Adan Hammond didn't wait for permission. He sprinted onto the plane, ignoring the protests of the ground crew. When he saw Belle slumped in the wheelchair, pale as a sheet, he swore loudly.

"What did they do to you?" he growled, scooping her up into his arms. She was lighter than he remembered.

"Home," Belle mumbled, her head lolling against his chest. "Just take me home."

"Not a chance. We're going to Lenox Hill."

The ambulance ride was a blur of sirens and potholes. Belle drifted in and out, the nausea rolling over her in waves. By the time they got her hooked up to an IV in the emergency room, she felt hollowed out.

Acute gastroenteritis. Dehydration. Exhaustion. The doctor's words floated in the air like dust motes.

Adan sat by the bed, looking like a guard dog ready to bite. "I'm going to get water," he said, squeezing her hand. "Don't move."

Belle closed her eyes. The saline drip was cold entering her vein.

She didn't hear the door open. She heard the clicking of heels.

"Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. And then spit out."

Belle's eyes snapped open.

Flo Nichols stood at the foot of the bed. She was wearing a pink tweed Chanel suit that looked ridiculous in the sterile hospital room. Behind her were two girls Belle vaguely recognized from high school-her minions.

Flo held a fruit basket like a weapon. "We heard you were back. We didn't realize you were... indisposed."

One of the minions wrinkled her nose. " it smells like vomit in here. Is that you, Belle?"

"Get out," Belle croaked. Her throat felt like sandpaper.

Flo stepped closer, her smile widening. It didn't reach her eyes. "Oh, don't be rude. We came to support you. Word is you were throwing up all over First Class. Morning sickness?"

Belle tried to sit up, but her arms shook. "I have the flu, you idiot."

"Sure," Flo said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "That's what they all say. Jonas will be so disappointed. He always thought you were the 'pure' one."

Jonas. The name was a physical ache in Belle's chest.

"Don't say his name," Belle said.

"Why not?" Flo touched her own collarbone. She pulled the collar of her jacket aside slightly, revealing a fresh, dark purple bruise. A hickey. "He's mine now, Belle. We're shopping for engagement party outfits later. He's very... enthusiastic."

Belle stared at the mark. Bile rose in her throat again. Jonas, who had promised to wait. Jonas, who had written her letters for six months.

One of the minions held up a phone. Click. The flash blinded Belle.

"A souvenir," the girl giggled. "For the group chat."

"Hey!"

The roar came from the doorway. Adan dropped the water bottle. It hit the floor with a crack. He charged into the room, placing himself between Belle and the girls.

"Back off," Adan snarled. He looked ready to hit someone.

Flo took a step back, feigning terror. "Oh my god. Is this the father? He looks like a criminal."

"I said get out!" Adan yelled.

Flo adjusted her purse. "Fine. We were leaving anyway. This place is depressing." She looked at Belle over Adan's shoulder. "Welcome home, Belle. Try not to ruin everything this time."

They flounced out, heels clacking.

Adan turned to check on Belle. "Did they touch you?"

Belle shook her head. She was trembling, but not from sickness anymore. It was rage. Pure, unadulterated rage.

She looked toward the corner of the room where Adan had put her carry-on suitcase.

It was gone.

"Adan," she said sharply. "My bag."

Adan looked. The corner was empty.

"Those bitches," Adan hissed. He turned to run after them.

"No!" Belle ripped the IV tape off her hand. Pain flared, sharp and bright. Blood welled up, a red bead on her pale skin.

"Belle, what are you doing?" Adan grabbed her shoulders. "You need to finish the drip."

"They took it to check for 'evidence'," Belle said, sliding off the bed. Her legs wobbled, but she forced them to hold her weight. "They want to prove I'm pregnant to humiliate me. Let them look. There's nothing in there but dirty laundry."

She grabbed her leather jacket.

"We're not staying here," she said. Her eyes were dry, hard stones. "Take me to Stanton Manor. Now."

"You can barely stand," Adan argued.

"I don't need to stand," Belle said, walking toward the door, leaving a trail of blood drops from her hand. "I need to fight."

The private club in Midtown smelled of old money-mahogany, leather, and cigar smoke.

Denis Stephens stood in the locker room, fastening the cuffs of a fresh shirt. He looked in the mirror. His face was impassive, but there was a tightness around his eyes.

Gavin Cole, his business partner and the only person who dared to mock him, leaned against the doorframe.

"So," Gavin grinned. "I hear you got assaulted by a dairy product at thirty thousand feet."

Denis adjusted his collar. "It was an accident."

"Was she hot?"

Denis paused. He thought of the girl's eyes-wild, desperate, green. He thought of the way she felt in his arms, burning with fever.

"She was a disaster," Denis said. "A mess."

"But?"

"But nothing. Find out who she is. I want to send her the dry cleaning bill."

Gavin laughed. "You make more in a second than that suit cost. You just want to know her name."

"Do it, Gavin."

At a bistro three blocks away, Jonas Ramirez stared at his phone. His knuckles were white around his wine glass.

"Are you sure?" he asked. His voice was tight.

Flo's voice came through the speaker, breathless and teary. "I saw her, Jonas. She looked awful. And that thug she was with... he practically attacked us when we asked about the baby."

Baby.

The word echoed in Jonas's head. Belle had left three years ago. She had ghosted him. And now she was back, sick, with some tattooed guy, and possibly pregnant?

He felt a surge of possessiveness that had no right to exist. She was his Belle. The innocent, fiery girl he had fallen for. She couldn't be pregnant by someone else.

"She's at the hospital?" Jonas asked.

"No," Flo said. "She checked herself out. She's heading to the Manor. To ruin Aryana's engagement, probably."

Jonas hung up. He tossed a fifty-dollar bill on the table, ignoring the unfinished risotto.

"Where are you going?" his friend asked.

"To get answers," Jonas said, grabbing his coat.

Adan's Jeep Wrangler was old, noisy, and smelled of fast food. Belle sat in the passenger seat, her head leaning against the cool window.

"You should really go back to the hospital," Adan said, navigating the traffic toward the Queens Midtown Tunnel.

"Drive faster," Belle murmured.

"Why the rush? The necklace isn't going anywhere."

"It's not just the necklace," Belle said. She looked at her hand, where the blood had dried. "If I don't go now, Ewart will hide it. Or sell it. He knows I'm back."

Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

We have your bag. Cute underwear. - F

Belle threw the phone onto the dashboard.

In the back of the Maybach, Denis received a notification on his tablet. Gavin worked fast.

Belle Stanton. Eldest daughter of Ewart Stanton. Mother was a Harvey. Estranged for 3 years. Studied Art History in Paris. No criminal record, but a lot of speeding tickets.

Denis stared at the name. Stanton.

He knew the family. New money trying to pass as old money. Ewart was a snake. And they were about to merge with the Bryans-his cousin Carlton's future in-laws. A sudden, cold curiosity took hold.

"Driver," Denis said, his voice sharp.

"Yes, sir?"

"Change of plans. We're going to the Stanton estate on Long Island."

"Sir? That's two hours away."

"I have a... bill to deliver," Denis said, a rare, predatory smile touching his lips. "And I want to see for myself what kind of family my cousin is marrying into."

Three cars. Three different agendas. All converging on one house.

The iron gates of Stanton Manor were closed.

Belle didn't wait for the intercom. She leaned across the center console and slammed her hand onto the horn. The Jeep blared a long, aggressive note that shattered the peaceful afternoon of the wealthy neighborhood.

"Open the damn gate!" she screamed out the window.

The security guard, recognizing the chaos if not the car, scrambled to open it.

Adan gunned the engine. The Jeep roared up the long driveway, gravel crunching under the tires.

Before the car even stopped moving completely, Belle kicked the door open. She jumped out, her boots hitting the pavement hard. Her knees buckled for a second, but adrenaline snapped them straight.

A figure stepped out from the shadows of the portico.

Jonas.

He looked good. Too good. Crisp shirt, perfect hair, the face of a tortured poet that had made her fall in love with him freshman year.

He grabbed her shoulders. His grip was painful.

"Is it true?" he shouted, shaking her. "Whose bastard is it, Belle? Did you go to Paris just to become a whore?"

The words were like a slap. Belle stared at him, the world spinning. The smell of his cologne-the one she used to buy him-made her want to vomit again.

"Get your hands off me," she hissed.

"Answer me! Flo saw you!"

"Flo is a liar, and you are a pathetic idiot," Belle spat.

Jonas raised his hand, his face twisted in ugly rage.

Crack.

Adan's fist connected with Jonas's jaw. It was a beautiful, solid sound. Jonas stumbled back, tripping over his own feet, blood instantly blooming on his lip.

"Touch her again," Adan growled, stepping in front of Belle, "and you'll need a straw to eat your dinner."

Belle didn't wait to see if Jonas got up. She turned and ran up the steps. She burst through the front doors.

The house smelled of lilies and furniture polish. It was silent.

"Aryana!" Belle screamed. Her voice echoed off the marble floors.

She ran up the grand staircase, taking the steps two at a time. She knew exactly where her sister would be. The master suite. The one that used to belong to Belle's mother.

She reached the door and didn't bother with the handle. She kicked it. The lock splintered. The door flew open and banged against the wall.

Aryana was standing in front of the full-length mirror. She was wearing a white silk robe.

And the sapphire necklace.

She screamed when Belle burst in. "You're crazy! Get out!"

Belle crossed the room in three strides. She was a whirlwind of leather and fury.

Aryana tried to cover the necklace with her hands. "Daddy gave it to me! It's for the engagement!"

"It's mine," Belle snarled.

She grabbed the chain. She didn't unclasp it. She yanked.

The gold clasp snapped. The metal scraped against Aryana's neck, leaving a thin red welt.

"Ow! You hurt me!" Aryana shrieked, lunging at Belle with clawed hands.

Belle sidestepped. She raised her hand and slapped Aryana across the face.

The sound was sharp, loud, and final.

Aryana froze. Her hand flew to her cheek, her eyes wide with shock. She fell back onto the bed, gasping.

Belle stood over her, breathing hard. She clutched the necklace in her fist, the diamonds biting into her palm.

"Listen to me," Belle whispered, leaning down. Her voice was low, dangerous. "I saw you in the bathroom this morning on Instagram. I saw the ginger tea. I saw the way you're holding your stomach."

Aryana's pupils dilated. Her face went from red to ghostly white.

"If you don't want Carlton to know that you trapped him with a baby before the ring was even on your finger," Belle hissed, "you will shut your mouth. You will never touch my mother's things again."

Aryana trembled. Tears leaked from her eyes, but she didn't make a sound. She was terrified.

Belle straightened up. She clasped the necklace around her own neck. The cold metal against her feverish skin felt like victory.

"Happy engagement, sis," Belle said, and walked out.