The lights in the dining hall dimmed as a renowned auctioneer from Sotheby's took the stage to host the charity bidding.

Aubrey looked across the table at Dominick. "I read Bloomberg every morning," she said smoothly, brushing off his question.

Dominick stared at her for a long second. He didn't push it, but his eyes tracked her every movement.

The auctioneer presented the next item. It was a vintage Bvlgari emerald necklace, donated by Veronica.

"Starting bid at one hundred thousand dollars," the auctioneer announced. A few paddles went up in the back.

Veronica turned her head and looked at Dominick. Her eyes were wide, practically begging him to bid.

Aubrey watched them. She picked up her water glass to hide the bitter twist of her lips.

Dominick's face remained completely expressionless. He raised his paddle. "One million."

The entire room went dead silent. Then, a wave of shocked gasps and frantic whispers flooded the hall.

A million dollars for a necklace worth barely three hundred thousand. It was a massive, public declaration of support for the actress.

Portia Vaughn leaned past two chairs just to look at Aubrey. Her eyes were filled with fake pity and real cruelty.

Aubrey's fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin nearly broke. She kept the smile glued to her face.

The gavel slammed down. "Sold!" Veronica gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. She looked at Dominick with teary eyes and mouthed a thank you.

Dominick gave a single, curt nod. But his eyes immediately slid diagonally across the table, landing on Aubrey.

Aubrey didn't give him a single second of eye contact. She looked down at her phone, typing a fast reply to Sloane's angry text.

The dinner finally ended. Guests began filtering out toward the valet waiting area.

Aubrey pulled her velvet shawl tightly over her shoulders. She just wanted to call her own driver and escape the suffocating air.

She walked down the side corridor of the museum. A large, solid figure stepped out of the shadows, blocking her path.

Dominick stood there. He held an unlit cigar between his fingers. He smelled of expensive cologne and raw power.

"Let your driver go," he ordered. His voice left no room for argument. "You're riding back with me."

Aubrey let out a harsh laugh. "Why? Is Veronica's van not big enough to fit your ego?"

Dominick took a step forward. His dress shoes clicked heavily against the marble floor.

"There are paparazzi swarming the exits," he said, looking down at her. His voice was ice. "Do you want tomorrow's New York Post headline to be about the Carrillo marriage collapsing?"

Aubrey ground her teeth together. She knew the rules of her family's trust fund. She couldn't tank his stock prices.

She glared at him, her chest heaving. She stepped around him and walked aggressively toward the exit.

They pushed through the glass doors together. A blinding wall of camera flashes assaulted them instantly.

Dominick's large hand clamped down on her waist. He pulled her flush against his side, playing the role of the fiercely protective husband.

The heat of his palm burned right through the velvet of her dress. Her entire body went rigid.

The bodyguard pulled open the door to the stretch Lincoln. Aubrey practically dove into the backseat to get away from his touch.

Dominick climbed in right behind her. The heavy door slammed shut, instantly cutting off the screaming reporters.

The driver pressed a button. The thick, black soundproof divider slowly rolled up, sealing the backseat into an absolute vacuum.

The confined space was immediately flooded with Dominick's scent. It was a heavy mix of cold cedar and custom tobacco.

Aubrey slid across the leather seat until her hip hit the door. She needed maximum physical distance from him.

Dominick reached up and yanked his tie loose. He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. He looked exhausted and dangerous.

"A million dollars for outdated emeralds," Aubrey said, her voice dripping with venom. "The Carrillo Group's cash flow must be incredibly healthy."

Dominick turned his head. The passing streetlights cast dark shadows over the sharp angles of his face.

"It's a tax-deductible charity expense, Aubrey. You don't need to use your pathetic financial knowledge to audit my ledgers," he fired back coldly.

The insult hit her right in the chest. It was the exact sore spot she hated most-being treated like a brainless trophy. Her eyes burned.

"Is that right?" she snapped. "Was grabbing my waist for the cameras part of your tax avoidance strategy too?"

Dominick lunged forward. He planted his arm on the leather seat right behind her head, trapping her in the corner.

"That was to stop you from running to those gossiping housewives tomorrow and crying about your neglectful husband. I protect my stock prices."

Aubrey's heart hammered frantically against her ribs, but she tilted her chin up and glared right back into his eyes.

The Lincoln took a sudden, sharp turn. Aubrey lost her balance. She pitched forward and slammed hard into Dominick's chest.

Dominick's arm instinctively wrapped around her. He pulled her tight against his body. His muscles were like solid rock.

Aubrey shoved her hands against his chest, pushing him away like he was diseased. "Don't touch me!"

Dominick's eyes darkened instantly. He dropped his arm, slid back to his side of the car, and aggressively smoothed down his suit jacket.

For the next ten minutes, the car was dead silent. Only the neon lights of Manhattan blurred past the tinted windows.

The Lincoln finally rolled into the private underground garage of their Fifth Avenue building.

The bodyguard opened the door. Aubrey didn't wait a single second. She grabbed her dress and practically ran toward the private elevator.

Dominick shoved his hands into his pockets and followed her, his long strides easily keeping pace.

The elevator shot up to the penthouse. The doors slid open to reveal the cold, minimalist black-and-white decor.

They owned two floors. They lived entirely separate lives.

Aubrey walked into the foyer and aggressively kicked off her Jimmy Choo heels. They clattered against the marble.

Instead of walking up the stairs to her floor, she spun around. She planted her bare feet on the floor and blocked his path.

Dominick took off his suit jacket and tossed it onto the sofa. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"The show is over, Dominick. Now, answer my question," Aubrey demanded. Her voice shook with pure rage.

"What tantrum are you throwing now?" Dominick pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked incredibly annoyed.

"When exactly did you get back to New York?" She stared a hole straight through him. She dropped the bomb.

Dominick was reaching for a whiskey decanter. His hand completely froze in mid-air for half a second. He hadn't expected that.

Outside the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, the New York sky ripped open. Thunder cracked, and torrential rain began to smash against the glass.

Dominick slowly turned around. He set the half-filled whiskey glass down on the marble bar. The heavy crystal made a sharp clink.

"If you already know, why are you asking me?" he said. His voice was completely flat, like they were discussing the weather.

His utter indifference snapped the last thread of Aubrey's sanity. "Three days! You've been in New York for three days, and I had to find out from Carter Dalton's Instagram story!"

Dominick frowned. He looked more annoyed at the breach of security than his wife's anger. "Carter is an idiot."

"Is Carter the point?" Aubrey stepped toward him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "The point is you treat me like an absolute fool!"

"It's a multi-billion-dollar hostile takeover, Aubrey. My schedule is highly classified. Not even the board knew," he stated, using his Wall Street logic to shut her down.

"Classified? Classified enough to hide from your wife, but public enough to parade a Hollywood actress down a red carpet?" Aubrey's voice cracked. Her eyes were red.

Dominick's eyes turned to ice. "Veronica's husband has massive influence on the Senate Finance Committee, and his opinions sway SEC directions. I needed her as a smokescreen. It's just business."

"Business? What isn't business in your world? Is our marriage just a line item on your balance sheet?" Aubrey let out a desperate, hollow laugh.

Dominick walked to the bar. He opened a drawer, pulled out a limitless Centurion Black Card, and slid it across the marble toward her.

"If you feel wronged, go buy out the entire seasonal collection at Bergdorf Goodman tomorrow. Consider it my apology." He used the only language he knew.

Aubrey stared at the black card. Her stomach twisted violently. She felt like a high-priced escort being paid off. The humiliation was suffocating.

She snatched the heavy metal card off the counter and hurled it at him with all her might. The card fluttered weakly against his expensive suit jacket before falling silently onto the thick carpet. That weightless, quiet rejection somehow felt infinitely more damaging than a physical blow.

"Screw your black card! Dominick Carrillo, you make me sick!" she screamed. She spun around and marched toward the stairs.

Dominick's face went completely dark. He closed the distance in two massive strides and clamped his hand around her wrist.

He yanked her backward with terrifying force. She stumbled and crashed hard against his chest.

"Let me go!" she fought him wildly, slamming her free fist into his shoulder.

Dominick didn't let go. His other hand shot up and gripped her jaw, forcing her head up to look at him.

"Are you insane? I explained it. I apologized. What else do you want from me?" he gritted out, his jaw tight with fury.

"I want you to respect me like a human being! Not like a pet canary you keep locked up on Fifth Avenue!" A single tear finally broke free and rolled down her cheek.

The hot tear dropped right onto the back of Dominick's hand. The heat of it made his pupils dilate instantly.

He stared at her flushed, tear-stained face. The wild beast he had kept locked down for three years suddenly shattered its cage.

Without a single warning, Dominick crushed his mouth down onto hers.

It wasn't a kiss. It was a violent, punishing act of possession.

Aubrey's eyes went wide with shock. She clamped her teeth shut, refusing to let him in.

Dominick's large hand tangled in the hair at the back of her head. His other arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her off the ground and pinning her back against the wooden banister.

He forced her lips apart. The heavy taste of whiskey and raw male aggression invaded her mouth, short-circuiting her brain.

Aubrey's struggles weakened. Her body betrayed her, melting against the overwhelming heat of him.

Dominick scooped her up into his arms. He carried her down the hallway, his strides eating up the distance to his master bedroom.

He kicked the bedroom door open, walked through, and let it slam shut behind them, locking the storm outside and starting a new one inside.