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.