Brenda swallowed hard, her eyes darting nervously toward the two giants blocking the door.

She puffed out her chest, trying to maintain her authority. "You are interfering in private family matters! This is illegal!"

Daxton looked at her. The corner of his mouth twitched in a cold, humorless smile. "Attempted murder over a hospital bed is not a family matter."

Vernon cradled his broken wrist against his chest, his face pale with pain. "We are just helping my mother finalize her legal affairs. It's none of your business."

Hearing the word 'legal', Charlotte turned her head.

She saw the thick stack of papers Vernon had dropped on the edge of the bed. She snatched the document up.

Her eyes scanned the bold text at the top. It was a Last Will and Testament. It explicitly transferred the ownership of a Brooklyn apartment building entirely to Ricky.

Charlotte flipped to the last page. At the bottom, next to the signature line, was a smeared, red thumbprint.

They had forced her dying grandmother to press her thumb in ink.

A cold, bitter laugh ripped from Charlotte's throat. She held the document up in the air.

"Is this what you are?" Charlotte asked, her voice shaking with pure hatred. "She is dying, and you are torturing her for a building?"

Ricky lunged forward, his hands reaching for the papers. "Give that back! That's mine!"

Daxton shifted his weight. He stepped slightly to the right, using his massive frame to block Ricky's path. His dark eyes locked onto the boy, daring him to take another step. Ricky froze.

Charlotte gripped the top of the forged will with both hands.

She pulled her hands apart. The thick paper ripped down the middle with a loud, satisfying tear.

Vernon's eyes bulged out of his head. "No! Stop!"

Charlotte ignored him. She placed the two halves together and ripped them again. She tore the document over and over until her hands were full of nothing but shredded confetti.

She threw the pieces directly into Vernon's face. The paper rained down on his shoulders.

Seeing her son's inheritance destroyed, Brenda lost her mind.

She let out a feral screech and lunged toward the hospital bed. She reached her hands out, aiming directly for the plastic tube connecting Eleanor to the oxygen tank.

Charlotte gasped. She threw herself over her grandmother's chest, taking the brunt of the attack.

Brenda's sharp, manicured nails dug into the back of Charlotte's neck, dragging downward and leaving three deep, bleeding scratches.

A sharp hiss of pain escaped Charlotte's lips.

Daxton's eyes darkened to pitch black.

He reached out and grabbed the back of Brenda's collar. He lifted the woman off the ground with one arm.

He spun around and hurled Brenda against the plaster wall.

She hit the wall with a heavy thud and crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath.

Vernon saw his wife go down. Blinded by rage, he grabbed the heavy metal IV pole next to the bed and swung it toward the back of Daxton's head.

Before the pole could connect, one of the bodyguards stepped forward. He delivered a brutal kick to the back of Vernon's knee.

Vernon collapsed onto the floor, dropping the pole with a loud clatter.

Suddenly, a high-pitched, continuous alarm pierced the room.

The heart monitor next to the bed was flashing red. The green jagged lines on the screen were becoming erratic, dropping rapidly.

Charlotte's stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. She spun around and grabbed Eleanor's cold, frail hand.

Eleanor's chest was heaving. Her eyes were half-open, rolling back. The stress of the attack had pushed her failing heart over the edge.

Daxton slammed his fist onto the emergency call button on the wall.

Within seconds, a team of doctors and nurses rushed into the room, pushing a crash cart.

"Clear the room! Everyone out!" the lead doctor shouted.

Daxton looked at his bodyguards and jerked his chin toward the Guthries.

The guards grabbed Vernon, Brenda, and Ricky by their collars and dragged them out of the room like bags of garbage.

The heavy door was pulled shut, cutting off Vernon's screaming.

Charlotte backed away from the bed, pressing her spine against the cold wall. She covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook violently as the sound of the defibrillator charging filled the room.

The room smelled of ozone and sterile alcohol.

For ten agonizing minutes, the medical team worked over the bed. The sound of the defibrillator thumping against Eleanor's chest echoed off the walls.

Finally, the lead doctor stepped back. He lowered the paddles. He looked at the monitor, then slowly shook his head.

He pulled his surgical mask down and walked over to Charlotte.

"I'm sorry," the doctor said softly. "Her heart is too weak. We have minutes, maybe less."

Charlotte's knees gave out.

Before she could hit the floor, Daxton stepped up beside her. His large hand gripped her upper arm, holding her steady. His grip was firm, anchoring her to reality.

The doctors and nurses quietly filed out of the room, leaving the family to their final moments.

Charlotte stumbled forward and fell to her knees beside the bed. She grabbed Eleanor's thin, bruised hand and pressed it against her wet cheek. Hot tears spilled onto the white sheets.

Eleanor's eyelids fluttered. Slowly, they opened. Her cloudy eyes darted around the room before finally settling on Charlotte's face.

With a trembling hand, Eleanor reached up and pulled the oxygen mask down to her chin.

"Charlie..." Eleanor whispered. Her voice was as thin as paper.

"I'm here, Grandma. I'm right here," Charlotte choked out, nodding frantically.

Eleanor's gaze drifted past Charlotte. She looked at the tall, imposing man standing silently near the foot of the bed.

Eleanor's brow furrowed slightly. "Is that... is that Bradly?"

Charlotte's breath hitched. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

She couldn't tell her dying grandmother the truth. She couldn't let Eleanor leave this world knowing her granddaughter had been cheated on, abandoned, and left completely alone.

Charlotte opened her mouth to lie, but the words caught in her throat. She was paralyzed by guilt.

A warm, heavy hand rested on Charlotte's shoulder.

Daxton stepped forward. He lowered his massive frame, taking a knee on the hard floor so his eyes were level with the old woman's.

He reached out and gently covered Eleanor's free hand with his own.

"I'm Daxton," he said. His voice was incredibly gentle, stripped of all its previous coldness. "I'm Charlotte's fiancé. Bradly is out of the picture."

Charlotte snapped her head to look at him, her eyes wide with shock.

Daxton didn't look at her. But his fingers squeezed Charlotte's shoulder, a silent command for her to play along.

Eleanor blinked slowly. She studied Daxton's face. She looked at the sharp cut of his jaw, the expensive fabric of his suit, and the deep, steady calm in his dark eyes.

A faint, knowing smile touched the corners of Eleanor's lips. She didn't call out the lie.

She squeezed Daxton's fingers with the last ounce of her strength.

"Take care of my girl," Eleanor whispered. "Promise me."

Daxton looked directly into the dying woman's eyes. He didn't hesitate.

"I promise you," Daxton said, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. "As long as I am breathing, no one will ever hurt her again."

The words hung in the air, heavy and solid.

Eleanor's eyes softened. A tear slipped down her wrinkled cheek, disappearing into her gray hair. The tension in her face melted away, replaced by total peace.

She turned her head slightly to look at Charlotte.

"Don't be afraid," Eleanor breathed out. "Go live your life."

With a soft sigh, Eleanor's chest stopped moving. Her hand slipped out of Daxton's grip and fell heavily onto the mattress.

The heart monitor emitted a long, unbroken tone. The green line on the screen went completely flat.

Charlotte let out a guttural, heart-wrenching sob. She buried her face in the mattress, her fingers curling into the bedsheets as she cried for the only person in the world who had ever truly loved her.

Daxton stood up slowly. He looked down at the woman weeping on the floor. A strange, tight sensation gripped his chest-a feeling of protectiveness he had never experienced before.

He reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a pristine white silk handkerchief.

He didn't speak. He didn't interrupt her grief.

He simply crouched down and placed the handkerchief softly on the bed, right next to her trembling hand. Then, he stepped back into the shadows, standing guard in the silence.

The rain had not stopped. It fell in a steady, miserable drizzle over the Brooklyn Cemetery.

Charlotte stood at the edge of the open grave. She wore a simple black dress, the collar pulled up to hide the scratch marks on her neck.

She held a single white rose. She stared at the polished wood of the casket at the bottom of the pit, her face completely numb.

She dropped the rose. It landed softly on the wood.

The small group of mourners began to walk away, heading toward their cars.

Charlotte turned to leave. As she stepped onto the paved path, a man in a cheap gray suit stepped directly in front of her, blocking her way.

"Charlotte Guthrie?" the man asked.

Charlotte stopped. "Yes."

The man pulled a thick manila envelope from his briefcase and shoved it against her chest. "You've been served."

He turned and walked away quickly.

Charlotte frowned. She ripped the top of the envelope open and pulled out a stack of legal documents.

A loud, obnoxious laugh echoed across the wet grass.

Vernon Guthrie walked out from behind a large marble headstone. He was holding a large black umbrella. Brenda and Ricky walked closely behind him, their faces twisted into smug smiles. As usual, Harper was nowhere to be seen, likely avoiding the rain.

"I told you I'd make you pay," Vernon sneered, pointing at the papers in her hand. "That's a court order. I've filed a lawsuit to freeze all of my mother's assets. You are being sued for elder abuse and illegal seizure of property."

Brenda crossed her arms. "You're going to spit out every penny you stole from us, you ungrateful brat."

Charlotte looked down at the subpoena.

Slowly, she lifted her head. There was no panic in her eyes. There was no fear. Instead, a cold, mocking light danced in her pupils.

She shoved the subpoena into her black leather purse.

She reached deep into the bag and pulled out an old, slightly yellowed folder sealed with a notary stamp.

"Did you ever actually check the county records, Vernon?" Charlotte asked, her voice cutting through the sound of the rain.

Vernon's smug smile faltered. "What are you talking about?"

Charlotte unwound the string on the folder. She pulled out a thick piece of parchment paper-a Property Deed.

She stepped forward and shoved the paper directly into Vernon's face.

"Read the name at the bottom," Charlotte commanded.

Vernon grabbed the paper. His eyes scanned the text. His hands began to shake violently.

The document clearly stated that the Brooklyn apartment building had been legally gifted and transferred. The date on the stamp was exactly ten years ago, the day Charlotte turned eighteen.

The owner listed on the deed was Charlotte Guthrie.

"She owned nothing when she died," Charlotte said, her voice dripping with ice. "That building has been mine for a decade. Your lawsuit is a joke. A judge will throw it out in the preliminary hearing."

Brenda peeked over Vernon's shoulder. When she saw the date, she let out a piercing shriek. "That crazy old bitch! She gave it all to you? !"

Ricky stomped his foot in the mud. "Where is my house, Dad? You promised me a house!"

Charlotte stepped closer to Vernon, invading his space.

"If you don't drop this suit by tomorrow," Charlotte warned, "I will counter-sue you for malicious prosecution. I will drain whatever money you have left in legal fees."

Vernon's face turned purple. He raised his heavy black umbrella, gripping it like a baseball bat, ready to strike her.

Charlotte didn't flinch. She pointed a finger toward the stone pillars at the cemetery entrance.

"Look up," she said coldly. "Security cameras. Hit me, and you go straight to jail."

Vernon's chest heaved. He ground his teeth together so hard they squeaked. Slowly, his arms dropped to his sides.

Charlotte snatched the deed out of his trembling hands. She slid it back into the folder.

She turned her back on them and walked away, leaving her parents standing in the mud, completely defeated.

Fifty yards away, parked under the shade of a massive oak tree, sat a black Maybach.

Daxton sat in the back seat. The tinted window was rolled down just an inch. He had watched the entire confrontation. He saw the way she didn't back down, the way she crushed her father with a single piece of paper.

He reached up and adjusted his silver cufflink. A rare, genuine smirk touched his lips.

He pressed a button on the intercom to the front seat.

"Call the county clerk," Daxton ordered his assistant. "Find the case number for the lawsuit filed against Charlotte Guthrie. I want it handled."