"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.