The Maybach didn't head back to the penthouse. It drove straight to the East River helipad.

Annabel looked out the window as the car stopped. The massive blades of a black helicopter were already spinning, whipping the cold wind into a frenzy.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"The Hamptons," Gregorio replied coldly. He opened the door.

The roar of the engine drowned out her protests. Gregorio grabbed her hand, his grip unyielding, and pulled her toward the chopper. He practically lifted her into the cabin and strapped her into the leather seat.

The helicopter lifted off immediately.

Annabel's stomach dropped. The sudden loss of gravity made her severely nauseous. All the blood drained from her face. She gripped the armrests, her knuckles turning white.

Gregorio sat across from her, his face an unreadable mask. He reached into a compartment, pulled out a thermos, and poured a cup of hot ginger tea. He held it out to her.

Annabel stared at the cup. She turned her head away, fixing her eyes on the distant coastline of Long Island. She refused to take it.

Thirty minutes later, the helicopter touched down on the sprawling green lawn of the Astor-Harrison oceanfront estate.

A line of staff stood at attention. Gregorio took her arm again, marching her up the stone steps and into the grand foyer.

Eleonora Harrison sat on a velvet antique sofa in the main parlor. A porcelain teacup rested in her hand.

She didn't stand. Her sharp, calculating eyes swept over Annabel, dissecting her like a piece of meat.

Eleonora picked up a thick legal document from the table and tossed it onto the glass surface.

"Six months, Gregorio," Eleonora said. Her voice was sharp and aristocratic. "The board is drafting the impeachment papers. If there is no heir by the end of the fiscal year, you lose the CEO title."

She took a sip of tea. "That artist you keep parading around is a barren waste of time. I won't have the Harrison legacy end because of your foolish attachments."

Gregorio's jaw tightened. "Watch your mouth, Mother."

Eleonora ignored him. She looked directly at Annabel. Her lips curled into a thin, cruel smile. "At least this one looks like she has wide hips. Good for breeding."

Annabel's stomach churned. The humiliation burned the back of her throat. She was nothing but a vessel to them.

Dinner was served at the long, imposing mahogany table. The silence in the room was suffocating.

The staff brought out course after course. Raw oysters. Venison. Thick, rich broths. Every single dish was a known aphrodisiac.

Annabel stared at her plate, her appetite completely gone.

Gregorio pushed his plate away violently. He grabbed his wine glass and drained it in one swallow, his face dark with suppressed anger.

"Go to your room," Eleonora commanded from the head of the table. "Both of you."

Gregorio stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He walked out without looking back. Annabel followed him up the grand staircase.

The butler led them to the master suite at the end of the second-floor hallway. As soon as they stepped inside, the heavy oak door slammed shut behind them.

The distinct sound of a deadbolt sliding into place echoed in the quiet room.

Annabel panicked. She ran to the door and twisted the brass handle. It wouldn't budge. She rattled it, her breathing picking up speed.

She turned around and scanned the room.

The suite was massive, but it was empty. The chaise lounges, the armchairs, the velvet sofa-everything had been removed.

In the dead center of the room sat one massive king-sized bed.

Gregorio ripped off his tie and threw it on the floor. He walked straight to the balcony doors, threw them open, and stepped out into the cold night air. He pulled a silver lighter from his pocket and lit a cigarette.

Annabel stood frozen in the middle of the room. She wrapped her arms around her stomach.

The ocean breeze blew the sheer curtains inward. The air in the room felt thick and suffocating.

Gregorio finished his cigarette. He stepped back inside, bringing the smell of tobacco and salty sea air with him.

He looked at her standing there, stiff and terrified.

He let out a cold, mocking laugh. "Relax. I have absolutely no interest in touching you."

He walked to the closet, pulled out a folded silk nightgown, and threw it at her chest.

"Go take a shower," he ordered. "And make it quick. Don't give the old woman a reason to get suspicious."

Annabel locked the bathroom door. She turned the shower on as hot as it would go.

She stood under the scalding water for thirty minutes. She scrubbed her skin, trying to wash away the memory of the contract, the check, the cold eyes of her mother-in-law.

She turned off the water and dried off. She reached for the modest silk nightgown Gregorio had thrown at her.

A sharp knock echoed from the heavy oak bedroom door out in the hallway. "Sir, Ma'am," a maid's voice called nervously through the thick wood. "Madam Eleonora sent this up. She insists you wear it tonight."

Gregorio let out a harsh breath, stalking over to the door. He slid the deadbolt back and opened the door just a fraction of an inch. He snatched the flat velvet box from the trembling maid and slammed the heavy door shut, sliding the deadbolt back into place. He tossed the box onto the mattress.

Annabel opened the box.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Inside lay a set of custom black lace lingerie. It consisted of a few thin straps and practically transparent fabric. It left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

Gregorio was leaning against the headboard of the bed. He saw the lingerie in her hands and let out a harsh sneer.

"My mother is desperate," he mocked. "Resorting to the tactics of a cheap brothel to get a grandson."

Annabel's face burned with intense heat. She threw the box onto the bed. "I'm not wearing this. It's degrading."

Out in the hallway, the sharp click-clack of Eleonora's heels echoed on the hardwood floor. The footsteps stopped right outside their door.

"Is everything satisfactory in there?" Eleonora's voice rang out, loud and probing.

Gregorio's expression hardened. He knew his mother. If she suspected they weren't consummating the marriage, she would direct all her wrath toward Kiersten.

He crossed the room in three long strides. He grabbed the black lace from the box and shoved it into Annabel's hands.

"Put it on," he hissed, his voice a low, threatening rumble. "Do not give her an excuse to ruin Kiersten's life."

The mention of Kiersten was a knife twisting in Annabel's chest. She swallowed her tears, stepped back into the bathroom, and shut the door.

Five minutes later, the door slowly opened.

Annabel walked out. She kept her head down, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, trying desperately to cover herself.

The black lace starkly contrasted with her pale skin. The sheer fabric clung to her curves, exposing the dark, angry bruises he had left on her thighs the night before.

Gregorio looked up.

His eyes locked onto her body. His entire frame went completely rigid. The air in the room seemed to evaporate.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. His breathing hitched, turning shallow and rapid.

He violently tore his gaze away and stared at the wall. He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides.

"You disgust me," he spat, his voice shaking slightly. He used the cruelty to mask the intense physical reaction tearing through his body. "I only want Kiersten. Looking at a woman who sells her body for money makes me sick."

Annabel's eyes filled with hot tears. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

"Then turn around," she whispered, her voice cracking.

She walked quickly to the far side of the bed. She climbed in and pulled the heavy duvet all the way up to her chin, turning her back to him.

Gregorio reached out and snapped off the main light. Only a dim, amber wall sconce remained.

He climbed into the other side of the bed.

They lay back-to-back. A foot of empty space separated them.

In the dark, Gregorio's hand gripped the bedsheet. He squeezed the fabric until his knuckles ached, fighting the agonizing, burning need to reach across the mattress and pull her against him.

The rhythmic crashing of the ocean waves against the cliffs echoed in the silent bedroom.

It was 3:00 AM. The temperature in the room had dropped significantly.

Annabel shivered in her sleep. Driven by pure, unconscious instinct, she rolled over, seeking warmth.

Her hand slipped across the sheets. Her palm landed flat against the bare, scorching hot skin of Gregorio's chest.

Gregorio wasn't asleep. He hadn't slept a single minute.

The soft touch of her hand was like a match dropping into a pool of gasoline.

His control snapped.

He flipped over instantly. His heavy body pinned her to the mattress.

Annabel woke up with a gasp. Her eyes flew open in terror. She pushed her hands against his broad shoulders, trying to shove him off.

Gregorio's eyes were pitch black in the dim light. The restraint he had fought for hours was completely gone, replaced by a raw, consuming hunger.

"You asked for this," he growled against her mouth.

He crushed his lips against hers, swallowing her protests. His hands were rough, tearing the fragile black lace until it ripped away completely.

Annabel cried out, tears spilling down her cheeks. "The contract... you said..."

He didn't let her finish. He silenced her with another bruising kiss. His body took over, driven by a primal, undeniable attraction that his mind violently refused to accept.

The encounter was punishing, desperate, and entirely out of control. It lasted until the first light of dawn crept through the curtains.

When Annabel woke up again, the sun was bright.

Her entire body felt like it had been beaten. Her muscles screamed as she sat up.

The space beside her was cold. Gregorio was gone.

She looked down at her skin. The marks from last night were darker, more extensive. A wave of profound sadness washed over her.

She forced herself out of bed. She showered, put on a thick, high-necked cashmere sweater to hide the bruises, and walked downstairs.

She stepped out onto the sunlit patio.

Eleonora was sitting at the wrought-iron table, reading the Wall Street Journal. She looked up at Annabel and smiled. It was a terrifying, victorious smile.

Gregorio sat at the opposite end of the table. He was staring at his iPad. As Annabel approached, his shoulders stiffened. He didn't look up.

Annabel sat down.

A private chef immediately placed a large ceramic bowl in front of her.

The smell hit her instantly. It was pungent and earthy. The bowl was filled with a thick, dark green soup made of maca root, heavy folic acid greens, and raw organic liver.

"Eat it all," Eleonora commanded, staring directly at Annabel's flat stomach. "It increases fertility. Every drop."

Annabel's stomach violently revolted. The smell made her gag. Her hand shook as she picked up the silver spoon.

She looked at Gregorio. She silently begged him to say something. To stop this humiliation.

Gregorio finally looked up. His eyes met hers for a split second. A flash of intense guilt crossed his face, quickly buried under a mask of cold indifference.

"Don't waste my mother's efforts," he said flatly. He looked back down at his screen.

Annabel's heart shattered. The last shred of hope died. She was nothing to him but a breeding mare.

She closed her eyes, held her breath, and forced the foul-tasting liquid down her throat.

Gregorio watched her swallow from the corner of his eye. His chest tightened painfully. He couldn't stand it anymore.

He shoved his chair back. It screeched against the stone floor.

"There's an emergency at the firm," he announced abruptly, grabbing his jacket. "I have to fly back to Manhattan right now."

Annabel wiped her mouth with a napkin. She stood up, her face completely blank, and followed him to the helicopter like a hollow shell.