Ember rose to her feet with fluid grace. She smoothed down her skirt, brushing away a piece of lint that wasn't there.

She turned her back on Haden and walked around the desk. She sat back down in her chair, reclaiming her position of power.

Corbin puffed on his cigar, looking extremely satisfied. "Glad to see you're being reasonable, Mrs. Baldwin."

Tierney sashayed over to the glass coffee table. She set her Chanel handbag down with a thud. She opened the clasp and pulled out a small, square piece of paper.

She walked over to the mahogany desk and slammed the paper down right in front of Ember.

It was a black-and-white ultrasound image.

"I'm pregnant," Tierney announced, her voice high and shrill. "With Haden's baby."

Haden, who had been watching from the couch, went completely still for a fraction of a second. The shock hit him hard.

He quickly covered it up. A fake, mocking smile spread across his face. "Is that so?"

Ember stared at the image. A sharp, twisting pain gripped her stomach. She felt like she couldn't breathe.

But she didn't let it show. She forced the emotion down and looked at the photo with clinical detachment.

She saw it immediately. The pixel distribution around the fetus was slightly off. The date stamp in the corner was misaligned by two pixels.

Her brain processed the data in a millisecond. It was a composite image. A fake.

She looked up at Tierney. The girl's eyes darted to the side for a split second. She was terrified.

Corbin seized the moment. "The Baldwin family will give my grandchild a name," he demanded. "Or I go to the New York Times with the scandal. Your stock will be worthless by noon."

Ember knew if she called Tierney a liar right now, the girl would just destroy the evidence. They would deny everything and counter-attack. She needed them trapped.

Ember folded her hands on the desk. She looked at Haden, and a perfect, serene smile appeared on her face.

"Congratulations, Haden," she said softly. "I'm so happy for you."

The words hit Haden like a bullet. The fake smile vanished from his face. His eyes went dark, a dangerous storm brewing in them.

Ember turned to Corbin. "A wedding is a major event. Per the family trust bylaws, I need three days to prepare the share transfer agreements and the press releases."

Corbin thought he had won. He laughed, a greasy, satisfied sound. "Three days. Not a minute more."

Tierney preened, shooting Ember a victorious glare as she hooked her arm through her father's. They walked out of the office, the doors clicking shut behind them.

The room went silent. The air felt thick enough to choke on.

Haden stood up from the couch. He looked like a man possessed. He walked toward the desk, his eyes locked on Ember with pure, unadulterated hatred.

The second the door clicked shut, Haden kicked the glass coffee table as hard as he could.

The table flew across the room, shattering against the wall. Glass shards and the fake ultrasound photo scattered all over the floor.

Haden stalked toward the desk. His eyes were red, the veins in his neck bulging.

Ember saw the danger. She reached under the desk and hit the panic button for security.

Haden was faster. He swept the sleek wireless handset off the desk, smashing it against the wall. The plastic casing cracked.

He reached across the desk. His hands grabbed the lapels of her suit jacket. He hauled her out of the leather chair like she weighed nothing.

"How dare you!" he roared, his spit flying in her face. "How dare you trade me like a piece of garbage!"

Ember didn't struggle. She went limp in his grip, her face cold. "It's the best option to protect the family assets."

The word "family" was the final spark. Haden's brain completely short-circuited.

He bent down and shoved his shoulder into her stomach. He lifted her up, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

Ember gasped as the air was knocked out of her. She pounded her fists against his back, her legs kicking wildly. One of her heels flew off and landed on the rug.

Haden ignored her. He carried her toward the back of the office, toward the private elevator.

He hit the button. The doors opened. He stepped inside and pressed the button for the penthouse floor.

The elevator shot upward. Ember braced herself against the wall, trying to catch her breath.

The doors opened into Haden's private duplex apartment. He walked straight through the living room.

He kicked the master bedroom door open. The door slammed against the wall, leaving a dent in the drywall.

He threw Ember onto the massive king-size bed. She bounced once on the mattress and immediately scrambled toward the edge.

Haden grabbed her ankle. His grip was bruising. He yanked her back, dragging her across the sheets until she was under him.

He pinned her down. His knee pressed heavily against her thighs, stopping her from moving. His hands clamped down on her wrists, holding them above her head.

He was breathing like a freight train. "You couldn't wait to get rid of me, could you?" he snarled. "You couldn't wait to sell me off."

Ember turned her head to the side. She refused to answer. She refused to look at him.

Her silence drove him insane. The jealousy ate through his veins like acid.

He let go of her wrist with one hand. He grabbed the collar of her silk blouse.

The sound of tearing fabric ripped through the quiet room. The expensive silk shredded like paper in his grip.

Ember gasped as the cold air hit her bare skin. Her chest heaved, her white lace bra exposed.

Haden's eyes dropped to her stomach. It was flat. Toned. The sight made his blood boil.

"Did you give him a child?" he asked, his voice cracking. He looked sick. "Did you carry Efford's bastard?"

His rough hand slapped down onto her bare stomach. The heat of his palm burned against her skin.

Ember flinched. A wave of nausea and grief washed over her. Tears pricked the back of her eyes, threatening to spill.

She bit down on her lip until she tasted blood. She looked up at the man holding her down, her eyes filled with pure, unfiltered hatred.

Haden's hand rested on her stomach. He felt the hard muscle beneath the soft skin. There was no swell of pregnancy. No sign of a child.

The reality of what he was doing crashed over him. He looked down at her torn shirt, her red wrist, and the absolute fury in her eyes.

Disgust filled him. Not for her, but for himself. He had lost control. He had become the monster she always accused him of being.

He jerked his hand back like he had touched a live wire. He stumbled backward, falling off the bed.

"Shit," he muttered, running his hands through his hair. He backed up until he hit the wall. "Shit, shit, shit."

He couldn't look at her. He turned and ran out of the room. The front door of the apartment slammed shut a second later.

Ember lay on the bed for a long moment. She listened to the silence.

She sat up slowly. She pulled the torn edges of her blouse together, her fingers trembling slightly.

The vulnerability in her eyes vanished. It was replaced by something cold and calculating. The weakness was gone.

She reached into the hidden pocket sewn into the waistband of her skirt—a detail his rage had overlooked—and pulled out a black, unregistered satellite phone. It was military-grade, untraceable.

She dialed a number from memory. It rang once.

"Execute hunting protocol," she said, her voice deadpan. "Target is Tierney Shaw. Bring her to the yacht."

She hung up the phone and tucked it away.

Three days later.

The giant boardroom at Bancroft Group headquarters on Wall Street was packed. Every seat was filled with nervous directors.

Corbin Bancroft stood at the front of the room, pointing at the holographic projection on the screen. He was outlining the merger benefits, his face red with excitement.

Suddenly, a high-pitched alarm blared from the speakers. The lights on the secure server rack turned from green to flashing red.

The huge projection screen flickered. The charts and graphs vanished, replaced by a screen full of static snow.

Corbin slammed his fist on the podium. "What the hell is this? Fix it!"

The IT director ran to the console, sweat pouring down his face. "Sir, the system is locked! It's a Level 10 hack. We can't override it!"

The static on the screen cleared. The image switched to a bright, sunny view of the open ocean.

The camera panned slowly. The deck of a multi-million-dollar superyacht came into view.

In the center of the frame, Tierney Shaw was tied to a metal chair with thick rope. Her hair was a tangled mess. Her designer dress was soaked with seawater. She was screaming at the camera, her face twisted in terror.

The directors in the boardroom gasped. A few of them stood up, knocking their chairs over.

Corbin's face went white. His legs gave out, and he collapsed into his leather chair.

The sound of high heels clicking on wooden decking echoed from the speakers.

Ember walked into the frame. She wore a sleek black trench coat, the wind whipping it around her legs.

She looked directly into the camera. A small, chilling smile appeared on her face.

"Good morning, Wall Street," she said. "The live broadcast is now in session."

She held up a small device, showing the GPS coordinates on the screen. "We are currently two hundred nautical miles offshore. International waters."

Corbin fumbled for his phone. He tried to dial 911, but the screen was dead. "The signal is jammed!" he yelled, panic choking his voice. "The whole building is dark!"

The trap was sprung. Ember was ready to tear them apart.