body and the smell of Kendall's expensive perfume on his skin suffocated Claire. The physical intimidation was absolute.

Suddenly, Cooper's hand shot out. His fingers gripped Claire's chin firmly, forcing her head up to meet his gaze.

Pain flared in her jaw, but she didn't flinch.

He stared down at her pale, rain-streaked face. Pure, unadulterated disgust rolled off him in waves.

"You are pathetic," Cooper growled, his voice a low, vibrating hum of malice in his chest. "Following me like a desperate, obsessed stalker."

Claire's jaw throbbed under his grip, but she refused to meet his eyes. Instead, her gaze dropped stubbornly to his chest.

She watched the fabric of his shirt. She watched the steady, powerful rise and fall of his chest cavity. She listened to the rhythm of his breathing.

He was alive. The heart was beating perfectly. There was no trauma.

A tiny, almost imperceptible sigh of relief slipped past Claire's lips. The tension in her shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch.

That single, tiny expression of relief triggered an explosion in Cooper.

He yanked his hand back as if her skin had burned him. He pulled a crisp white linen handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping his fingers with frantic, violent motions.

"Do not look at me like that," he spat, his chest heaving with rage. "This marriage is nothing but a transaction my grandfather forced down my throat. You are nothing but a gold digger who crawled her way into my house."

Claire swallowed the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. She looked at his flushed face.

"You need to take your anti-rejection meds," she said, her voice completely flat, devoid of any emotion. "It's past nine o'clock."

The words hit Cooper's eardrums and turned his face a dangerous shade of purple. The mention of his medical condition—the ultimate proof of his weakness—was his absolute trigger.

He balled up the handkerchief he had just used to wipe her touch away.

He threw it hard, straight into Claire's face. The linen hit her cheek and fell to the floor.

"My lawyer will be at the apartment tomorrow morning," Cooper said, his voice dropping to a deadly, quiet whisper. "Pack your trash and get out."

He shoved past her, his shoulder hitting hers hard enough to make her stumble.

Claire was left standing alone in the dark, silent room. Through the open door, the faint sounds of Cormac and the others laughing echoed down the hallway.

The pale morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Central Park penthouse, casting long, cold shadows across the living room.

Claire sat on the edge of the freezing silk sofa. She hadn't slept a single second. She was still wearing her thin cotton pajamas, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist to stop the shivering.

The sharp buzz of the front door intercom shattered the dead silence of the apartment.

She stood up, her legs stiff, and walked to the entryway. When she opened the heavy door, Cooper's private attorney stood in the hallway, clutching a thick black leather briefcase. His face was a mask of professional apathy.

He didn't greet her. He simply unzipped the briefcase, pulled out a thick stack of legal documents, and shoved them toward her chest.

Bold, black letters screamed from the cover page: Marital Dissolution Agreement.

"Mr. Guthrie requires your signature immediately," the lawyer said, his tone clipped. "You are expected to vacate these premises by noon today."

Claire took the heavy stack of papers. She flipped to the second page. The terms were brutally clear. She would leave with exactly what she brought into the marriage: absolutely nothing.

But it wasn't the money that made her stomach twist into painful knots.

An image flashed behind her eyes. The erratic green lines on a hospital monitor, the sterile scent of an ICU ward, the life draining away. If she signed these papers, she would be thrown out of the Guthrie family. She would lose all access to Cooper's medical records. She would lose the ability to monitor his diet, his reckless drinking, his medication schedule. She would lose the right to protect the most important thing in the world.

Claire closed the folder. She looked the lawyer dead in the eye.

"I am not signing this," she said, her voice remarkably steady.

The lawyer pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. His professional mask slipped, revealing a sneer of contempt.

"Mrs. Guthrie," he said, the title dripping with sarcasm. "The Guthrie legal department has enough resources to ensure you never find employment or housing in New York City again. Do not play games with us."

Claire clenched her fists at her sides. Her fingernails bit into the raw crescent wounds from the night before. She clamped her mouth shut, refusing to give him a single word of ammunition.

The standoff was broken by the shrill, frantic ringing of the landline on the living room console.

Claire turned her back on the lawyer and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Claire!" It was the head butler from the Hamptons estate. His voice was completely broken, thick with panic and tears. "It's Mr. Sterling! He collapsed in the greenhouse! His heart..."

All the blood drained from Claire's face in a single second. Her fingers went numb. The heavy plastic receiver slipped from her grip, clattering loudly against the hardwood floor.

Sterling Guthrie. Cooper's grandfather. The only man who supported this marriage. The only power in the family capable of keeping Cooper on a leash.

If Sterling died, she had no shield left.

She ignored the lawyer completely. She sprinted down the hallway into the master bedroom, tearing off her pajamas and pulling on the first pair of jeans and a sweater she could find.

She grabbed her purse and the keys to the Porsche. She ran back out, blowing past the lawyer who was still standing in the doorway.

"Delaying this is pointless!" the lawyer shouted after her as she sprinted toward the elevators.

Claire slammed her hand against the elevator button, her breathing shallow and fast.

Five minutes later, she threw the Porsche into drive, the tires screeching against the concrete of the underground garage. She merged violently into the brutal Manhattan morning rush hour traffic.

The car radio was on. A financial anchor's voice filled the cabin.

"Guthrie Group stock is experiencing severe volatility this morning amid unconfirmed rumors regarding the health of patriarch Sterling Guthrie..."

Claire hit the mute button. She grabbed her phone and dialed the internal emergency line for Mount Sinai Hospital.

"This is Claire Guthrie," she said, her voice shaking. "Is the helicopter from the Hamptons inbound?"

"Yes, Mrs. Guthrie. ETA is four minutes to the roof pad."

Claire dropped the phone. She slammed her foot down on the gas pedal.

The Porsche's engine roared. The tires let out a high-pitched squeal as she swerved aggressively between a delivery truck and a cab.

Her hands gripped the leather steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned stark white. Her brain was a chaotic mess of terror. If Sterling didn't survive, the divorce would be finalized by tomorrow, and the heart would be left in the hands of a man who treated his own body like a garbage disposal.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ping on the top-floor VIP wing of Mount Sinai Hospital.

Claire sprinted out of the cab, her chest heaving, her breath burning in her throat. She ran down the pristine white corridor.

The hallway was packed. Men in dark suits-Guthrie Group executives and private security-lined the walls, speaking in hushed, frantic whispers.

At the far end, leaning against the cold marble wall, was Cooper.

He was wearing a bespoke charcoal suit, his tie loosened. The moment he saw Claire running toward him, the temperature in his eyes dropped to absolute zero.

He pushed off the wall and closed the distance between them in three massive strides.

Before Claire could speak, his large hand shot out and clamped around her wrist.

He shoved her backward. Her spine slammed hard against the solid marble wall. A sharp, involuntary grunt of pain escaped her lips as the impact rattled her bones.

Cooper leaned in, pressing his body weight against hers, trapping her completely in his shadow. The scent of stale coffee and pure rage rolled off him.

"Did you do this?" he hissed, his face inches from hers, his teeth bared. "Did you leak the divorce to the press to stress him out? Is this your sick way of stalling?"

Claire gritted her teeth against the agonizing pressure on her wrist. She forced herself to look straight into his furious, dark eyes.

"I didn't say a word to anyone," she whispered fiercely.

Cooper let out a dark, ugly laugh. "Liar."

Before he could tighten his grip, the red light above the resuscitation room flicked off. The heavy doors pushed open, and the Chief of Cardiology stepped out, pulling off his surgical mask.

Cooper instantly dropped Claire's wrist. He turned his back on her and walked quickly to the doctor.

"He's stabilized," the doctor said quietly, wiping sweat from his forehead. "But his heart is failing. Another spike in his blood pressure, another emotional shock, and we will lose him. He wants to see both of you. Now."

Cooper and Claire walked into the dim, machine-filled room, keeping a wide distance between them.

The rhythmic, high-pitched beep of the EKG monitor dominated the silence. Sterling lay on the bed, looking incredibly small, a clear oxygen mask strapped to his pale face.

As they approached, Sterling slowly opened his eyes. He reached up with a trembling hand and pulled the oxygen mask down to his chin.

"Listen to me," the old man wheezed, his voice weak but laced with undeniable authority. He looked directly at Cooper. "If you divorce her... I will strip your voting rights in the family trust. You will lose the company."

Cooper's jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek.

"And," Sterling continued, coughing weakly. "I want an heir. I want you two to start trying for a baby. Immediately."

"Grandpa, you can't be serious," Cooper snapped, his voice rising. "She is a-"

Beep-beep-beep-beep!

The EKG monitor suddenly spiked, the green lines jumping erratically across the screen as Sterling's chest he heave with sudden agitation.

Panic seized Claire. She lunged forward.

Without thinking, she grabbed Cooper's large hand, lacing her fingers tightly through his.

"We aren't divorcing, Grandpa!" Claire said loudly, forcing a bright, desperate smile onto her face. "We just had a stupid fight. We love each other. We'll do exactly what you want. Just please, calm down."

The moment her skin touched his, Cooper's entire body went rigid. He looked down at their joined hands as if she had just handed him a venomous snake. His stomach physically rolled with revulsion.

But the EKG monitor was still screaming. He couldn't pull away. He stood there, frozen, letting her hold his hand.

Sterling stared at their joined hands. Slowly, the tension left his frail shoulders. The monitor's beeping returned to a steady, rhythmic pace. The old man closed his eyes and drifted into a medically induced sleep.

The second they stepped out of the hospital room and the door clicked shut, Cooper violently ripped his hand out of Claire's grip.

He stumbled back a step, plunging his hand into his pocket to retrieve his handkerchief. He scrubbed the back of his hand frantically, his face twisted in absolute disgust.

"You make me sick," he breathed, glaring at her. "You think you won today? I promise you, I will make every second of your life in that apartment a living hell."