The aggressive buzzing of Cierra's phone violently ripped her out of her sleep.

She groaned, blindly slapping her hand on the mattress until she found the phone. It was K.C.

Cierra scrambled out of bed, threw on a crisp white blouse and a black pencil skirt, and ran out the door.

A sleek black Lincoln Town Car was waiting on the curb.

The entire ride into Manhattan, Cierra's leg bounced nervously. She checked her reflection in the tinted window. Carlisle had called her in early. That had to mean her pitch was good. It had to mean she saved herself.

The car pulled into the underground garage of a massive glass skyscraper. K.C. was waiting by the private elevator.

Cierra followed her in silence. The elevator shot up to the penthouse level.

K.C. led Cierra down a long, silent hallway lined with thick wool carpet. She stopped in front of a frosted glass door.

"He's inside," K.C. said flatly. She didn't open the door. She just turned and walked away.

Cierra swallowed hard. She reached out and pushed the heavy glass door open.

A wave of thick, humid air hit her instantly.

The room was a massive indoor spa. Black slate tiles covered the floor and walls. In the center of the room was a huge, sunken Jacuzzi. Steam rolled off the surface of the bubbling water.

Cierra stepped inside, her high heels clicking softly against the stone.

Through the mist, she saw Carlisle.

He was leaning back against the edge of the Jacuzzi, his arms spread wide along the wet marble rim. He was completely bare-chested. Water droplets clung to the hard planes of his chest and abdomen.

Cierra's breath hitched. A hot flush crept up her neck. She immediately averted her eyes, taking a step backward.

"Come closer," Carlisle's voice echoed off the tile walls. It was low, dangerous, and completely devoid of warmth.

Cierra forced her legs to move. She walked to the edge of the slate floor, stopping about three feet from the water. She clutched her leather portfolio to her chest like a shield.

Carlisle slowly opened his eyes. They were pitch black, locking onto her with a terrifying intensity.

"So," Carlisle said, his lip curling into a sneer. "How confident are you in your... submission?"

Cierra straightened her spine. She thought he was talking about the marketing data.

"Very confident," Cierra said, her voice steady. "I know it's aggressive, but I guarantee it will grab the audience's attention immediately."

Carlisle let out a harsh, barking laugh that held absolutely no humor.

"Oh, it grabs attention, alright," Carlisle spat. "It's completely shameless. A cheap, desperate attempt to humiliate me."

Cierra blinked, completely thrown off. "Humiliate you? Carlisle, the demographic responds to direct stimulation. You have to give them exactly what they want to see to get the conversion rate."

Carlisle's hands gripped the marble edge of the tub so hard his knuckles turned white.

Direct stimulation. Conversion rate. She was talking about her filthy fantasy like it was a business strategy.

Carlisle violently pushed himself up out of the water.

Water cascaded down his torso as he leaned forward, closing the distance between them.

"Is this how you close all your brand deals?" Carlisle snarled, his voice echoing loudly in the enclosed space. "Do you just send every executive your sick little fantasies when you don't have the actual skills to do the job?"

Cierra's mouth fell open. The sheer disrespect of his words felt like a slap to the face.

"Excuse me?" Cierra yelled, her own anger finally igniting. "I stayed up all night working on those numbers! I poured everything I had into that document!"

"There were no numbers in that document!" Carlisle roared, slamming his fist into the water. A massive splash hit the slate floor. "It was nothing but a filthy, pathetic fantasy about making me crawl!"

Cierra froze. Her brain completely stalled.

Fantasy about making him crawl?

She shook her head, completely lost. "What are you talking about? It's a market analysis!"

"Stop lying!" Carlisle yelled. He glared at her, his chest heaving. "If that document is your core strategy, Cierra, then you don't belong in a corporate boardroom. You belong in a psychiatric ward."

The words hung in the humid air, heavy and toxic.

Cierra's eyes widened in horror. The insult pierced straight through her chest, leaving a burning hole behind her ribs.

She didn't understand what he was talking about, but the sheer hatred in his eyes was unmistakable. He thought she was sick.

"You arrogant bastard," Cierra whispered, her voice trembling with rage.

She took a massive step forward, pointing her finger right at his face, ready to scream at him to pull up the file and read the actual data.

Cierra's right foot slammed down onto the black slate.

She didn't see the puddle of water Carlisle had just splashed over the edge of the tub.

The moment her stiletto heel hit the wet marble, all friction vanished.

Her ankle violently twisted inward. A sharp gasp tore from her throat as her center of gravity completely collapsed.

Cierra pitched forward, her arms flailing wildly in the air.

Carlisle's eyes snapped wide. His reflexes kicked in. He lunged forward, his large hands reaching out to catch her waist.

He was a fraction of a second too late.

Cierra crashed chest-first into Carlisle. The sheer momentum of her fall drove them both backward into the deep water of the Jacuzzi.

A massive plume of water exploded upward.

Cierra went under. The hot, chlorinated water rushed up her nose, burning her sinuses. Panic seized her. She thrashed blindly, her lungs screaming for air.

Her hands found solid muscle.

Pure survival instinct took over. Cierra clamped her hands onto Carlisle's bare shoulders. Her fingernails dug viciously into his skin as she hauled herself upward, breaking the surface of the water.

She gasped for air, coughing violently.

She was straddling his lap, her wet arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Her crisp white blouse was completely soaked, turning entirely transparent and clinging to her skin like a second layer.

For one agonizing second, Carlisle froze.

The weight of her body against his, the smell of her vanilla perfume mixing with the steam, the frantic beating of her heart against his chest—it short-circuited his brain.

But then, the toxic words from the email flashed behind his eyes.

She fantasized about making him crawl. She wrote him groveling on a desk.

Carlisle's vision went red.

In his twisted, furious mind, this wasn't an accident. This was the climax of her disgusting plan. She had thrown herself into the water, pressing her half-naked body against him to act out her sick fantasy of dominance.

A wave of absolute revulsion violently ripped through him.

Carlisle grabbed Cierra's wrists. His grip was brutal, bruising the delicate skin.

He ripped her arms off his neck.

With a harsh shove, Carlisle pushed her backward.

Cierra flew through the water. Her spine slammed hard against the unforgiving ceramic wall of the Jacuzzi.

Pain exploded between her shoulder blades. She gasped, her eyes flying open in shock.

Carlisle loomed over her, the water swirling angrily around his waist. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated disgust.

"Save your cheap games," Carlisle hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "I won't be dragged into your twisted fantasies."

The words hit Cierra with the force of a physical blow.

The air vanished from the room. The burning pain in her back was nothing compared to the absolute devastation tearing through her chest.

He genuinely believed she was trying to humiliate him with some sort of perverse act. He looked at her like she was a disease he needed to scrub off his skin.

A hot tear spilled over Cierra's lower lash line, mixing with the pool water on her cheek.

She didn't say a word. Her throat was completely sealed shut by the crushing weight of her humiliation.

Cierra pushed her hands against the edge of the tub. She dragged her soaking wet body out of the water, her muscles shaking violently.

Her skirt clung to her legs. Water poured off her clothes, ruining the expensive wool carpet as she stumbled toward the door.

She left her high heels floating in the water.

Cierra didn't look back. She pushed the heavy glass door open and ran barefoot down the hallway, fleeing the penthouse like her life depended on it.

Back in the Jacuzzi, Carlisle stared at the empty doorway.

He looked down at the red half-moon indentations her fingernails had left on his shoulders.

His chest heaved. He waited for the satisfaction of putting her in her place to wash over him.

It never came.

Instead, a hollow, burning ache settled in his gut. He slammed his fist against the ceramic tiles, cursing himself for letting her affect him at all.

The freezing morning air of Manhattan hit Cierra like a wall of ice.

She stumbled out of the revolving doors of Carlisle's building, her bare feet slapping against the freezing concrete pavement.

Her white blouse and black skirt were plastered to her skin, dripping wet. The wind cut right through the soaked fabric, chilling her straight to the bone.

Pedestrians in heavy wool coats stopped and stared. Whispers broke out. A businessman in a suit gave her a look of utter disgust, clearly assuming she was a drunken mess walking home from a wild night out.

Cierra wrapped her arms tightly around her chest, her teeth chattering so violently her jaw ached.

She dragged herself to the corner of the intersection and leaned against a cold brick wall. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely unzip her wet clutch.

She pulled out her phone. The screen was smeared with water droplets.

She tried to open the Uber app, but her numb fingers wouldn't register on the glass.

Suddenly, the screen lit up with an incoming call.

Julian.

Cierra hit the green button and lifted the phone to her ear.

"Cierra?" Julian's voice came through the speaker, sounding cheerful. "Did you crush the meeting?"

Cierra opened her mouth, but a violent, broken sob tore out of her throat instead.

"Cierra?" Julian's tone instantly dropped, shifting into sharp panic. "Where are you? What happened?"

"I'm... I'm at the corner of 5th and 58th," Cierra choked out, sliding down the brick wall until she was crouching on the freezing sidewalk. "Please. Just come get me."

"I'm five minutes away. Don't move."

Exactly four minutes later, the screech of tires echoed down the avenue.

A silver Porsche 911 violently pulled up to the curb, the hazard lights flashing.

Julian threw his door open and sprinted around the hood. When he saw Cierra shivering on the ground, soaked to the bone and barefoot, his face turned pale with shock.

"Jesus Christ," Julian muttered.

He ripped off his heavy cashmere overcoat and wrapped it tightly around Cierra's trembling shoulders. He scooped her up by her waist and practically carried her to the passenger side, shoving her into the leather seat.

Julian slammed the door, ran to the driver's side, and got in. He immediately cranked the car's heater to the maximum setting.

Hot air blasted Cierra's frozen face. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Julian pulled the Porsche into the flow of traffic. His hands gripped the steering wheel so hard the leather creaked.

"Did he touch you?" Julian asked, his voice deadly quiet. "Did Carlisle do this to you?"

Cierra shook her head frantically. "No. I slipped. I fell into the pool."

She grabbed a fistful of the cashmere coat. "He hated my pitch, Julian. He said it was cheap. He said I belonged in the red-light district."

Julian let out a vicious curse. "He's a sadistic bastard. He's just torturing you because of what happened in college."

Julian reached over and squeezed her knee. "Listen to me. I'll pay the penalty fee. I'll wire you the million dollars today. You are going to terminate that contract and never look at that man again."

Cierra stared blankly at the dashboard. Julian's money could save her. But taking it meant she was exactly what Carlisle thought she was-a parasite who relied on rich men to survive.

Before she could answer, her phone buzzed loudly against the center console.

Cierra picked it up.

It was an email from K.C. The subject line was flagged with a bright red exclamation mark: [URGENT: OFFICIAL WARNING].

Cierra's stomach plummeted. She tapped the screen.

The email was formal, cold, and stamped with the Lumina legal department logo.

Ms. Holcomb,

This serves as an official corporate warning regarding your highly unprofessional conduct and inappropriate sexual harassment toward the CEO during this morning's meeting.

Cierra stopped breathing. Sexual harassment?

She forced her eyes to keep reading.

Mr. McLean has graciously decided to give you one final opportunity. You will present a revised, data-driven marketing pitch at the Lumina Executive Dinner tomorrow night. He expects you to publicly demonstrate your 'capabilities' in front of the entire board of directors-an open execution to prove exactly what you are.

If you fail to attend, or if you present another inappropriate document, Lumina will formally press charges for sexual harassment and initiate an industry-wide blacklist.

Cierra stared at the words until they blurred.

Sexual harassment. Inappropriate document.

Julian glanced at the screen. "What does it say?"

Cierra slowly lowered the phone. The blood roared in her ears.

Carlisle wasn't just insulting her. He was building a legal case to destroy her life. And she still had absolutely no idea why he thought she had sexually harassed him.

"Take me home, Julian," Cierra whispered, her voice completely hollow. "Just take me home."