The ringing stopped.

Hayden shoved the phone back into her pocket. She pulled her thin coat tighter around her chest and walked down the subway stairs.

She rode the train back to the rundown motel. She unlocked the flimsy wooden door, kicked off her cheap heels, and collapsed onto the stiff mattress. Her muscles ached.

Before she could even close her eyes, the phone in her pocket buzzed again. A continuous, angry vibration.

She pulled it out. August Forbes.

She knew him. If she didn't answer, he would send his security team to tear the city apart looking for her.

She swiped the screen and brought the phone to her ear. She didn't say a word.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" August's voice was a low, vibrating growl. The suppressed rage in his tone made the speaker crackle. "You think writing a pathetic little hit piece is going to get my attention? Get back to the estate. Now."

Hayden stared at the water stain on the motel ceiling. Her voice was as still as a frozen lake. "That won't be necessary, Mr. Forbes."

The line went dead silent. The formal title hit him like a physical blow. She could hear his breathing falter.

Before August could speak, a voice echoed in the background of his end of the call.

"August, darling, what do you think of this pink diamond?"

It was Bridget. Her voice was high, sweet, and perfectly manicured.

Then, another voice, smooth and professional. "It's a flawless cut, Mr. Forbes. This pink diamond comes from the exact same mine as the rare blue diamond you purchased from us three years ago. It's truly one of our finest pieces here at the Fifth Avenue flagship."

Hayden's fingers clamped around the phone. Her knuckles turned stark white. A high-pitched ringing started in her ears.

Cartier. Fifth Avenue. The VIP room.

Three years ago, August had rented out that exact room. He had slid a rare blue diamond onto her finger and told her she was the only future he wanted.

Now, he was standing in the exact same room, buying a ring for the woman who had ruined her life, while calling his ex to demand her obedience.

The sheer, suffocating absurdity of it bubbled up in Hayden's chest. A sound escaped her throat. She started to laugh. It was a low, dry, humorless sound.

"What is so funny?" August snapped, his voice suddenly laced with a frantic, unnameable panic.

Hayden stopped laughing. Her voice dropped to a whisper, sharp as a scalpel.

"I'm laughing because your taste in rings is as painfully unoriginal as your threats," Hayden said.

August sucked in a sharp breath. The silence on his end was heavy, thick with shock.

"Happy engagement, August," Hayden said.

She pulled the phone away from her ear and hit the red button.

She immediately went to her settings. She tapped his contact name, scrolled to the bottom, and hit Block Caller. Then, she held down the power button and swiped to turn the phone completely off.

The screen went black. She tossed the dead piece of metal onto the foot of the bed.

She walked into the tiny bathroom. She turned the shower dial all the way to cold. She stepped under the spray fully clothed. The freezing water hit her head, soaking her hair, plastering her shirt to her skin.

She stood there, shivering violently, letting the ice-cold water wash away the last, pathetic trace of love she had left for him.

The next evening, Hayden walked out of the Vanguard Media building. Her neck was stiff from staring at spreadsheets all day.

She stepped onto the curb, raising her hand to hail a cab.

A massive, sleek black Maybach glided silently to the curb, stopping inches from her toes. The tinted rear window rolled down smoothly.

Jamie Clark sat in the back seat, illuminated by the soft amber reading light. He wore a charcoal suit, looking perfectly relaxed.

"Get in," Jamie said. It wasn't a request.

Hayden hesitated, her hand gripping the strap of her bag. She'd left the old black suitcase at the motel that morning before work—the room was still paid through the end of the week, and it was safer there than dragging it into the office on her first day. "I'm just going home, Jamie."

"We need to discuss the fallout from your article," Jamie said smoothly. "Get in."

Hayden opened the heavy door and slid onto the plush leather seat. The door pulled itself shut with a soft click. The cabin was incredibly warm.

Jamie reached into the cup holder and handed her a plastic cup. Condensation dripped down the sides. "Iced Americano. No sugar. Just how you used to drink it in the library."

Hayden took the cup. The cold plastic felt grounding against her warm palms. "Thank you."

Jamie's eyes scanned her face, lingering on the dark shadows under her eyes. "You look exhausted. My driver is taking us to a different address. You shouldn't be staying in that motel."

Hayden stiffened. Her spine went rigid against the leather. "How do you know where I'm staying?"

"I own a media empire, Hayden. I know everything," Jamie said, his voice gentle but firm. "The Forbes PR machine is going to come after you for that article. Vanguard protects its assets."

The Maybach didn't head downtown. It pulled into the underground, private garage of a five-star luxury hotel in the Upper East Side.

Jamie handed her a heavy gold keycard. "Top floor. The penthouse is secured. No one comes up without my authorization."

Hayden looked at the card in her hand. She was exhausted. She'd managed to wire the partial payment to the hospital yesterday—an old informant had come through, though it had drained every favor she had left—but Aniya's next treatment cycle was still hanging over her head, and August was hunting her. She looked up at Jamie.

Jamie leaned in slightly. His dark eyes locked onto hers. "Don't be afraid," he whispered. "I've got you."

The tension in Hayden's shoulders finally snapped. She nodded, taking the card.

Across the city, the atmosphere inside the Forbes Tower penthouse office was toxic.

August stood behind his massive mahogany desk. His chest heaved. His tie was ripped loose, hanging crookedly around his neck.

Miles Pryce, his executive assistant, stood near the door, sweating through his shirt.

"The motel is empty, sir," Miles stammered. "She checked out this morning. Her suitcase was gone too. No forwarding address. "

August's hands gripped the edge of the desk. His knuckles were bone-white. "Find her. I don't care what it costs. Pull the city traffic cameras."

"Sir," Miles swallowed hard. "One of our private investigators pulled footage from outside the Vanguard building. She... she got into a car."

August's head snapped up. His eyes were bloodshot, feral. "Whose car?"

"Jamie Clark's, sir. The Maybach is registered to his private fleet."

A sickening sound echoed in the room. August's teeth ground together so hard his jaw looked like it might snap. The vein in his neck bulged.

Jealousy, hot and violent, ripped through his chest. Jamie Clark. His biggest rival.

"Get legal on the phone," August roared, his voice shaking the glass walls. "I want Vanguard Media buried in lawsuits by tomorrow morning. I want them bled dry until they hand her over!"

The hotel penthouse was silent.

Hayden sat on the edge of the massive king-sized bed, wearing a thick white hotel bathrobe. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a small, worn velvet box.

She opened it.

Resting on the black satin was a vintage butterfly brooch. The silver wings were bent at a grotesque angle. Several of the small diamonds were missing.

Hayden traced the ruined metal with her index finger. The sharp edge of the broken wing pricked her skin.

Her mind violently pulled her back to the charity gala, two weeks ago.

Flashback.

The hallway outside the ballroom restrooms had been empty. Hayden had been walking back to the party when Bridget Blake stepped out of the shadows, blocking her path. Two massive bodyguards flanked Bridget.

"You look ridiculous in that dress," Bridget had sneered, sipping her champagne. "Like a stray dog wearing a diamond collar."

Hayden had tried to walk past her. One of the bodyguards shoved her hard in the shoulder.

Hayden stumbled. Her clutch slipped from her hands, hitting the marble floor. The clasp popped open. Lipstick, a compact, and the velvet box spilled out.

The box bounced, and the butterfly brooch slid across the floor, stopping at Bridget's feet.

Bridget looked down. A cruel smile stretched across her red lips. She lifted her foot and brought the stiletto heel of her Louboutin directly down on the silver butterfly.

The sickening crunch of metal echoed in the hallway.

Hayden's vision went entirely red. That brooch was the only thing she had left of her mother. It was the only tether to her life before the trauma that erased her childhood memories.

A primal scream tore from Hayden's throat. She lunged forward, her hand swinging in a wide arc.

Smack.

Her palm connected with Bridget's cheek with explosive force. Bridget shrieked, throwing herself backward onto the floor, bursting into dramatic tears.

Footsteps pounded down the hall. August pushed through the gathering crowd.

He saw Bridget on the floor, crying. He saw Hayden standing over her, chest heaving.

August didn't ask what happened. He grabbed Hayden by the shoulders and shoved her backward. Her spine hit the wall hard enough to knock the wind out of her.

"Are you insane?" August yelled, shielding Bridget with his body.

Hayden pointed a shaking finger at the crushed metal on the floor. "She broke it! She broke my mother's-"

"It's a cheap piece of junk!" August roared, cutting her off. He looked at her with pure, unadulterated disgust. "You attacked her over a piece of trash because you're jealous? Apologize to her right now, or get out."

The crowd of billionaires whispered, their eyes full of pity and scorn.

Hayden looked at August. The man she loved had just chosen a liar over her soul. The coldness started in her toes and rushed up to her heart, freezing it solid.

She knelt down, picked up the broken butterfly, and squeezed it in her fist until the metal cut her palm. She stood up, looked August dead in the eye, and whispered, "I choose the latter."

End of flashback.

Hayden blinked, pulling herself back to the quiet hotel room. A single, cold tear tracked down her cheek. She wiped it away aggressively.

She placed the broken brooch back into the box. She closed the lid. The sadness was gone. Only a cold, hard rage remained. She was going to burn their world to the ground.