Gage moved with silent efficiency. He shoved the remaining gawkers out of the VIP room, ignoring their protests. He stepped into the hallway and pulled the heavy double doors shut. The sound of the electronic lock engaging echoed in the sudden quiet.

The room was dead silent. The only sounds were the low hum of the ventilation system and the harsh, uneven breathing of the two people left inside.

Ember reached up and unbuttoned her leather gloves. She pulled them off finger by finger, the leather peeling away from her skin. She tossed them onto the glass-covered table.

"Go back to the penthouse," she said, her voice flat and businesslike. "You're grounded."

Haden stood up from the couch. Blood still dripped from his right hand—the one that had crushed the whiskey glass. He didn't wipe it. He didn't even look at it. The crimson drops splattered onto the broken glass as he took a step forward, the wetness making his grip slick but no less dangerous.

He kicked the solid mahogany coffee table. It overturned with a crash, skidding across the floor and slamming into the wall to block the only exit.

Haden moved toward her. The smell of cheap perfume and expensive bourbon rolled off him in waves. His bleeding hand left faint red smears on the velvet wallpaper as he passed. He looked like a predator closing in on its prey, wounded but all the more lethal for it.

Ember stood her ground. Her spine was ramrod straight. She didn't step back.

He shoved her backward, slamming her against the wall. Her head hit the velvet wallpaper with a dull thud, the impact knocking the air from her lungs as he caged her in. His bleeding hand hit the wall on either side of her head, leaving two crimson prints beside her ears.

He leaned down, his face buried in the curve of her neck. He inhaled deeply, his nose dragging along her skin, breathing in her scent.

"You smell like him," he growled against her skin, his voice rough and drunk. "You smell like that old man's money."

Ember stared at the wall over his shoulder. Her eyes were like ice. "Watch your mouth," she said coldly. "Remember your place. You're my nephew."

The word hit Haden like a physical blow. Three years of suppressed jealousy and rage exploded inside him.

He grabbed her chin with his uninjured hand, his fingers digging into her jaw. The metallic scent of his own blood mixed with her perfume as he forced her head up, making her look at him.

He crashed his lips down onto hers. It wasn't a kiss. It was an attack. It was brutal, punishing, and tasted like stale whiskey and blood—his blood, from the cuts on his hand that had transferred to her skin.

A sharp pain stabbed through Ember's chest. She immediately shoved the emotion down, locking it away.

She pressed her hands against his chest, pushing hard. His body was like a brick wall. Her resistance meant nothing.

She opened her mouth and bit down on his bottom lip. Hard.

The metallic taste of blood flooded both their mouths—fresh and warm, mixing with what was already there.

Haden flinched, but he didn't pull away. He pushed harder, deepening the kiss, mixing their blood and breath until Ember felt like she was drowning.

He finally pulled back when she started to choke. He stepped back an inch, his chest heaving. His bleeding hand left a dark smear on her shoulder where he'd gripped her.

He brought a thumb up to his lip, wiping away the smear of blood—hers or his, he couldn't tell. His eyes were wild, like a starving wolf. The cuts on his right hand had reopened, fresh blood weeping down his fingers.

"I'll make your life a living hell in this city," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "I swear to God."

Ember raised her hand. She slapped him across the face. The sound cracked through the room like a whip. Her palm came away wet with his blood.

Haden's head turned slightly. He slowly looked back at her. He grabbed her wrist with his bloody hand before she could pull it back. He squeezed, his grip crushing the delicate bones together, blood smearing her skin.

Ember winced, her brow furrowing in pain.

Haden let go of her hand like it was burning him. He turned around, his shoulder slamming into the door frame as he walked out. He kicked the ruined coffee table out of the way and stormed into the hallway, leaving a trail of bloody footprints on the marble floor.

Haden stormed out of the club, ignoring the shocked stares of the patrons. He ripped open the back door of the black Maybach waiting at the curb and threw himself into the leather seat. He slammed the door shut, sealing out the sound of the rain and the distant wail of police sirens.

Mitch Kowalski, his driver, adjusted the rearview mirror. His eyes flicked to the blood smeared on his boss's lip and the red handprint on his cheek.

Mitch reached over to the console and pulled out a heated towel. "Do you need a hospital, sir?" he asked quietly, holding it out.

Haden knocked the towel out of his hand. It fell to the floorboard, steaming. He didn't wipe the blood. He let it dry on his skin.

He yanked at his silk tie, loosening the knot until he could breathe. He turned his head and stared out the window at the club's flashing neon sign.

The image of Ember's face flashed in his mind. Her cold, dead eyes. Her absolute, suffocating control.

The feeling of powerlessness made him sick. He pulled his arm back and drove his fist into the leather armrest. The impact hurt his knuckles, but the pain barely registered.

Mitch didn't say a word. He hit the button to raise the privacy partition. The glass slid up smoothly, cutting off the front seat. He put the car in drive and merged into the rainy Manhattan traffic.

The cabin was quiet. The only sound was the rhythmic thumping of the windshield wipers and Haden's harsh breathing.

Suddenly, Haden laughed. It was a low, hollow sound, completely devoid of humor. It was the laugh of a man who had lost his mind.

"Three years, Mitch," Haden said, his voice raw. "Three years I've pictured destroying her. Every single day."

Mitch's voice came through the intercom, cautious. "Sir, personal vendettas aren't good for the stock price. The board is already nervous."

"I don't give a damn about the stock price," Haden snarled. "I want to burn it all down. I want to destroy everything Efford left her. I want to see her crawl in the dirt."

He leaned his head back against the seat. The memory of the night she left hit him like a freight train. The empty apartment. The note that smelled like her perfume. The absolute despair.

His hand moved on its own. His thumb rubbed against the cuff of his sleeve. The cold metal of the old silver cuff link grounded him.

It was cheap. Tarnished. The only gift she had ever given him. He hadn't taken it off in three years.

The love he had for her and the hate he had for her twisted together in his gut, making him want to vomit.

"Call Corbin Bancroft," Haden ordered, his voice suddenly flat and deadly.

Mitch hesitated. "The CEO of Allied Capital? Sir, they are our biggest rival. They've been trying to force a marriage alliance for months."

Haden smiled. It was a cruel, sharp expression. "Good. Let the wolf in the door."

"I'm going to back her into a corner," Haden said, staring at the rain sliding down the glass. "I want to see the look on my dear aunt's face when she has to beg me for mercy."

Mitch knew better than to argue. "Yes, sir."

The Maybach accelerated, the engine roaring as it hydroplaned slightly on the wet pavement. It took the corner sharply, heading straight for the Bancroft estate.

Haden closed his eyes. The red haze of rage faded into cold, hard calculation. He wasn't going to let her go this time. Never again.

The car vanished into the storm, leaving the club behind.

The morning sun cut through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Baldwin Group CEO office. The light was harsh, exposing every speck of dust in the air.

Ember sat behind the massive mahogany desk. She wore a tailored navy suit that fit her like armor. Her fingers flew across the keyboard of a secure terminal.

Lines of code scrolled across the screen. It was an intelligence report from her Architect team. The data was encrypted, detailing a shadow transaction in the Caymans.

The chime of the private elevator rang out, breaking her focus.

Ember's hand moved instantly. She hit the shortcut key. The code vanished, replaced by a boring, standard quarterly profit chart.

The double doors banged open. Haden walked in, his jaw clenched. Behind him followed two people.

Corbin Bancroft IV strutted in, chewing on an unlit cigar. He looked around the office like he already owned it.

His daughter, Tierney Shaw, clung to Haden's arm. She had her platinum blonde hair piled high and a smug smile on her face.

Ember stood up slowly. She placed her hands flat on the desk, her rings pressing into the wood. She looked at them like they were insects.

Corbin stepped forward and tossed a yellowed document onto the desk. "That little stunt your boy pulled at the club last night tanked our stock," he barked. "We're here to finalize the marriage contract."

Ember didn't look at the paper. "That letter of intent expired two years ago. It's legally void."

Tierney pouted, playing the victim. She leaned into Haden's side, pressing her chest against his arm. "Daddy, she's being mean."

Haden walked past the desk to the seating area. He sat down on the leather couch, spreading his arms out. He completely ignored Ember's authority.

He crossed one leg over the other. His custom Italian loafer dangled in the air.

"My shoelace is untied," Haden said suddenly. His voice was loud in the quiet room.

Nobody moved. Corbin smirked, realizing what was happening.

Haden looked right at Ember. "Show me how well you serve the Baldwin family. Tie my shoe," he ordered.

Tierney let out a fake, breathy giggle.

Ember's hands curled into fists under the desk. Her nails bit into her palms, the pain grounding her.

Her mind raced. If she threw them out now, Corbin would dump his shares. The Baldwin Group's capital chain would snap. She couldn't let that happen.

She took a slow breath. She uncurled her fingers. Her face went completely blank.

She walked around the desk. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor, each step measured and deliberate.

She stopped in front of Haden. She looked down at him, then slowly lowered herself to the floor.

She went down on one knee. The plush rug cushioned her fall, but the position was humiliating.

She reached out. Her expensive watch glinted under the lights as she grabbed the leather laces of his shoe.

Haden's pupils dilated. He hadn't actually believed she would do it. He thought she would fight. He thought she would scream.

Ember pulled the laces tight, forming a perfect knot. She let go of his shoe.

She looked up. Her eyes were like chips of ice, staring directly into his soul.

"I'm going to make you pay for this," she whispered. The sound was so low only he could hear it over the pounding of his own heart.