Ardella stopped breathing. She pressed her shoulder blades hard against the velvet wallpaper of the hallway, trying to put as much space between them as possible.

Ethelbert did not slow down. His long, powerful legs moved silently across the wool carpet.

In the fraction of a second before they passed each other, Ethelbert shifted his body just an inch toward her.

The cold metal of his suit cufflink brushed against the fabric of her trench coat. It made a tiny, scratching sound.

Ardella's heart violently contracted. The physical contact sent a shockwave through her body. Her brain instantly flashed back to two years ago, to the penthouse, when his hands had roughly ripped the buttons off her shirt.

She kept her eyes glued to the pattern on the floor. She prayed for him to just walk past her.

Ethelbert walked by without looking at her. He treated her like she was nothing but empty air.

Leo, walking behind him, gave her a small, polite nod. But Ardella saw the complicated pity in the assistant's eyes.

She did not nod back. She sped up her walking, desperate to escape the hallway that was now completely filled with Ethelbert's scent.

She thought she was safe. Then, a loud, greasy voice echoed from the other end of the hall. It was the hedge fund manager from Braden's room.

The man ran out into the hall, trying to suck up to Ethelbert. "Mr. Stone! Sorry you had to see that little drama just now!"

Ardella froze in her tracks. A layer of cold sweat broke out on her spine.

She heard Ethelbert stop walking. His deep, cello-like voice echoed in the quiet space.

"What drama?" Ethelbert asked. His tone was completely flat.

The manager pointed a sweaty finger at Ardella's back. He laughed and said it was just the pathetic woman who got cheated on by the Coffey kid.

Ardella felt a heavy, crushing stare land on her back. It felt like a physical weight pressing down on her shoulders.

She stood frozen. Her fingers gripped the leather handles of her Hermes bag so hard her knuckles turned white.

The manager kept talking. He asked if Ethelbert knew the notorious niece of the Price family.

The hallway went dead silent. The air was sucked out of the room.

A few seconds passed. Then, Ethelbert let out a low, quiet laugh. There was zero warmth in the sound.

He spoke very slowly, his voice dripping with absolute disdain. "I don't know her."

Those four words were like cold knives plunging straight into Ardella's chest.

She knew he would say that. She expected it. But hearing him deny her existence so brutally still caused a physical pain that made her throat close up.

The manager laughed, agreeing that a low-class gold digger was beneath Mr. Stone's notice.

Ardella ground her teeth together. She forced the burning tears back down her throat.

She did not turn around. She straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and walked proudly toward the elevator.

The metal doors opened. She stepped inside and started hitting the close button over and over again.

Just as the doors were about to shut, she looked through the narrowing gap. Her eyes met Ethelbert's.

There was no indifference in his ice-blue eyes now. There was only a bottomless, dark obsession and a terrifying possessiveness.

The doors slammed shut. Ardella slumped against the cold metal wall of the elevator. She gasped for air, her chest heaving as if she had just survived a car crash.

Ardella pushed through the front doors of the club. The cold rain of early autumn New York crashed down on her without warning.

She did not have an umbrella. The freezing water instantly soaked through her trench coat, making her shiver violently.

She raised her arm, trying to flag down a yellow cab. But the Manhattan streets were empty in the downpour.

A massive, black, bulletproof Rolls Royce Phantom glided through the rain like a ghost. The license plate was a row of eights. It stopped right in front of her.

The windows were tinted black, but Ardella knew exactly whose car it was. Her heart seized in her chest.

The trunk popped open. Leo stepped out of the front seat, holding a large black umbrella over his head.

He did not ask for her permission. He walked over, his footsteps completely silent against the wet pavement. He stopped right in front of her, the massive black umbrella casting a dark shadow over her face. Slowly, he opened the heavy rear door of the vehicle, making a gesture of cold invitation. The interior light illuminated the luxurious leather, contrasting sharply with the freezing rain outside.

"Mr. Stone is waiting, Miss Price," Leo said, his voice cutting through the downpour like a blade. "Please don't make this difficult."

Ardella spun around. She yelled over the sound of the rain, demanding to know what he was doing and telling him to leave her alone.

Leo looked at her with a blank face. "Mr. Stone does not like to wait, Miss Price. Please get in."

Ardella let out a harsh laugh. She yelled back that she did not need charity from a man who just claimed he did not know her.

Ethelbert sat in the deep shadows of the back seat. His long legs were crossed. He was rolling a silver lighter between his long fingers.

He did not look at her. His voice cut through the sound of the storm, a hard, absolute command. "Get in. Or I will have Leo tie you up and throw you in."

Ardella knew he was not joking. He would do it right here on the street. To avoid the public humiliation, she clenched her jaw and climbed into the car.

The heavy door slammed shut. The noise of the rain and the city was instantly cut off.

The back seat was huge, but Ethelbert's presence made the air feel dangerously thin. Ardella felt like she was suffocating.

The Rolls Royce pulled smoothly into the wet streets. The only sound was the rhythmic wiping of the windshield wipers.

Ethelbert reached out and pressed a button. The thick soundproof glass partition rolled up, completely sealing them off from Leo in the front.

He finally turned his head. His eyes slowly dragged over her wet hair and ruined clothes.

"What's wrong?" Ethelbert asked. His voice was thick with mockery. "The Coffey heir doesn't know the basic etiquette of sending a car for his fiancée?"

The words hit a nerve. Ardella forced her chin up and fired back. "We care about our soul connection. We don't care about material details."

The silver lighter in Ethelbert's hand snapped shut with a sharp, violent click. The temperature in the car plummeted.

He leaned forward. His massive frame trapped her against the door. His cold breath brushed against the tip of her nose.

"Soul connection?" he whispered dangerously. "Watching him fuck another woman in a VIP room is part of your connection?"

Ardella's stomach dropped. He had seen her. He knew exactly what happened inside that room.

She refused to back down. She stared right into his angry eyes. "We are young. It's an open relationship. You don't need to worry about it."

She paused, making sure her next words would cut deep. "Former. Guardian."

Those two words hit a forbidden switch. The muscles in Ethelbert's jaw flexed so hard they looked like they would snap.

His hand shot out. His large fingers clamped hard around her delicate chin, forcing her head up.

His rough thumb rubbed dangerously against her bottom lip. His voice was a dark, terrifying growl. "Say that one more time. I dare you."

Ardella was forced to look up at him. The grip on her chin sent sharp spikes of pain through her jaw, but she refused to make a sound.

Ethelbert's eyes were like blue fire. His gaze burned over her lips and her pale, wet cheeks.

The tension in the car was pulled so tight it was about to snap. Then, Ardella's phone rang.

The loud, shrill ringtone shattered the silence. Ethelbert's fingers twitched, his grip loosening just a fraction.

Ardella used the distraction. She jerked her head back, breaking his hold, and pressed her body hard against the car door.

She dug into her bag with shaking hands and pulled out her phone. The screen showed Eleanor's name.

She felt Ethelbert's heavy, burning stare fixed on the glowing screen. A reckless, self-destructive idea flashed in her mind.

She did not answer the call. She pressed the mute button.

Ethelbert narrowed his eyes. "Why aren't you answering? Is the Coffey boy calling to beg?"

Ardella pushed her wet hair out of her face. She put on a fake, careless smile.

"It's not Braden. It's an old Wall Street guy I just met. He's annoying."

She let her voice drop into a cheap, flirtatious tone. "But he is very generous. He said he wants to buy me an apartment in Tribeca."

The air in the car turned into solid ice.

Ethelbert's chest heaved. A terrifying, violent storm ripped through his blue eyes.

He lunged at her. He grabbed her shoulders and slammed her hard against the cold window glass. The impact knocked the breath out of her lungs with a quiet gasp.

He shoved his knee aggressively between her legs, completely pinning her to the seat. There was nowhere to run.

Ethelbert ground his teeth together. The sound vibrated in his chest. "Say that again. Who is buying you an apartment?"

Ardella felt a sick, twisted thrill. She had found his breaking point. She had hurt him.

She stared defiantly into his furious eyes. "I am an adult, Mr. Stone. My private life is none of your business."

Ethelbert dropped his head. His lips were a millimeter away from her nose. His breathing was heavy and ragged.

"None of my business?" he snarled. "Did you forget? Every single inch of your skin was raised by me."

The words were raw and dripping with dark possessiveness. Ardella's face burned hot. Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs.

He tilted his head. He was going to kiss her. She could feel the heat of his mouth.

Suddenly, the driver slammed on the brakes.

The violent physics of the sudden stop threw them forward. Before Ardella could hit her head on the glass, Ethelbert's hand shot out. He cupped the back of her head, taking the impact against his own arm.

The intercom buzzed. Leo's voice came through. "Sir, we have arrived at The Plaza Hotel."

The words acted like a bucket of ice water. The suffocating heat in the car vanished.

Ethelbert pulled his hand away as if she had burned him. He slid back to his side of the car, straightened his suit jacket, and locked his face back into a mask of cold indifference.

Ardella gasped for air. She grabbed her bag and shoved the car door open, practically falling out onto the pavement.

She stood under the grand awning of the hotel. She watched the black Rolls Royce speed away into the rainy night, disappearing down Fifth Avenue.

She reached up and touched the back of her head. The heat from his palm was still burned into her hair. The tears she had been fighting finally spilled over her eyelashes and hit the concrete.