Carmen returned to the Morrison estate to pack. The house felt different now. The staff avoided her eyes, stepping out of her path like she was contagious. But there was a new element in their gaze: fear. Word of the divorce and the trust fund had traveled fast.

She didn't take much. Just a single, small rolling suitcase. Inside were her mother's pearl earrings, a few photos, and her medical kit. She left the designer clothes, the jewelry, the car keys on the kitchen counter. She wanted nothing that belonged to him.

She walked out the front door, pulling the suitcase behind her. She had called a ride-share to take her to a hotel in the city.

She stood on the gravel driveway, waiting. The afternoon sun was too bright, making her head throb where the stitches pulled at her skin.

The roar of an engine shattered the quiet.

A black Bentley flew up the driveway, tires screeching on the loose stones. It skidded to a halt inches in front of her, blocking her path to the gate.

Kian jumped out of the driver's seat. He looked deranged. His tie was loose, his hair a mess, his eyes bloodshot and wild.

"You think you can just take my money and walk away?" he yelled, slamming the car door. "You think I'll let you humiliate me?"

Carmen gripped the handle of her suitcase. "The paper is signed, Kian. It's over."

"Over?" He stalked toward her. "You're going to run straight to Julian Thorne, aren't you? I saw the way he looked at you at the gala last month. You've been planning this."

Carmen frowned. Julian Thorne? She had barely spoken two words to the man. "You're delusional."

"I'm not letting you out of my sight until Farrah is safe," Kian growled. He lunged for her arm.

Carmen's instincts compelled her to scream. Her muscles tensed, ready to retaliate. A swift strike to the radial nerve, followed by a twist of the wrist, would be enough to bring him down. But a wave of intense dizziness washed over her.

She forced her body to remain loose, to look weak. "Kian, let go of me."

"You made the mistake!" he shouted. He yanked her arm, trying to drag her back toward the car.

Carmen staggered, her body becoming increasingly sluggish, a bad feeling washing over her. She dodged his pull by sidestepping, but in her weakened state, his strength only increased.

He kicked her suitcase in frustration. It flew open, spilling her belongings onto the gravel. A framed photo of her and her mother skidded across the stones, the glass cracking.

Carmen gasped. She looked down at the photo. In that split second of distraction, Kian grabbed her from behind.

He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides. She slammed her elbow back into his ribs. She felt a satisfying thud, but not the crack she'd aimed for. Kian grunted in pain, but his grip only tightened.

He started dragging her toward the Bentley.

"Do you know why you've been feeling dizzy so often for the past six months?" Keane's deep voice boomed in my ear, like the whisper of a demon.

Carmen shook her head, trying to shake off the heavy, oppressive feeling in her head. Her blood felt frozen, and a bone-chilling cold enveloped her.

“I’ve included a little gift in your milk every morning.” Keane gripped Carmen’s hand even tighter, as if his bones were about to break.

The suffocating, overwhelming force was surging through Carmen, who was almost losing her ability to think.

She naively thought she was just too tired, never imagining that the person next to her in bed was a devil.

Carmen tried to speak, but her breath was knocked out of her. Her vision started to gray at the edges. The world was fading.

Then, a new sound. The low, powerful purr of a different engine.

A sleek, black, armored SUV glided to a stop behind the Bentley. The windows were tinted black.

The rear window rolled down with a quiet hum.

A man sat in the back seat. He was dressed in a dark, impeccably tailored suit. His face was sharp, aristocratic, and completely devoid of emotion. His dark eyes surveyed the scene: the spilled suitcase, the bleeding photo, Kian manhandling a limp, half-conscious Carmen.

Julian Thorne.

He didn't speak. He just watched. His gaze lingered on Kian's brutal grip, then moved to Carmen's fading eyes.

The look on his face wasn't surprise. It was calculation. And it was very, very dangerous.

"Let her go."

The voice came from the SUV. It was calm, unhurried, but it carried the weight of a nuclear threat.

Kian froze, his grip on Carmen loosening slightly. He turned his head, his eyes widening when he recognized the face in the window. "Thorne? This is none of your business. This is my wife."

"Your ex-wife," Julian corrected smoothly. He gave a slight nod toward the rear of his vehicle.

Two massive men in dark suits stepped out of the front of the SUV. They moved with the silent efficiency of trained killers. Before Kian could react, one of them grabbed his wrist, twisting it sharply until Kian yelped and released Carmen. The other gently steadied her as she swayed on her feet.

"Get your hands off me!" Kian shouted, struggling against the bodyguard's grip. "I'll have you arrested for assault!"

Julian stepped out of the car. He walked over to the gravel, ignoring Kian entirely. He looked down at Carmen, who was barely conscious, her head lolling.

He bent down and picked up the cracked photo of her and her mother. He slipped it into the pocket of his suit jacket. Then, he carefully lifted Carmen into his arms. She was feather-light.

"Take him to the ground," Julian ordered without looking back.

A loud grunt and a thud told Carmen that Kian had been introduced to the gravel.

Julian placed Carmen gently in the back seat of his SUV. He climbed in beside her and shut the door. The soundproofing immediately cut off Kian's screaming.

"Drive," Julian told his driver.

The car pulled away smoothly. Inside the cabin, the air was cool and smelled faintly of leather and sandalwood.

Carmen forced her eyes open. The world was spinning, but she could see the man sitting next to her. Sharp jaw, dark eyes, an aura of absolute control.

"You're Julian Thorne," she slurred, her tongue feeling heavy.

"And you are very lucky I was in the neighborhood," Julian replied, his gaze fixed on her face.

Carmen's brain was foggy, but her medical training kicked in. The weakness, the dizziness, the blurred vision-it was more than just exhaustion. It was chemical.

"Hospital," she rasped, swallowing hard. "He's been poisoning me. Something slow-acting. Chronic. I need a full toxicology screen. And dexamethasone. Ten milligrams. Now."

Julian raised an eyebrow. He didn't question her. He simply spoke into the car's intercom. "Change of destination. NewYork-Presbyterian, VIP wing. And get Dr. Evans on the line. Tell him to prep for a priority toxicology case and have ten milligrams of dexamethasone ready on arrival."

He turned back to her, his eyes narrowed in thought. "You seem to know your way around a medical emergency," he said quietly. It wasn't an accusation, but a statement of fact, filed away for later.

Carmen didn't answer. She leaned her head back against the cool leather, conserving her strength. The fog in her brain was thick, and a cold dread was seeping into her bones. He knew. Kian had been poisoning her. For how long?

Julian watched her, his expression unreadable. He had come to the Morrison estate today on a hunch, a calculated business move to probe a rival's weakness after hearing rumors of the divorce. He hadn't expected to walk into a kidnapping.

And he certainly hadn't expected Kian Morrison's supposedly unremarkable wife to diagnose her own chronic poisoning and prescribe the correct counter-agent while on the verge of collapse.

He leaned back against the leather seat. He studied her with an intensity that made her skin prickle, even in her dazed state.

"I've been looking for someone with a very particular set of skills, Mrs. Morrison," he said, his tone conversational but his eyes sharp. "It seems my search may have just gotten more interesting."

Carmen stared at him. The mask was slipping, on both their parts. She couldn't talk her way out of this. The evidence was in her own words, in the blood running through her veins.

She met his gaze, her eyes as cold and hard as his. "What do you want, Thorne?"

Julian didn't answer her question immediately. He simply handed her a blanket from the seat back and told the driver to hurry.

He used his name to bypass the emergency room. Within twenty minutes, Carmen was in a private VIP suite on the top floor, a fresh IV of lactated Ringer's hanging from the pole above her. The dexamethasone was already working, clearing some of the fog from her mind.

A doctor Julian knew came in to draw blood for the toxicology panel. Julian stood by the window, making quiet phone calls, effectively blocking the door with his presence.

When the doctor left, Julian walked over to her. He looked at her pale face, then at the thin hospital gown that did nothing to keep out the chill of the air conditioning.

He unbuttoned his suit jacket and slipped it off his shoulders. He draped it over her like a shawl. The heavy wool was warm, smelling of his cologne and expensive fabric.

Carmen stiffened. She tried to shrug it off. "I don't need-"

"Leave it," Julian said softly. His eyes flicked to the door. "We need to look like allies."

Carmen understood. If Kian came looking for her, seeing her wrapped in Julian Thorne's jacket would send a very specific message.

She pulled the jacket tighter around her shoulders.

They went into the hallway to wait for the test results. Carmen insisted on getting the report herself as soon as possible and wouldn't allow anyone else to handle it. Julian approached her, his hand hovering around her waist, and guided her to the waiting area.

The VIP floor was quiet. The walls were paneled in warm wood, the floors covered in thick carpet that muffled their footsteps.

The elevator at the end of the hall chimed.

The doors slid open. Kian Morrison stepped out, followed closely by Marcus Holloway. Kian was still in the same rumpled suit from earlier, a dark bruise forming on his jaw from where the bodyguard had hit him.

He looked up and saw them.

Carmen, pale and fragile, wrapped in the unmistakable, custom-made jacket of Julian Thorne. And Julian, standing inches away from her, his posture radiating possession.

Kian suddenly stopped in his tracks. His fingers trembled.

The prey that had been held firmly in their grasp was now slipping out of control.

His eyes moved from Carmen's face to the jacket, then slowly up to Julian's impassive one. The air in the hallway seemed to drop ten degrees.

"Carmen Blair," Kian said, his voice vibrating with a lethal quiet. "You really don't waste any time, do you?"

He started walking toward them, his long strides eating up the distance. His face was a mask of fury and humiliation.

Julian didn't move. He simply shifted his weight, placing his body slightly in front of Carmen's. "You're on private property, Morrison. Leave."

"Shut up," Kian snarled, his eyes only for Carmen. "You sign the papers this morning, and by the afternoon you're playing the victim for my biggest competitor? How long has this been going on?"

Carmen felt a headache building behind her eyes. "Kian, you're causing a scene."

"A scene?" He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "You violated the morality clause! You betrayed me!"

"You poisoned me!" Carmen shot back, stepping out from behind Julian. "I have the blood work to prove it!"

"That was for your own good! To keep you calm!" Kian yelled, his control snapping. "Because you're insane! You're a lying, cheating-"

"Take it back," Julian said, his voice slicing through the hallway.

Kian turned his rage on Julian. "Or what? You think you can buy her? She's just a cheap-"

Kian didn't finish the sentence. He lunged forward, his fist pulled back, aimed directly at Julian's smug face.