Joy pushed the front door of the penthouse open. She was exhausted. Her encounter with Angel at the clinic had drained every ounce of energy from her body. Her head was pounding, and a dull, throbbing heat radiated from her lower stomach, but she forced herself to push the pain aside.

She just wanted to take a hot shower and wash the smell of the clinic off her skin.

She walked down the hallway toward the master bedroom to grab her clothes.

She stopped in the doorway.

Hillary was sitting on the edge of the king-sized bed.

She was wearing a silk robe. Not her own robe. It was Joy's. The pale pink silk robe Joy had bought for her honeymoon-a honeymoon that never happened.

Angel was leaning against the headboard, holding a tablet. He looked up when Joy walked in. He didn't look surprised. He didn't look guilty.

Hillary smiled. It was a vicious, triumphant smile. She shifted her weight, deliberately letting the robe slip off one shoulder.

"Knock next time," Hillary said smoothly. "This is my room now."

A hot, blinding rage ignited in Joy's chest. It burned away the exhaustion. It burned away the fear.

This wasn't just an insult. It was a violation.

Joy didn't yell. She didn't cry. Her face went completely blank.

She walked into the room. Her heels clicked sharply against the hardwood floor. She ignored Hillary entirely and walked straight to her vanity table in the corner.

"You should be careful wearing other people's clothes," Joy said casually, opening a drawer. "You never know what kind of diseases you might catch."

Hillary's face flushed red. She jumped up from the bed. "Excuse me? You little-"

"Enough," Angel snapped. He set his tablet down. He looked at Joy with cold disdain. "Get your things and go to the guest room, Joy. Stop causing a scene."

Joy found what she was looking for.

She pulled a small, square box out of the drawer.

She turned around and leaned against the vanity. She held the box up, making sure the label caught the light.

It was a box of Plan B. Morning-after pills.

Hillary's eyes locked onto the box. The color drained from her face.

Joy looked at Angel. She smiled. It was a cold, empty smile.

"I haven't taken these yet," Joy said loudly. She tapped the box against her fingernail. "I was just about to take care of the... aftermath from the other night. well. It would be a shame if I ended up carrying the Wilcox heir, wouldn't it?"

The room went dead silent.

Hillary stopped breathing. She stared at the box, then slowly turned her head to look at Angel. Her eyes were wide with horror.

"Angel?" Hillary's voice cracked. "What is she talking about? You said you never touched her."

Angel's face turned the color of ash. The veins in his neck bulged. He glared at Joy with a hatred so pure it made the air in the room crackle.

"It was an accident," Angel said through gritted teeth, looking at Hillary. "I was drugged."

"An accident?!" Hillary shrieked.

She lost her mind. She grabbed the heavy crystal lamp off the nightstand and hurled it across the room. It smashed against the wall, raining glass down onto the carpet.

"You slept with her!" Hillary screamed, her face contorted in rage. "You swore to me she meant nothing!"

Angel scrambled off the bed, reaching for her. "Hillary, listen to me-"

"Don't touch me!" Hillary slapped his hand away. She ripped Joy's silk robe off and threw it on the floor. She grabbed her own clothes and started dressing frantically. "You disgust me! Both of you disgust me!"

She grabbed her purse and stormed out of the bedroom. The front door of the penthouse slammed shut a few seconds later. The sound shook the walls.

Joy stood by the vanity, still holding the box of pills.

Angel slowly turned his head to look at her.

His eyes were completely black. His chest heaved. He looked like a man who was about to commit murder.

The silence in the bedroom was deafening.

Angel stood frozen by the bed. His back was rigid. The muscles in his shoulders were bunched so tight they looked like they might snap.

Joy bent down and picked up the silk robe Hillary had thrown on the floor. Her finger brushed against a shard of glass from the broken lamp. A sharp pain bit into her skin. A drop of dark red blood welled up on her index finger.

She didn't wipe it away. She watched the blood drip onto the hardwood floor.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

She pulled it out with her clean hand. It was a video message from an unknown number.

She opened it.

The screen showed her brother, Dustin. He was tied to a metal chair in a dark room. His face was beaten to a bloody pulp. One of his eyes was swollen shut. He was sobbing, begging the camera for help.

A text message followed immediately: Three days. Two million. Or we send him back in pieces.

Joy's stomach violently cramped. The air rushed out of her lungs.

Two million.

The one million Angel had sent her wasn't enough. If she left this apartment, if she signed those divorce papers, Dustin would die. She needed the Wilcox family resources. She needed to stay.

She locked her phone and shoved it back into her pocket.

She looked up. Angel had turned around. He saw the blood on her hand, but his expression didn't change.

"Pack your bags," Angel said. His voice was terrifyingly calm. "You're leaving. Now."

Joy's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

She walked over to the small trash can by the vanity. She held up the box of morning-after pills.

Angel watched her, his eyes narrowing. "What are you doing?"

Joy looked him dead in the eye. She opened the box. She popped the blister pack and dumped the pills directly into the trash can.

Angel's pupils dilated. "Pick those up."

Joy dropped the empty box into the trash.

"I'm not taking them," Joy said. Her voice was steady, but her hands were shaking.

Angel let out a dark, humorless laugh. "Stop acting crazy, Joy. Pick them up."

"I'm not acting," Joy said. She took a step toward him. Her eyes were wild, desperate. "Your grandmother wants a great-grandson. I'm going to give her one. I'm going to have an Wilcox heir."

Angel snapped.

He crossed the room in a blur of motion. His large hand clamped around her throat. He slammed her backward against the wall.

The impact knocked the breath out of her.

Angel leaned in, his face inches from hers. His grip was tight, cutting off her air supply.

"You will never have my child," Angel roared, spit flying from his lips. "I will drag you to a clinic myself. Eat the damn pills!"

Joy clawed at his hand. Her lungs burned. Black spots danced in the corners of her vision.

She smiled. It was a ghastly, broken smile.

"Choke me," Joy gasped out, her voice a wet rasp. "Kill me. Let your grandmother... plan my funeral."

Angel's eyes widened. The absolute madness in her eyes terrified him. His fingers began to tremble.

He violently released her, shoving her away as if she were made of fire.

Joy stumbled forward.

The sudden rush of oxygen hit her brain, mixing with the days of extreme stress, the lack of sleep, and the hidden, raging infection in her body.

A wave of intense, freezing cold washed over her. The room spun violently.

"You are insane," Angel was yelling, pointing a finger at her. "You think a baby will keep you here? You think-"

He stopped.

Joy's face had drained of all color. Her lips were blue. She swayed on her feet, her eyes rolling back into her head.

She collapsed.

She didn't try to catch herself. She fell like a stone, crashing hard onto the floor beside the sofa.

"Joy?" Angel's voice cracked.

He rushed forward and dropped to his knees. He grabbed her shoulder and rolled her over.

Her skin was burning hot. She was completely unresponsive.

"Joy!" Angel shouted, panic finally breaking through his rage. He scooped her limp body into his arms and ran for the door.