Outside the Waldorf Astoria, the wailing sirens of the NYPD cruisers pierced the night. Surrounded by a sea of flashing cameras, Kendal was shoved into the back of a police car, her mind completely broken.

Inside the ballroom, Beatrice rolled her eyes back and collapsed in her wheelchair, sending the medical team into a panic.

Inside the concrete fire stairwell, Alyse moved quickly. Her heels clicked sharply against the cement stairs. Even while fleeing, her pace was perfectly measured and terrifyingly calm.

Suddenly, the heavy thud of footsteps echoed from the landing above her.

Godfrey vaulted over the railing, landing heavily on the stairs just a few feet below her, completely cutting off her escape route.

They stood frozen on the dim landing. The faint green glow of the exit sign stretched their shadows across the cold concrete walls.

Godfrey's chest heaved. He reached up and violently ripped his tie loose. His eyes were completely bloodshot, wild with emotional whiplash.

He stared at the face that had haunted his nightmares for five years.

"Why didn't you explain?" His voice shook so violently he could barely form the words.

Alyse was forced to stop. She didn't back away. She looked straight into his burning, tortured eyes, and a mocking smile touched her lips.

"Explain?" She let out a short, sharp laugh that echoed harshly in the stairwell. "Explain to a man who didn't even bother to ask a single question before throwing a divorce agreement in my face?"

The words stabbed Godfrey in the chest. His face turned paper-white. He took a step up, reaching out to grab her shoulders.

Alyse flinched backward, dodging his hands as if he were carrying a plague.

"I saw the video. I know you were framed. We can-" Godfrey's voice cracked. He sounded desperate, almost begging.

"Stop, Godfrey," Alyse cut him off. Her voice was absolute zero. She looked at him like he was a stranger on the street.

She lifted her chin, every word designed to draw blood. "You think that little misunderstanding was the only reason our marriage fell apart? You think way too highly of yourself."

Godfrey froze. His hands hovered in the air, stiff and useless. His brain couldn't process the meaning behind her words.

"The truth is," Alyse took a step down, leaning in close, her voice dropping to a vicious whisper. "Even if Kendal hadn't framed me, I still would have divorced you."

The sentence hit Godfrey like a baseball bat to the back of the head. The pride he had clung to, the tiny spark of hope that had just ignited, shattered into a million pieces.

He shook his head in disbelief. He searched her eyes, praying to find anger, resentment, anything that meant she still cared.

He found nothing but deep, exhausting boredom.

"Because of that man? Guthrie?" Godfrey ground his teeth together. The venom of jealousy flooded his brain, blinding him completely.

A cold light flashed in Alyse's eyes. She needed to keep the real reason-Cathleen's plot to steal the AI patent-buried. So, she leaned into his delusion.

"Think whatever you want," she said coldly. She stepped around his frozen body and continued walking down the stairs.

The overwhelming sense of defeat and jealousy snapped the last thread of Godfrey's sanity.

He spun around and lunged. His hand clamped down on her wrist like a steel trap.

His grip was terrifyingly strong, nearly crushing her bones. He yanked her backward, slamming her spine hard against the freezing concrete wall.

"You are not walking away from me," Godfrey growled. His eyes were bleeding red. His hot breath hit her face, reeking of desperate madness.

Alyse frowned in pain, but she didn't yield an inch. She stared back at him with pure defiance. "What? Is the great CEO of Hammond going to assault me in a stairwell?"

Before Godfrey could react, the heavy metal door on the landing below burst open.

A rogue paparazzi photographer, who had been chasing a different celebrity in the lobby, had spotted Godfrey's furious sprint into the fire exit. He had immediately texted his buddies, and now all three of them rushed into the stairwell with their cameras raised.

Blinding flashes of white light exploded in the dark space, capturing the intense, violent physical tension between them.

Godfrey's instincts took over. He immediately twisted his body, shielding Alyse's face from the lenses, pressing her into his chest to protect her.

It was a subconscious act of protection. It made Alyse freeze for a fraction of a second.

But she recovered instantly. Using his shifted weight, she shoved him hard in the chest, breaking his grip. She didn't look back. She pushed open the ground-floor exit door and vanished into the freezing night.

Godfrey tried to go after her, but the paparazzi swarmed him, shoving their lenses into his face, blocking the stairs.

He let out a furious roar and smashed his fist into the closest camera lens, shattering the glass. His bodyguards finally burst through the doors to pull him out, but it was too late.

The black shadow was gone.

Alyse sprinted out of the hotel's back alley and dove into the back seat of the waiting black sedan.

"Drive. Now," she ordered, her voice like cracking ice.

The sedan shot forward like an arrow, tearing into the dark Manhattan streets. Alyse leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes, forcing her racing heart to slow down.

But Godfrey hadn't given up. He had thrown his driver out of the Maybach and taken the wheel himself. Like a vengeful ghost, the massive black car locked onto the back of Alyse's sedan.

The two cars engaged in a terrifying, high-speed chase down the empty midnight highway. The roar of the Maybach's engine echoed through the streets like a wild beast.

Sweat poured down the face of Alyse's driver. He checked his rearview mirror constantly. "Ma'am, he's too fast. I can't shake him."

Suddenly, the Maybach surged forward. With a violently dangerous swerve, Godfrey cut directly in front of the sedan and slammed on the brakes.

The screech of burning rubber filled the air. The two cars skidded to a violent halt on a desolate stretch of highway near the Long Island coast.

The massive force of the stop threw Alyse forward. The seatbelt dug painfully into her shoulder. She jerked her head up, glaring at the car in front of her.

Godfrey shoved his door open. He stepped out into the freezing wind, radiating a terrifying mix of cold air and explosive rage. He marched straight toward Alyse's car.

He didn't care about the driver's warnings. He slammed his fist against Alyse's window. The heavy thud echoed over the sound of the crashing waves nearby.

"Get out!" he yelled.

Knowing she couldn't avoid it, Alyse took a deep breath and pushed her door open. The violent ocean wind instantly whipped her hair across her pale face.

"Are you out of your mind?" Alyse stared at the deranged man in front of her, her voice thin against the wind.

Godfrey grabbed both of her shoulders and slammed her back against the side of the car. The deafening crash of the ocean waves barely covered the sound of his heavy, ragged breathing.

"I just want a real answer," he said. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice sounding like he had swallowed broken glass. "What was our five years of marriage to you? What was it?!"

Alyse looked at his tortured face. Deep inside, the scar left by Cathleen's betrayal and the near-loss of her mother's patent throbbed with pain. But she couldn't tell him.

She forced the perfect mask of cruelty onto her face.

She looked him dead in the eye and spoke slowly. "It was a nightmare. A nightmare I couldn't wait to wake up from."

The words acted like a poisoned dagger, plunging straight into Godfrey's heart. His entire body began to tremble.

He lost his mind. He leaned in, desperate to kiss her, to force her to feel something, to prove she was lying.

Suddenly, a blinding set of high beams cut through the darkness from the end of the highway.

Tracking the live GPS signal Alyse had sent him earlier that evening, a silver Aston Martin drifted around the curve with a screech and slammed to a halt right next to them. Guthrie stepped out of the car.

He wore a casual trench coat, but his eyes were lethal. He radiated absolute, untouchable protection.

He walked straight up to Godfrey, clamped his hand around Godfrey's wrist, and violently ripped him away from Alyse's shoulders. Guthrie stepped between them, shielding Alyse.

"Forcing yourself on a woman isn't very gentlemanly, Mr. Hammond," Guthrie said. His voice was smooth, but it carried a deadly warning.

Godfrey stared at the man who had been plastered all over Alyse's rumors. The "soulmate." The rage boiled over.

Godfrey twisted his arm free, grabbed Guthrie by the collar, and pulled his fist back, ready to shatter the man's jaw.

"Enough!" Alyse's sharp, furious voice cut through the air.

She stepped out from behind Guthrie. Her eyes were completely dead as she looked at Godfrey. "When are you going to stop throwing tantrums?"

Then, she turned to Guthrie. The hard, freezing lines of her face instantly melted into a soft, gentle expression.

"Let's go," she whispered to Guthrie.

The brutal difference in how she treated them was the final straw that broke Godfrey's sanity.

His hands fell to his sides. He stood there, completely paralyzed, watching Alyse slide into the passenger seat of Guthrie's car. She didn't look back at him. Not even once.

The silver sports car tore off into the night, leaving nothing but exhaust fumes and the howling wind.

Godfrey stood alone on the empty highway. He felt like a hollow shell, completely swallowed by the massive, freezing darkness.