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.

The Lamborghini tore through the neon-lit streets of Manhattan. Low, heavy jazz pulsed from the car's speakers, filling the cabin with a dangerous, thick tension.

Juliette drove with one hand on the steering wheel. Her other hand rested casually on Daryl's thigh, her manicured fingertips tracing slow, deliberate circles against the fabric of his trousers.

Daryl did not push her hand away. He leaned his head back against the leather seat and closed his eyes, absorbing the faint, soothing pulses of stellar energy radiating from her touch.

Juliette glanced at his perfect, sharp jawline. Her eyes burned with naked ambition and raw desire.

She stopped at a red light. She picked up her phone, angled the camera toward the center console, and snapped a close-up picture of Daryl's hand resting on his knee.

The framing deliberately cut off his face, but it perfectly captured the distinct, jagged dark scar wrapping around his wrist-the mark of the Draconic bloodline.

Juliette opened Instagram. She uploaded the photo to her millions of followers with a single caption:

"The legend I have waited five long years for is finally free. And now, he is completely mine."

Miles away, in the back seat of the Maybach, the temperature was freezing.

Estevan was talking loudly, bragging about the European market shares the Montgomery family would bring to the Doyle Group.

Blaire heard none of it. She stared blankly out the window, her mind endlessly looping the image of Juliette's hand on Daryl's arm.

Her phone buzzed once, silently, in her palm. Not an alert from her assistant, but an encrypted brief from her private intelligence network. Driven by a gnawing unease on the way to the dinner, she had issued a search order. The text on screen was cold and precise: «Cross-verified. Within the NYC metropolitan area, only one private medical facility meets the criteria for receiving a critical patient like Marlene Doyle AND maintains 'nation-state' level security: Asclepius Sanatorium. The institution does not accept public inquiries. Access requires a 'top-tier guarantor.'

Her phone vibrated violently against her palm. It was an emergency alert from her private PR assistant.

The assistant sent a screenshot of Juliette's Instagram post. The message below it read: "This is blowing up the entire New York socialite circle."

Blaire opened the image. Her eyes locked onto the scar on the wrist. She knew that scar. Daryl had gotten it pulling her out of a burning car three years ago.

When she read the words "completely mine," a sharp, agonizing pain spiked through her chest, as if a physical hand had crushed her heart.

Her Aethelred Method of absolute rationality disintegrated. A toxic, suffocating wave of pure jealousy flooded her veins.

Blaire slammed her finger against the power button, turning the screen black. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps. Her chest heaved against her tight jacket.

Estevan noticed her panic. He leaned over, trying to peek at her phone screen.

Blaire shoved him back hard. "Tell the driver to turn around," she ordered, her voice shaking. "We are going to the Asclepius Sanatorium."

"What?" Estevan yelled, his face flushing with anger. "We have a board of directors prep dinner in thirty minutes!"

"If the media catches wind that the CEO of the Doyle Group abandoned her dying mother-in-law on the night of her transfer, the IPO will tank!" Blaire snapped back fiercely. Her mind raced, cloaking this scorching impulse in the icy logic of business. It was a flawless corporate excuse. It was so logical she almost believed it herself.

But her trembling fingers gave her away. She just needed to see it. She needed to know if Daryl was really with that woman —more importantly, she needed to see with her own eyes how much power he had hidden, and what kind of threat it posed to her.

The Maybach violently swerved across two lanes, pulling an illegal U-turn as horns blared around them.

At that exact moment, the Lamborghini pulled into the private underground garage of Juliette's penthouse in Tribeca.

The garage was a shrine to extreme wealth, lined with limited-edition hypercars.

Juliette killed the engine. She unbuckled her seatbelt and suddenly leaned across the console. Her face stopped inches from Daryl's, her breathing mixing with his.

"So," Juliette whispered, her lips brushing his ear. "Do you want to sleep in the guest room tonight, or do you want to experience a deep resonance of Stellar Attunement?"

Daryl opened his eyes. A flash of dark gold illuminated his pupils. He reached up and gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"Do not test my limits," Daryl said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Your body cannot handle the full backlash of a Draconic surge yet."

Juliette didn't pull away. She smiled, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She knew the game of conquest had only just begun.