The torn pieces of the five-million-dollar check fluttered through the air, landing on Blaire's pristine Chanel jacket. Her face turned pale, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Aisling Doyle, Blaire's younger sister, had been hiding in the corner of the hallway. She could not take it anymore. She rushed into the lounge and stood in front of Daryl.

"You are going too far, Blaire!" Aisling yelled, her eyes red with tears.

Aisling pointed at Daryl. "He gave up everything to take care of this family! He stayed awake for three days straight when you were sick in the hospital!"

Blaire looked at her sister with absolute disdain. She spoke as if reprimanding a junior employee.

"Emotional value cannot be quantified on a balance sheet, Aisling," Blaire said coldly. "He provides nothing but feelings. He is an obstacle to my pursuit of excellence."

Daryl reached out and gently patted Aisling's shoulder. He pulled her behind him, shielding her.

"You don't need to beg for me," Daryl said quietly. "Not to her."

Daryl turned his attention to the lawyer. His voice dropped an octave, carrying a tone of absolute command.

"Reprint the last page."

Daryl looked straight at Blaire. "Since the Doyle family values assets and social status so much, let's play a game."

He dictated the terms to the lawyer. "Add a gambling clause. One year from today. Whoever holds the higher net worth and social influence gets absolute custody of Cassie. Until then, joint guardianship, but she lives with me."

The lawyer stopped typing. He looked at Daryl as if the man had lost his mind, then turned to Blaire for instruction.

Blaire let out a sharp, mocking laugh. It was the laugh one gives a delusional beggar.

"You?" Blaire sneered. "An unemployed househusband who just threw away his only lifeline, trying to out-earn the Doyle Group in twelve months?"

Daryl did not argue. He just stared at her. The look in his eyes was no longer angry. It was a look of profound, chilling pity.

"Because you know nothing," Daryl said softly, "your end will be miserable."

That look of pity infuriated Blaire. It violated her logic. He was at the bottom, yet he looked at her like she was the one in the gutter.

"Add the clause," Blaire snapped at the lawyer, wanting to crush his delusions permanently.

The lawyer quickly typed the amendment and printed the new page on his portable printer.

Both of them signed the new clause. They pressed their thumbprints onto the paper. The legal trap was set.

Blaire snatched her copy of the agreement. She held it like a trophy and turned toward the door.

"Within a year," Daryl's voice floated behind her, dark and heavy as a curse, "your empire will collapse. Your beliefs will shatter. And you will be on your knees begging for my forgiveness."

Blaire's footsteps paused for a fraction of a second. She did not turn around.

"I will be waiting," she said coldly, and walked out.

The rest of the Doyle family looked at Daryl like he was a diseased animal and hurried out after her.

Only Aisling remained. She looked at Daryl, her face full of panic. "Why did you sign that? You can't win."

A dangerous glint flashed in Daryl's dark eyes. "The world is much bigger than you think, Aisling."

Daryl pulled his phone from his pocket. He dialed a heavily encrypted number he had not used in five years.

The call connected instantly. A voice on the other end spoke, trembling with absolute reverence.

"Lord Thanatos."

"Prepare the highest-level medical team," Daryl ordered, his voice turning into ice. "Initiate the Scavenger Protocol."

Five minutes after hanging up the phone, Daryl walked out of the lounge and pushed open the door to the attending physician's office.

The doctor was staring at Marlene's massive unpaid billing screen. When he saw Daryl, his face hardened into a mask of corporate policy.

"Mr. Bush, since Ms. Doyle withdrew her financial guarantee, we can only provide basic life support," the doctor said flatly.

"Process the transfer paperwork immediately," Daryl said, his face devoid of emotion. "I am taking her out of here."

The doctor frowned, shaking his head. "Your mother cannot survive the turbulence of a standard ambulance ride right now. Moving her is murder."

Before Daryl could reply, the heavy landline on the doctor's desk began to ring frantically. The caller ID flashed the hospital president's secure internal line.

The doctor picked up the receiver. Within seconds, the blood drained from his face. He nodded aggressively, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

He hung up the phone and looked at Daryl. The annoyance in his eyes was entirely replaced by stark terror and awe.

"The... the transfer is green-lit," the doctor stammered, his hands shaking. "The receiving facility is the Asclepius Private Sanatorium."

Daryl did not acknowledge the doctor's shock. He turned and walked straight toward the ICU.

Downstairs, Blaire and Estevan were walking through the main hospital lobby, discussing the catering for their upcoming merger banquet.

Suddenly, a deafening roar tore through the night sky. The glass doors of the lobby violently vibrated as the sound of heavy helicopter rotors beat against the air.

Two massive, pitch-black medical transport helicopters, stripped of all identifying logos, descended directly onto the hospital's emergency plaza.

At the exact same moment, eight black, armored Cadillac SUVs screeched to a halt, completely blocking every exit of the hospital.

Dozens of men in black tactical suits, wearing invisible earpieces, poured out of the vehicles. They moved with terrifying precision, instantly forming a hard perimeter.

The patients and staff in the lobby froze in shock, assuming a president or a cartel boss was under attack.

Blaire and Estevan were trapped inside the lobby, blocked by the wall of tactical guards.

Estevan narrowed his eyes, trying to spot a family crest or corporate logo on the guards' uniforms, but there was nothing.

The double doors of the ICU wing swung open. Daryl walked out, pushing a heavily modified mobile life-support bed.

Two world-class trauma surgeons walked closely behind him, whispering vital stats with utmost respect.

The moment Daryl stepped into the main lobby, every single man in a black tactical suit snapped to attention and bowed their heads in perfect unison.

Blaire saw it. Her pupils contracted to the size of pinpricks. Her brain completely short-circuited.

She could not process the image. These men looked deadlier than Secret Service agents, and they were bowing to her useless, unemployed ex-husband.

"It's a stunt," Estevan whispered fiercely into Blaire's ear, trying to save his own ego. "The Doyle family enemies are putting on a show to cause chaos."

Daryl pushed the bed through the center of the lobby. His cold eyes swept over Blaire and Estevan, who were held back behind the security line.

He didn't say a single word. He just looked at them like they were ants on the pavement. That silent, absolute disregard cut deeper into Blaire's pride than any insult.

The bed was smoothly loaded into the first black helicopter.

Daryl turned to board, but a deafening, aggressive roar of a supercar engine ripped through the plaza.

A limited-edition Lamborghini Veneno drifted around the armored SUVs with reckless, arrogant speed, slamming on the brakes right next to the helicopter.

The scissor door shot upward. A pair of long legs, ending in diamond-encrusted heels, stepped out onto the concrete.

The woman stepped out of the Lamborghini and pulled off her oversized sunglasses. Her face was a stunning mix of exotic heritage and lethal beauty.

It was Juliette Rocha. She was the apex predator of River City's socialite circle, a woman who danced effortlessly between high society and the criminal underworld. She was also the one person Blaire feared most in business.

Juliette wore a blood-red dress that clung to her curves. She walked through the howling wind of the helicopter rotors like a blooming spider lily, heading straight for Daryl.

The terrifying, expressionless tactical guards did not move to stop her. Instead, they slightly shifted their shoulders, opening a clear path for her.

Standing behind the perimeter line, Blaire sucked in a sharp breath. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms they almost drew blood.

Estevan recognized Juliette immediately. His face turned an ugly shade of gray. The Montgomery family had begged for a meeting with the Rocha family for years and had been rejected every time.

Juliette stopped right in front of Daryl. Completely ignoring the heavy military presence around them, she reached out and gently smoothed down the collar of Daryl's cheap shirt.

The intimacy of the gesture sent a violent, agonizing spike of pain through Blaire's chest. It felt as if someone was ripping a piece of her own flesh away.

"You transfer your mother and don't even call me?" Juliette pouted, her voice a husky, magnetic purr.

Daryl looked at her. He didn't swat her hand away. "It happened fast."

Juliette turned her head. Her eyes locked onto Blaire's pale, shocked face across the plaza.

A wicked, mocking smile spread across Juliette's lips. She raised her voice over the engine noise.

"Thank you, Blaire!" Juliette called out. "Thank you for finally going blind and handing over such a perfect man. I've been waiting for my chance."

The words hit Blaire like a physical slap across the face.

Blaire ground her teeth together. She forced her spine straight, desperately clinging to her dignity. "Your taste in picking up my garbage is truly pathetic, Juliette."

Juliette threw her head back and laughed. It was the laugh of a queen looking at a peasant.

"Garbage?" Juliette sneered. "You stupid girl. You have no idea what kind of god you just threw away."

Juliette turned back to Daryl. She seamlessly slid her arm through his, pressing her chest lightly against his bicep in a blatant display of ownership.

The moment their skin connected, the "Stellar Attunement" energy within Juliette's body sparked. It resonated violently with the Draconic blood in Daryl's veins.

Daryl felt the familiar, powerful surge of energy wash over his skin. He confirmed it instantly. She was a Catalyst Soulmate.

The helicopter pilot gave the thumbs-up signal. The medical team had secured Marlene.

Daryl signaled the chopper to take off. He would handle the ground transport.

The helicopter lifted into the sky. The massive downdraft whipped across the plaza, tearing at Blaire's perfectly styled hair, leaving her looking ragged and chaotic.

Juliette walked to the passenger side of the Lamborghini. She opened the door and made an exaggerated, theatrical bow, inviting Daryl inside.

Daryl didn't hesitate. He slid into the passenger seat of the multi-million-dollar machine.

Juliette got into the driver's seat. She rolled down the window, letting her gaze lazily rake over Estevan from head to toe. A look of profound, elegant disdain crossed her perfect features.

"Darling, look at him," Juliette purred to Daryl, her voice perfectly pitched to carry over the engine noise. "This is exactly why I never waste my time with men who look like they are wearing rented suits."

She slammed her foot on the gas. The Lamborghini let out a monstrous roar and shot out of the plaza like a bullet, leaving a cloud of exhaust in its wake.

The black SUVs immediately fell into formation and sped away. In less than sixty seconds, the plaza was dead quiet.

Blaire stood alone in the cold wind. A sudden, terrifying emptiness clawed at her stomach.

Estevan reached out to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Blaire violently flinched, stepping away from his touch. The first crack in their alliance had just formed.