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.

Dominick threw Aubrey down onto the massive King-size velvet bed. The heavy mattress sank deep under her weight.

Aubrey's head spun from the impact. She tried to push herself up on her elbows, but Dominick's large frame was already hovering over her.

He dropped to one knee on the edge of the mattress. His long fingers violently ripped the expensive silk tie from his neck.

Aubrey looked up at the dark, feral hunger in his eyes. A terrifying mix of fear and deep, hidden arousal coiled in her stomach.

"Dominick, you can't just fix everything like this!" she gasped, pressing both her hands flat against his hard chest to stop him.

"You started this war, Aubrey," he rasped. His voice was rough, completely unrecognizable. He grabbed both of her wrists, pinned them above her head, and pressed them deep into the pillows.

His mouth crashed down on hers again. This time, the punishment was gone. It was replaced by a suffocating, desperate need.

He reached behind her back. He found the invisible zipper of her Oscar de la Renta gown and yanked it down. The freezing air conditioning hit her bare spine.

Aubrey gasped sharply. Her entire body shivered. The humiliation of giving in fought a losing battle against her own physical reactions.

Dominick dragged his lips from her mouth, down to her jaw, and pressed hot, wet kisses into her neck.

"Tell me you don't care," he whispered cruelly against her collarbone, his teeth scraping her skin.

Aubrey bit down hard on her lower lip. She refused to say a word. Hot tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and soaked into her blonde hair.

The room was pitch black. Lightning flashed outside the windows, briefly illuminating their tangled bodies. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on.

Dominick stripped away the rest of her defenses. He was dominant, taking complete control, leaving her no space to breathe or retreat.

A sharp pain was quickly followed by a heavy, consuming heat. Aubrey gasped, her fingernails digging deep into Dominick's bare back, dragging down his skin.

Dominick let out a low, guttural groan at the scratch. He didn't slow down. He pushed harder.

It was a physical war. They were both fighting to see who would break first.

Aubrey shattered first. A broken sob tore from her throat as the overwhelming sensation pulled her under.

Hearing her cry, Dominick's rigid muscles froze for a fraction of a second. A flash of raw panic and pity crossed his eyes, though he didn't understand it.

But the possessiveness swallowed him whole again. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and buried his face in her neck.

Hours later, the storm finally broke. The only sound in the bedroom was their heavy, ragged breathing.

Aubrey's body felt like lead. She turned her back to Dominick, curled her knees to her chest, and pulled the thick duvet tightly around her shoulders.

Dominick sat up against the headboard. He lit a cigarette. The cherry burned bright red in the dark room.

Through the smoke, he looked down at Aubrey's shaking shoulders. His chest tightened painfully.

He slowly reached his hand out. He wanted to touch the tangled blonde hair spread across his pillow.

His fingers stopped an inch from her hair. His hand hovered in the air.

Logic slammed back into his brain. He pulled his hand back quickly and crushed the cigarette into the glass ashtray.

"I'll have Taylor send over a PR statement draft tomorrow," he said. His voice was back to the cold, corporate tone. "Memorize the talking points. We need our public narrative about my return to align seamlessly for the press."

Aubrey's spine went completely rigid under the blanket. The tiny bit of warmth she had felt vanished instantly, replaced by freezing ice.

She closed her eyes. Her heart felt completely dead. "Okay," she whispered to the wall.

The harsh morning sunlight sliced through the gaps in the blinds, stabbing into the dark bedroom. Aubrey woke to the faint sound of fabric moving.

She kept her eyes shut. She controlled her breathing, making it slow and even, pretending she was still asleep.

Dominick was already out of the shower. He stood in front of the floor-length mirror, buttoning a crisp, custom white shirt.

He walked into the closet and pulled out a dark gray Brunello Cucinelli suit jacket. His movements were sharp, efficient, and completely devoid of emotion.

Aubrey watched him through the slits of her eyelashes. His back was perfectly straight. The feral man from last night was completely gone.

Dominick walked over to the nightstand. He picked up the Patek Philippe watch and strapped it to his wrist. The metal clasp clicked loudly in the quiet room.

His eyes flicked down to Aubrey. He stared at her bare shoulder exposed above the duvet. The faint red marks he had left were still visible.

He stared for two seconds. Then he turned around and walked out of the bedroom without a single word.

The heavy door clicked shut. Aubrey opened her eyes. She stared at the empty room, a bitter, hollow laugh escaping her throat.

She threw the covers off and sat up. Her muscles ached, a physical reminder of how stupid she had been. She ran her hands aggressively through her tangled hair.

Her iPhone buzzed violently on the nightstand.

Aubrey grabbed it. The screen lit up with dozens of unread messages from an iMessage group chat named "Manhattan Bitch Club."

She opened the chat. The very first image was a paparazzi photo from last night. It showed Dominick gripping her waist by the Lincoln, her face looking stiff and miserable.

Right below it was a voice note from Portia Vaughn.

Aubrey tapped play. Portia's shrill voice filled the quiet bedroom. "Look at Mrs. Carrillo's face. She looks like she's going to a funeral. I heard Dominick dropped a million on Veronica last night. True love, right?"

Another socialite texted back: "Yeah, they rushed back to Fifth Avenue. Probably going home to sign the divorce papers."

Aubrey's fingers gripped the phone so hard her knuckles turned white. The humiliation chewed on her insides like battery acid.

She didn't type a reply. She flipped the phone over and threw it onto the mattress. She took a deep, shaking breath.

She refused to let those women win. She was a Middleton. She had pride.

Aubrey walked into the bathroom and turned the shower on full blast. She stood under the freezing water, scrubbing her skin until it was red, trying to wash his touch away.

She wrapped a thick robe around herself and walked out into the hallway to get coffee.

As she passed Dominick's private study, she heard his low, clipped voice drifting into the hallway. He was on an urgent call with the London branch, his tone authoritative and rushed. A minute later, he strode out rapidly, his mind clearly a million miles away as he headed straight for the private elevator. Aubrey hesitated, noticing that in his uncharacteristic haste, he hadn't pulled the heavy oak door completely shut. It was cracked open just an inch.

Dominick never left his door open. He must have been rushing to leave.

She meant to keep walking, but through that narrow gap, she saw a black Hermes briefcase sitting open on the mahogany desk.

Next to it was a stack of glossy, bound documents. The top folder had bold, black letters printed across it.

Her feet moved on their own. She pushed the door open and walked up to the desk.

The cover read: "The Obsidian - Downtown Manhattan Boutique Designer Hotel Proposal."

Aubrey's eyes locked onto the words "Designer Hotel."

She reached out. Her fingertips traced the edge of the thick paper. A sudden, violent rush of adrenaline hit her bloodstream. Her old instincts from the Rhode Island School of Design flared to life.

A crazy idea exploded in her head. If Dominick thought she was just a useless canary, she was going to rip a hole right through his corporate empire.