The taxi crawled through the mid-morning gridlock of Manhattan. Every stoplight felt like a personal insult. Vivian chewed on her thumbnail, tasting chipped polish and anxiety.

She dialed Margo.

"What do you mean 'worse'?" Vivian demanded the second the call connected.

"Where have you been?" Margo shrieked. "TMZ has a video of you entering Blackwood's building at 3 AM. Twitter is calling it the 'Billion Dollar Walk of Shame'. Dior just called. They're pulling the perfume campaign."

"I don't care about the perfume," Vivian lied. She cared. That campaign was the only thing she had earned herself. "Tell me about the family."

"Your dad," Margo's voice dropped an octave. "He collapsed an hour ago. Ambulance took him from the office."

Vivian dropped the phone. It clattered onto the rubber floor mat of the cab.

"Turn around," she yelled at the driver, leaning forward. "Go to Mount Sinai. Now!"

Thirty minutes later, the taxi screeched to a halt in front of the emergency entrance. Vivian threw a wad of cash at the driver and sprinted inside, ignoring the fact that she was barefoot and wearing a torn evening gown.

The VIP waiting room on the fourth floor was silent as a tomb.

Her stepmother, Yvonne, was sitting on a beige sofa, perfectly coiffed, not a hair out of place. But her knuckles were white as she gripped a styrofoam cup. Conrad, her half-brother, was pacing by the window, talking aggressively into his phone.

"Vivian," Yvonne said. Her voice was brittle. She looked at Vivian's feet. "You look like a whore."

Vivian ignored her. "Where is he? Is he alive?"

Conrad hung up his phone and turned. He was ten years older than Vivian, with the same sharp Sterling jawline but none of the charm. "He's in a coma. Massive stroke. Doctors don't know if he'll wake up."

Vivian felt the blood drain from her face. She reached for the back of a chair to steady herself. "I need to see him."

"You need to leave," Conrad sneered. He walked over and poked a finger into her shoulder. "This is your fault. He saw the photos of you and Hunter. He saw the live stream of your little breakdown at the club. The stress killed him."

"He's not dead!" Vivian slapped his hand away.

Conrad shoved her. It wasn't a hard shove, but in her barefoot, unstable state, it was enough. Vivian stumbled back and fell onto the carpeted floor. Her palms skidded, burning.

"Stop it!" Yvonne hissed. She stood up, smoothing her skirt. "Both of you. The lawyers are already here."

Vivian looked up. Three men in gray suits were standing in the corner, looking at their iPads. They were the family's legal team. Vultures.

"What are they doing here?" Vivian asked, scrambling to her feet.

"Protecting the assets," Conrad said, adjusting his tie. "With Dad incapacitated, the board is going to vote on an interim CEO tomorrow. And guess who has the votes?"

He smirked.

Yvonne walked over to Vivian. She grabbed Vivian's upper arm, her nails digging into the soft flesh. She pulled her into the hallway, away from Conrad and the lawyers.

"Listen to me," Yvonne whispered, her eyes wide and manic. "It's not just Conrad. The bastards are coming."

Vivian blinked. "The who?"

"The illegitimate ones. Your father's... mistakes." Yvonne's lip curled. "We've received word. Letters of intent. They smell blood in the water, Vivian. There are rumors of at least a dozen of them organizing. If they band together and challenge the will now that your father is vulnerable, they could tie everything up in probate for years. We lose the house. We lose the liquid cash. We are on the street."

Vivian felt the walls closing in. "But... we have lawyers."

"Those idiots inside?" Yvonne scoffed. "They are corporate shills. They can't handle a dirty inheritance war. We need a shark. We need someone who plays dirty."

Yvonne stared at Vivian, her gaze piercing. "We need Julian Blackwood."

Vivian recoiled. "No. Absolutely not. I just... I can't."

"You spent the night with him," Yvonne hissed. "Use it."

"He hates us, Mom. He hates me."

"I don't care if he hates you," Yvonne said, shaking her. "I don't care if you have to get on your knees and beg. If you don't get him to represent us, Conrad will cut us out, or the bastards will take it all. You have nothing, Vivian. Without that trust fund, you are nothing."

Vivian looked at her stepmother. She saw the fear behind the cruelty. She looked back at the closed door of the ICU where her father lay dying.

She realized then that the fairytale was over. The safety net was gone.

She took a deep breath, smoothing the torn silk of her dress.

"I'll get him," Vivian said. Her voice was hollow. "But I'm going to need some shoes."

Vivian sat on a bench outside the hospital for twenty minutes, just breathing. She had borrowed a pair of sneakers from a sympathetic nurse and washed her face in the public restroom. She looked less like a party casualty and more like a tragedy.

She took a cab to Midtown.

The Blackwood & Partners building was a monolith of black glass and steel, piercing the sky like a jagged shard. It was intimidating, cold, and impenetrable. Just like its owner.

Vivian walked into the lobby. Her head was high, her sunglasses on. She marched to the elevator bank.

"Miss Sterling?" A security guard stepped in front of her. "I can't let you up."

"I have a meeting," she lied.

"Mr. Blackwood left specific instructions," the guard said, looking uncomfortable. "You are on the 'Do Not Admit' list."

Vivian felt a flush of humiliation. Of course she was.

She looked around. A delivery guy with a stack of pizza boxes was heading for the service elevator.

Vivian waited until the guard turned to answer a ringing phone. She slipped off her sneakers, holding them in her hand, and sprinted silently across the marble floor. She wedged herself into the service elevator just as the doors were closing.

The delivery guy stared at her. Vivian put a finger to her lips. "Shh."

She got off on the top floor. The smell of leather and money hit her instantly. The reception area was empty. She could hear voices coming from the conference room at the end of the hall.

She didn't knock. She didn't announce herself. She walked straight to the double mahogany doors and pushed them open.

"The merger is contingent on the SEC ruling, which means-"

Julian stopped talking.

He was sitting at the head of a long table. Five other partners, all older men, turned to look at the intruder.

Julian didn't look surprised. He looked bored. He slowly capped his fountain pen and set it down.

"Gentlemen," Julian said, his eyes never leaving Vivian's face. "Give us a moment."

The partners scrambled to gather their files and leave. They sensed the violence in the air.

When the door clicked shut, the silence was deafening.

"You're persistent," Julian said. He didn't stand up. He leaned back in his leather chair, crossing his legs.

"I want to hire you," Vivian said. She walked to the other end of the table, placing her hands on the polished wood. They were shaking, so she pressed down harder.

"I'm not for sale, remember?"

"This isn't personal," Vivian said, her voice steadying. "My father is in a coma. My stepmother says people are coming out of the woodwork. Illegitimate children. They want the money, Julian. They want to freeze everything. Conrad is trying to take the company. I need... I need a monster. And you're the best one in the city."

Julian raised an eyebrow. "A monster? Is that what I am?"

"You know what I mean."

"My retainer is two million dollars," Julian said flatly. "Upfront."

Vivian swallowed. "I can't access my cash right now. That's why I need you. Once the trust is unfrozen-"

"No credit," Julian interrupted. "Especially not for a Sterling."

He stood up then, unbuttoning his jacket. He walked around the table, his steps silent on the plush carpet. He moved like a predator circling prey.

"Why should I help you, Vivian?" He stopped right in front of her. "You destroyed me. Do you remember? Senior year. The prom."

Vivian felt sick. "Julian, please. That was... that was complicated."

"It was simple," he corrected. "You laughed. You told your friends I was the gardener's son and you were just bored. You humiliated me in front of the entire school."

Vivian bit her tongue. She remembered the fear in her father's eyes when he found out about them. She remembered the threat. But telling Julian now would sound like a cheap excuse. And excuses didn't work on monsters.

"I was young," she whispered, looking down. "I was a brat. I liked the power."

"You were cruel," Julian said. His eyes were dark, swirling with old anger. "And now you want me to save your fortune? The fortune that made you think you were better than me?"

He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear.

"Get out, Vivian. Watching you go bankrupt will be the highlight of my fiscal year."

Vivian didn't move. She couldn't. The rejection stung, but the desperation was stronger.

She walked over to the door and locked it. The click echoed in the large room.

Julian turned, his expression shifting from cold to amused. "Are you going to hold me hostage, Vivian?"

"I'm going to make you listen," she said, her voice trembling but defiant. She walked back to the table. "You think this is just about me? If my father's estate collapses, it's going to be a feeding frenzy. You manage half the portfolios that are invested in Sterling Industries. If the stock tanks because of a family feud, your clients lose money. And when your clients lose money, you look incompetent."

She took a breath, playing the only card she had-his ego.

"You're the impenetrable shield of the elite, right? Well, if the Sterling empire falls apart while you watch from the sidelines, people will wonder why the great Julian Blackwood didn't see it coming."

Julian paused. He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time. "A plea to my vanity," he said, sounding almost disappointed. "Better than begging, I suppose. But still irrelevant."

He reached for a small porcelain cup on the side table. An espresso. "Conrad already called. He wants me to consult for the trust. He wants to pay me to ensure I don't help you."

Vivian felt the floor drop out. "Conrad got to you?"

"He's thorough," Julian said, taking a sip. "And unlike you, he has the authority to sign checks."

"He's a snake!" Vivian yelled, losing her composure. "He'll run the company into the ground!"

"Not my problem," Julian said. "I enjoy watching things burn."

Something inside Vivian snapped. The exhaustion, the fear, the humiliation-it all boiled over into a white-hot rage.

She grabbed the espresso cup from his hand.

Julian didn't react fast enough.

She threw the contents in his face.

The dark, hot liquid splashed across his cheek, his chin, and soaked into the pristine white collar of his shirt.

Julian frozen. He closed his eyes. A drop of coffee dripped from his nose.

The room went deadly silent.

Vivian gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "I... I didn't..."

Julian opened his eyes. They weren't cold anymore. They were burning.

He didn't wipe his face. He stepped forward. Vivian stepped back. He took another step. She retreated until her back hit the bookshelf filled with leather-bound law books.

Julian slammed his hands on the shelves on either side of her head, trapping her.

"You have a death wish," he growled.

Vivian looked up at him, trembling. The coffee stained his skin like war paint. He smelled of espresso and fury.

"You deserved it," she whispered, though her voice shook.

Julian stared at her mouth. His gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes. The air between them crackled with electricity. It was violence, but it was something else, too. Something dark and suffocating.

He leaned in. Vivian stopped breathing. She thought he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her.

Instead, his hand moved to the intercom on the desk behind him. He didn't look away from her eyes.

"Security," he said, his voice rough. "My office. Now."

He pushed himself off the bookshelf and stepped back, ignoring the mess on his face.

"That's assault, Vivian," he said coolly. "I could have you arrested."

"Do it," she challenged, tears stinging her eyes. "At least in jail, I get a free lawyer."

Julian's jaw tightened. For a second, she saw a flicker of hesitation.

Then the door burst open. Caleb and two security guards rushed in.

"Get her out of here," Julian ordered, turning his back to her. "And file for a restraining order."