Felicity dragged her exhausted body into the penthouse apartment.

She kicked off her soaked heels and peeled the ruined, wine-stained dress from her skin, throwing it directly into the trash can. Her hands shook as she pulled her suitcase from the closet. She began throwing her clothes, her files, her life into the open luggage. She moved with frantic, jerky motions, her chest heaving with every breath.

The digital lock on the front door beeped.

Ellsworth walked in, bringing the freezing dampness of the storm with him. He reached behind him and locked the deadbolt. The heavy click echoed in the silent apartment, severing her only escape route.

He looked at the chaotic mess on the floor, then at her suitcase. His brow furrowed deeply.

"What kind of tantrum is this now?" he demanded, his voice dropping into that cold, authoritative register he used to crush his opponents in the boardroom.

Felicity zipped up the suitcase. The metal teeth caught, and she yanked it hard. She stood up, her spine rigid, and looked him dead in the eye.

"I am officially resigning from all my positions at the Mckinney Group," she stated. Her voice was completely flat. "And this secret arrangement of ours is over."

Ellsworth let out a harsh, mocking laugh. He closed the distance between them in three long strides, grabbed the handle of her suitcase, and hurled it against the wall. The zipper burst. Her clothes scattered across the hardwood floor like dead leaves.

"You don't get to make that decision," he snarled, his control slipping.

He backed her up until her shoulder blades hit the freezing glass of the floor-to-ceiling window. He pressed his forearm against her collarbone, pinning her in place.

"Camila's condition has deteriorated, and her surgery requires a massive transfusion of Rh-null blood-the golden blood," he said, his words slicing through the air like a scalpel. "It's virtually non-existent in the public banks, but you are a perfect match. You're going to the private clinic tomorrow morning."

Felicity felt as if she had been struck by lightning. The blood drained from her face, leaving her dizzy and nauseous. She stared at his handsome, ruthless face. Three years. She had stayed by his side for three years, thinking she meant something to him.

She was just a mobile blood bank for his savior.

She thrashed against him, pushing her hands against his solid chest. "Let me go!"

Ellsworth grabbed her wrists, his grip tightening until her bones ground together. A sharp, blinding pain shot up her arms. The tears she swore she wouldn't shed spilled over her lashes.

He stared at the wet tracks on her cheeks. His chest tightened painfully, a strange sensation he immediately forced down. His expression hardened into stone.

"Eight a.m. Be there," he ordered.

Felicity used every ounce of strength she had left to rip her hands free. She stumbled sideways, grabbing the heavy crystal ashtray from the coffee table. She smashed it onto the floor. Shards of thick glass exploded outward.

She dropped to her knees, grabbed a jagged, bloody piece of crystal, and pressed the sharp edge directly against the blue veins of her own wrist.

"I will drain myself on this floor before I give her a single drop," Felicity hissed, her eyes wide and feral.

Ellsworth froze. The color leached from his face as he stared at the glass biting into her skin. He took a slow step back.

"You're out of your fucking mind," he cursed, his voice tight. He turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook.

Felicity collapsed onto the floor among the glass shards. She wrapped her arms around her knees, her body trembling violently.

Before she could even catch her breath, loud, aggressive pounding hammered against the door.

She dragged herself up and opened it. Mitch Kowalski, the building's property manager, stood in the hallway with two massive security guards. His face was a mask of corporate indifference.

Mitch shoved a piece of paper into her face. "Notice of immediate eviction."

"What?" Felicity gasped, her throat raw.

"The formal legal notice will be served in twenty-four hours, but as of this second, the corporate housing clause is suspended. I've already cut the power, water, and internet to this unit," Mitch said, a smug smile playing on his lips. "My guards will be stationed right outside this door to restrict your access. You can either pack your things in the dark and leave voluntarily tonight, or wait for the sheriff to drag you out tomorrow."

"My name is on the secondary lease," Felicity argued, her heart hammering against her ribs.

"Null and void under the legal department's mandatory clauses," Mitch shot back. He gestured to the guards. "Help her pack."

The guards didn't wait for her to argue. They shoved past her, intentionally kicking over the half-filled cardboard boxes she had started packing earlier. "We're just doing a preliminary security sweep of company property," Mitch sneered as her folders burst open. Her personal documents and photos scattered across the carpet. Doors down the hall cracked open as wealthy neighbors peeked out to watch the spectacle.

Realizing they were going to terrorize her all night if she stayed, Felicity swallowed the bile in her throat. She crouched down, her hands shaking as she picked up her papers one by one. Mitch stood above her, letting out a quiet, contemptuous snort.

She stood up slowly, clutching the messy stack of papers to her chest. She locked eyes with Mitch. Her gaze was so cold, so entirely devoid of life, that Mitch actually took a step back.

"You will pay for this," she whispered, her voice like cracking ice.

She picked up her last box and walked into the elevator. The doors slid shut, cutting off Mitch's ugly sneer. She was thrown out of the place she had called home for three years.

Outside, the midnight sky tore open. Torrential rain flooded the streets of New York.

Felicity stood under a broken bus shelter, clutching her cardboard box. She was soaked to the bone, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.

A sleek black Maybach sped past her, hitting a massive puddle. A wave of filthy, freezing water splashed over her legs, ruining the last clean clothes she owned. Through the tinted rear window, she saw Ellsworth. He was gently draping his suit jacket over Camila's shoulders.

That single image killed the last, pathetic piece of weakness inside her.

Felicity wiped the dirty rainwater from her face. She pulled out her phone. The screen was cracked from the fall, but it still worked. She found the text from the unknown number. She took a deep breath of the freezing air and hit call.

It rang once.

"Have you thought it through?" a low, lazy, incredibly dangerous male voice asked over the sound of the storm.

"I'll agree to whatever you want," Felicity screamed over the thunder, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the phone. "Just help me destroy him."

The man chuckled softly. He rattled off an address in Tribeca. "Now call a taxi to this address."

Felicity flagged down a late-night taxi. When she gave the driver the address, he glanced at her in the rearview mirror, his eyes widening in surprise. It was a location known only to the absolute apex predators of the city.

The cab tore through the rain. Felicity watched the blurry neon lights bleed across the window. She buried her love and her fear in the storm.

She stepped out in front of a fortress-like building made of armored glass. She pressed the call button on the biometric scanner.

The heavy metal doors slid open silently. A blinding white light spilled out from the lobby, welcoming her into the dark.

Felicity walked into the sprawling, ultra-luxury penthouse. She was dripping wet, leaving a trail of water on the imported marble floor.

At the far end of the room, sitting on a black leather sofa, was a man half-hidden in the shadows. He was rhythmically flipping a silver coin over his knuckles.

He leaned forward, the dim light catching his sharp, arrogant features. Brennan Potter. The most ruthless corporate raider on Wall Street. He looked her up and down, his eyes scanning her like a predator assessing a wounded animal.

"I need capital protection," Felicity said, her voice raspy but steady. "In exchange, I can give you the internal data for Mckinney's core merger acquisition."

Brennan let out a harsh, barking laugh. He caught the silver coin and slapped it onto the glass table. "I don't give a damn about his data. I want you to be the knife I drive straight into Ellsworth's heart."

Before Felicity could process his demand, her phone started vibrating violently in her pocket.

She pulled it out. It was a message from Gus, Ellsworth's head of security. It was a GPS screenshot. The location was the exact address of the nursing home where her adoptive mother was on life support. No text. Just a silent, lethal threat.

All the blood rushed from Felicity's head. Her vision blurred. Ellsworth knew she had run.

Brennan noticed the sheer terror paralyzing her features. He stood up, walked over to the bar, and poured a glass of neat whiskey. He pressed the cold crystal into her trembling hand.

"Drink," he ordered. "Then we play a game. You're going back into his line of sight tonight. You're going to create a scandal so massive it paralyzes him."

Brennan snapped his fingers. Two massive bodyguards stepped out from a side room. They placed a garment bag containing a stunning, provocative haute couture dress and a forged identity file on the table.

Felicity changed in the guest bathroom. She stared at her reflection. The woman looking back had dead eyes and a blood-red mouth. She walked back out and took the micro-wiretap Brennan held out to her, sliding it into her clutch.

The moment she stepped out of the armored building, tires screeched.

Two black SUVs swerved onto the curb. Ellsworth's bodyguards jumped out, grabbed her by the arms, and shoved her violently into the back seat. The doors locked instantly.

The SUV drove deep into Manhattan, pulling into the underground garage of a highly exclusive, illicit VIP club.

The guards dragged her through the neon-lit, smoke-filled corridors and shoved her into a private booth.

The room reeked of expensive cigars and spilled alcohol. Ellsworth sat in the center of the plush velvet booth. Next to him was Arthur Vance, a Wall Street executive notorious for his disgusting behavior toward women.

Ellsworth looked at Felicity. A flash of cruel satisfaction crossed his eyes. He turned to Arthur. "Here is my apology for the delay on the contract, Arthur. Enjoy."

Arthur's greedy, bloodshot eyes roamed over Felicity's exposed skin. He reached out a sweaty hand to stroke her cheek.

Felicity jerked her head away in disgust.

Arthur frowned, his ego bruised. Ellsworth's hand tightened around his whiskey glass until the crystal shattered in his grip. Blood dripped from his palm, but he didn't blink.

"If you fight him," Ellsworth said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, "I will have your mother's ventilator unplugged tomorrow morning."

Felicity stared at the man she had loved. He was trading her body like a piece of meat.

She took a deep breath, forcing her lungs to expand. She forced the corners of her mouth up into a brilliant, sickeningly sweet smile. She walked straight to Arthur, picked up a glass of champagne, and handed it to him, masking the murderous rage boiling in her veins.

Ellsworth watched her sudden submission. A sharp, inexplicable pain pierced his chest. He suddenly felt suffocated. He ripped his tie loose, stood up abruptly, and walked out of the booth, leaving her alone with the monster.

The second the door clicked shut, Arthur lunged.

He grabbed the neckline of her dress, trying to rip it open. Felicity's hand shot out. She grabbed the metal ice pick from the bucket on the table and slammed the razor-sharp point directly against the pulsing artery on Arthur's neck.

Arthur froze, his hands shooting up in the air. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

"If you touch me," Felicity whispered, pressing the steel deeper until a drop of blood appeared, "Brennan Potter will short your company into bankruptcy by noon tomorrow."

The name hit Arthur like a physical blow. The lust vanished from his eyes, replaced by sheer panic. He realized he was caught in the crossfire of two titans.

"What do you want?" Arthur choked out.

Felicity lowered the ice pick slightly. "Call your private doctor. I need a medical certificate forged right now. If you play along, Brennan will hand you the overseas telecom project."

Arthur weighed his life and his greed. He nodded frantically.

For the next hour, they intentionally knocked glasses over and made ambiguous noises to fool the bodyguards standing outside the door.

When the hour was up, Arthur walked out of the booth, his arm wrapped loosely around Felicity's waist. Her hair was intentionally messy, her lipstick smudged. Arthur laughed loudly, showing off his "conquest" to Ellsworth's guards before leading her to the underground garage.

In the dark corner of the garage, Arthur slipped a folded piece of paper into her open purse. It was a forged blood test report. Six weeks pregnant.

Felicity walked alone to the backup car Ellsworth had left for her. She intentionally left the zipper of her purse half-open. The crisp white edge of the hospital-headed paper stuck out clearly.

Gus, the driver, glanced in the rearview mirror. His trained eyes locked onto the medical logo. He immediately tapped his earpiece, reporting to his boss.

Felicity arrived at the temporary hotel room Ellsworth had booked for her. She locked the door, pulled the fake pregnancy report out, and tossed it right in the center of the nightstand. She sat on the edge of the bed and waited for the bomb to go off.

At 3:00 AM, the heavy wooden door of the hotel room was kicked open with explosive force.

Ellsworth stood in the doorway. His eyes were completely bloodshot, his chest heaving. He looked like a demon crawling straight out of hell.

Ellsworth crossed the room in two massive strides. He grabbed Felicity by the throat and slammed her hard against the wall.

His grip was like iron. He stared at the white piece of paper on the nightstand, his eyes burning with a psychotic, murderous rage.

"Whose bastard is it?" he ground out, his teeth bared. His knuckles turned stark white as he squeezed her windpipe, cutting off her oxygen.

Felicity clawed at his hand, gasping for air. Black spots danced at the edges of her vision. But she forced her lips into a mocking, defiant smirk. "Arthur," she choked out, intentionally using the name to drive him insane.

Ellsworth let out a guttural, animalistic roar. He released her throat, grabbed the medical report, and ripped it into tiny shreds. The pieces fluttered to the carpet like dirty snow.

He turned toward the open door. "Get the jet ready," he barked at the bodyguards in the hall. "We're taking her to the medical ship in international waters. Now."

Panic exploded in Felicity's chest. She had miscalculated his madness. She scrambled away from the wall, lunging for the door.

Ellsworth caught her by the hair, yanking her backward. She screamed as she fell against his chest. He ripped off his silk tie and brutally bound her wrists together behind her back, pulling the knot so tight it cut off her circulation.

He threw her over his shoulder. She kicked and thrashed, her heels hitting his back, but he didn't even flinch. He carried her down the hotel hallway, completely ignoring the shocked faces of the guests peeking out of their rooms.

In the elevator, Felicity opened her mouth to scream for help. Ellsworth slammed her against the mirrored wall and crashed his mouth down on hers. It wasn't a kiss; it was a violent, punishing assault that bruised her lips and silenced her cries.

When the doors opened in the basement, the bodyguards had already cleared the area. Ellsworth threw her into the back of the SUV and climbed in after her, his massive body pinning her to the leather seats.

The car tore through the rainy streets. Felicity stared out the window, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was going to be butchered.

"Weather's too bad for drive, sir," Gus reported from the front seat.

"Take her to Dr. Finch's clinic on the Upper East Side," Ellsworth commanded coldly.

The SUV skidded to a halt in a dark, narrow alley. Ellsworth dragged her out of the car and pounded on the metal door of the private clinic.

Dr. Finch opened the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes. When he saw Ellsworth's murderous expression, the color drained from his face.

Ellsworth shoved Felicity into the sterile, freezing operating room and threw her onto the metal table. "Prep her for a D&C. Now."

Dr. Finch looked at Felicity, who was shivering violently, her wrists still bound. "Mr. Mckinney, I need to do an ultrasound first to confirm-"

Ellsworth pulled a Glock from his shoulder holster and pressed the barrel directly against Dr. Finch's forehead. "I don't need confirmation. I want that parasite out of her body this second."

Felicity screamed as two burly nurses grabbed her shoulders. They forced her legs apart, strapping her ankles into the humiliating metal stirrups. Freezing antiseptic spray hit her bare skin.

"I'm not pregnant!" Felicity shrieked, thrashing against the straps. The tie bit into her wrists, drawing blood. "The report was fake! Stop!"

Ellsworth stood over her, his eyes devoid of any human empathy. He adjusted his cufflink with chilling calm. "Save your lies."

Dr. Finch snapped on his latex gloves. He picked up the metal dilator. The cold steel gleamed under the harsh surgical lights. Felicity squeezed her eyes shut, a tear slipping down her temple. Her heart felt like it was being ripped apart.

Just as the metal touched her skin, a deafening siren shattered the silence.

Red and blue police lights strobed violently through the clinic's frosted windows.

Ellsworth's head snapped toward the door. "Sir, anonymous tip. NYPD is swarming the building for an armed hostage situation. Someone reported you dragging a woman inside at gunpoint. We need to move."

Dr. Finch dropped the surgical tools. The metal clattered loudly against the floor. He threw his hands up in sheer panic. "You have to leave! Now!"

Ellsworth glared at Felicity, his jaw tight. He thought she had orchestrated this, but the genuine shock on her face proved she hadn't expected the cops either.

A megaphone blared from outside. "NYPD! Open the doors immediately!"

The clinic's security alarms began to shriek.

Ellsworth cursed viciously. A public scandal involving an illegal clinic would tank Mckinney Group's stock. He barked at the nurses to unstrap her. He grabbed a white doctor's coat from a hook and threw it over Felicity's half-naked body.

He hauled her off the table by her arm and dragged her toward the clinic's hidden underground escape tunnel.

Felicity's legs felt like jelly. She stumbled through the pitch-black, narrow corridor, entirely dependent on his brutal grip to keep from falling. She looked back at the empty, terrifying operating table, her lungs heaving as she realized she had survived by seconds.

They emerged two blocks away, stepping out into the pouring rain next to a discreet backup sedan.

Ellsworth shoved her into the passenger seat, his face inches from hers. "This isn't over," he hissed.

Felicity slumped against the cold window. The rain battered the glass. She slowly opened her bruised, bloody hand. Resting in her palm was the micro-wiretap Brennan had given her. A manic, desperate light flickered in her eyes.