Alyson grabbed her handbag from the back of the chair and walked toward the grand foyer.

Her heels struck the marble floor with heavy, definitive clicks, each step crushing the last remnants of her loyalty to this house.

"Stop right there! Who gave you permission to leave!" Warren roared from the dining room.

Alyson did not even turn her head.

She reached out and pushed the heavy oak front doors open.

A violent gust of wind, thick with freezing rain, blasted into the entryway.

Just as she stepped onto the threshold, a high-pitched scream echoed behind her.

It was Eleanor.

Alyson instinctively looked over her shoulder.

Chelsea was collapsed on the Persian rug, her face pale, one hand clutching her chest as she gasped desperately for air.

"Chelsea! My baby, what's wrong!" Eleanor dropped to her knees, pulling Chelsea into her arms.

Chelsea's chest heaved violently, large tears spilling down her cheeks.

"Mom... my chest hurts so much... Does my sister still hate me..."

Warren rushed forward, screaming at the butler.

"Get her pills! Call the family doctor right now!"

He whipped his head around, glaring at Alyson with a hatred so pure it burned.

"Are you happy now? Will you only be satisfied when you kill your sister?"

Alyson stood in the open doorway, the cold wind whipping her hair across her face.

She watched the pathetic, theatrical performance on the floor.

Her heart didn't ache. She just felt a deep, exhausting disgust.

She turned her back on them and stepped out onto the covered porch.

At that exact moment, a sleek black Maybach tore through the heavy rain and slammed to a halt in the driveway.

The rear door swung open.

Kenton stepped out, wearing a dark grey custom suit, his face tight with urgency.

He had clearly rushed over after receiving a call from the Holts about the dinner.

His eyes immediately locked onto Alyson standing alone on the top step.

Before he could demand to know what she was doing, Eleanor's hysterical crying drifted out the open door.

"Kenton! Come quick! Chelsea is having a panic attack!"

The color drained from Kenton's face.

He lunged up the stairs.

Alyson was standing in his path.

Without breaking his stride, Kenton shoved his hand against Alyson's shoulder to move her out of the way.

The marble steps were slick with rain.

The force of his push threw Alyson off balance.

Her ankle twisted violently, and she stumbled hard, her knee slamming into the wet stone to stop herself from falling down the entire flight of stairs.

A sharp pain shot up her leg, but Kenton didn't even look back.

He sprinted into the foyer and dropped to one knee, pulling Chelsea from Eleanor's arms and pressing her against his chest.

"Chelsea, look at me. Breathe," Kenton ordered, his voice thick with a desperate tenderness Alyson had never heard before.

Chelsea buried her face in his suit jacket, her voice trembling.

"Kenton... maybe I shouldn't have come back... My sister..."

Kenton's head snapped up.

His eyes found Alyson, who was slowly pulling herself up from the wet ground.

"What is wrong with you, Alyson? She is your own flesh and blood!" he shouted, his voice echoing over the sound of the rain.

Alyson stood in the downpour, letting the freezing water soak through her silk shirt.

She looked at the man she had loved for three years holding the woman who had ruined her life.

"You should all buy tickets to Broadway," she said, her voice dead and hollow.

She turned around and walked down the steps into the storm.

Kenton's jaw clenched in fury. He scooped Chelsea up into his arms.

"I'm taking her to the hospital," he told the Holts, carrying her out to the Maybach.

His driver instantly opened an umbrella, shielding them as Kenton placed her gently in the back seat.

The engine roared to life.

The heavy car accelerated down the driveway, the tires slicing through a deep puddle.

A wave of dirty, freezing mud splashed across the back of Alyson's legs as the car sped past her, leaving her entirely alone.

The rain fell in thick, blinding sheets, turning the coastal highway of Long Island into a dark, treacherous blur.

Alyson's clothes were plastered to her freezing skin.

She forced her numb legs to keep moving along the narrow gravel shoulder.

She had dropped her car keys somewhere in the foyer during the chaos, and now she was walking toward the main road to find a cab.

A few hundred yards ahead, the red taillights of Kenton's Maybach crawled around a sharp curve, moving carefully on the slick asphalt.

Suddenly, the horrific screech of tires tearing against wet pavement ripped through the storm.

Headlights cut through the darkness from the opposite lane.

A massive, heavy-duty pickup truck burst through the rain, swerving wildly in a violent S-shape.

The driver was clearly drunk, the heavy machine completely out of control as it barreled straight toward the Maybach.

Alyson's breath caught in her throat.

Her heart slammed against her ribs in a sudden spike of terror.

The Maybach driver jerked the steering wheel hard to the right.

In the fraction of a second before the impact, Alyson saw Kenton's silhouette in the back window.

He threw his entire body over Chelsea, using his broad back as a human shield to protect her.

A deafening crunch of metal on metal exploded in the air.

The side of the pickup truck scraped violently against the rear of the Maybach, ripping the trunk open like a tin can.

The luxury car spun out, airbags deploying with loud pops, white smoke filling the cabin.

But the nightmare wasn't over.

The massive force of the collision altered the truck's trajectory.

The heavy vehicle spun out of control, its tires losing all traction on the flooded road.

It was sliding sideways, moving like a giant wall of steel, directly toward the gravel shoulder.

Directly toward Alyson.

The blinding high beams washed over her face.

The sheer size of the truck paralyzed her muscles. There was nowhere to run.

The heavy steel bed of the truck slammed into her side.

The impact was a brutal, crushing force that shattered the air in her lungs.

She was thrown into the air, her body flying like a broken doll before crashing violently into the muddy ditch beside the road.

A sickening crack echoed in her ears as her ribs fractured under the brutal force.

Agony exploded through her entire body, so intense her vision instantly bled into red. Every single breath she tried to draw felt like a jagged knife twisting directly into her lungs.

She lay in the freezing mud, gasping for air that wouldn't come.

She forced her heavy eyelids open, turning her head toward the road.

The door of the Maybach was kicked open.

Kenton climbed out, coughing from the airbag smoke.

He immediately turned back, reaching inside to pull Chelsea out.

He ran his hands over her arms and face, his voice frantic as he checked her for injuries.

Chelsea was crying, but she was completely unharmed.

Only then did Kenton turn his head and look toward the ditch.

He saw Alyson lying in the mud, blood mixing with the rain on her face.

A brief flash of shock widened his eyes, but then Chelsea let out a loud, trembling sob behind him.

Kenton's face hardened instantly.

Alyson fought through the blinding pain.

She lifted a trembling, mud-covered hand toward him, her fingers curling in a silent plea for help.

Kenton stood by the ruined car, staring at her through the rain.

"Stop faking it. It's just a scrape," he said, his voice slicing through the storm with absolute cruelty.

The words hit Alyson harder than the truck.

"Chelsea is in shock. I need to get her to the ER," Kenton stated, justifying his decision to himself.

He turned to his bleeding driver. "Stay here and handle the cops. Tell her to get her own cab to the clinic."

Without another glance, Kenton wrapped his arm tightly around Chelsea's shoulders.

He flagged down a passing car that had stopped for the accident, helped Chelsea inside, and drove away.

Alyson's hand fell back into the mud with a wet slap.

Her fingernails dug into the freezing dirt.

The rain washed the blood from her cheek.

She closed her eyes, feeling the last drop of love she had for that man bleed out of her body.

As the darkness finally pulled her under, she felt the heavy vibration of steady footsteps splashing through the water, walking directly toward her.

The darkness pulled at Alyson's mind, but the agonizing fire in her chest kept dragging her back to the freezing rain.

A pair of blinding headlights cut through the storm.

A custom black Rolls-Royce Phantom glided to a silent stop on the side of the road.

The heavy door swung open.

A pair of immaculate black leather dress shoes stepped directly into the deep, muddy puddle without a second of hesitation.

A tall, broad-shouldered man walked rapidly toward the ditch, the wind whipping the hem of his dark suit jacket around his legs.

His sharp gaze swept the wreckage, instantly spotting her mud-soaked handbag thrown a few feet away in the grass. He snatched it up, tossing it onto the leather seat of his car, before he dropped to one knee in the mud.

He didn't care about the dirt ruining his clothes as he slid his arms under Alyson's broken body and lifted her gently from the freezing water.

Alyson forced her eyes open a fraction of an inch.

Her vision was blurred by blood and rain.

She couldn't see his face, only the sharp, tense line of his jaw.

But as her face pressed against his chest, her lungs filled with a scent she hadn't smelled in years.

It was a deep, cold, intoxicating sandalwood.

"Hold on," the man whispered against her wet hair.

His low, raspy voice vibrated with a terrifying, suppressed rage.

The familiar scent wrapped around her like a heavy blanket, making her feel safe for the first time in three years.

She let her eyes close and surrendered to the darkness.

The man carried her to the back of the Rolls-Royce.

"Get to the best private hospital in Manhattan. Now," he ordered his assistant, Sam, his voice cold enough to freeze the rain.

Sam took one look at the bleeding woman in his boss's arms and slammed his foot on the gas pedal.

Hours later, the sharp smell of antiseptic pulled Alyson back to consciousness.

She opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the soft, warm light.

She was lying in a massive, luxurious VIP hospital room.

Her wet clothes were gone, replaced by a soft hospital gown. Her ribs were tightly bound, and an IV dripped clear fluid into her vein.

A nurse in blue scrubs walked in, checking the monitors.

"You're awake, Mrs. Holt. You are incredibly lucky," Nurse Jenkins smiled warmly.

Alyson's throat felt like sandpaper. "Who brought me here?"

Jenkins looked confused. "Wasn't it your husband? The tall gentleman. He told the admissions desk he was your husband when he carried you in. He paid for everything and brought in the top trauma team. He just stepped out to take a call."

Alyson's heart gave a violent, painful jolt against her broken ribs.

Her husband?

Did Kenton realize what he had done? Did he turn the car around and come back for her in the mud?

Just as the pathetic, desperate thought formed in her mind, her phone lit up on the bedside table.

The harsh ringtone shattered the quiet room.

The caller ID flashed with Kenton's name.

Alyson gritted her teeth against the pain in her arm and reached for the phone. She pressed answer.

Before she could speak, Kenton's furious voice blasted through the speaker.

"Alyson, where the hell are you?"

He didn't ask if she was alive.

"Chelsea's anxiety medication is in your purse. Get a cab and bring it to St. Jude Medical Center right now. She is having another episode."

The words felt like a bucket of ice water poured directly over Alyson's head.

The tiny flame of hope in her chest was snuffed out instantly, leaving nothing but cold, hard ash.

He didn't know she was hurt.

He wasn't the man who pulled her from the mud.

Alyson stared at the white ceiling, a slow, chilling smile spreading across her pale lips.

"Kenton," she said, her voice eerily calm. "I hope you and Chelsea rot together in hell."

She pulled the phone away from her ear, cutting off Kenton's angry shouting, and ended the call.

Her thumb moved over the screen, blocking his number permanently.

She dropped the phone onto the bed and closed her eyes.

The phantom smell of sandalwood lingered in her memory.

Who was the man in the rain?