The basement smelled of mold and old cardboard. Kara sat in the corner, using the dim light of the tiny phone screen to navigate.

She called Chloe, her agent.

"You can't sell it," Chloe shrieked on the other end. "The 'Ethereal' gown? That was your masterpiece! You made that for your wedding!"

"Dead women don't need wedding dresses," Kara said. Her voice was flat. "I need cash, Chloe. Fast. Davin's network is a fortress. Any attempt to access my usual resources will trigger alarms. This is the only way."

She hung up as another call came through. It was the nursing home director.

"Mrs. Johnston," the director said. His tone was grave. "Arthur has had a second stroke."

Kara felt the floor drop out from under her. "Save him! Do whatever it takes!"

"We can't," the director said. "The Trust sent a cease and desist on payments. We are already in the red. If we don't have a hundred thousand dollars by noon tomorrow, we have to transfer him to the state facility."

The state facility was a warehouse for the dying. If Arthur went there, he wouldn't last a week.

"Please," Kara begged. "Just give me twenty-four hours."

"I'm sorry."

The line went dead.

Kara screamed. She threw the phone against a stack of boxes. She banged her head against the wall. The physical pain was grounding. It distracted her from the panic.

She had to get out.

The door handle turned. Kara froze.

Charles slipped inside. He was holding a bottle of water and a roll. He looked terrified.

"Charles," Kara gasped. She crawled over to him and grabbed the hem of his trousers. "Lend me the money. Please. I'll pay you back double."

Charles shook his head. "Madam, I don't have that kind of money."

"Then let me go," Kara said. Her eyes were wild, feverish. "I need to see Davin."

"He's at the tower," Charles said. He hesitated. He looked at her pale, desperate face.

"I'll leave the door unlocked," he whispered. "But if anyone asks, I forgot."

"Thank you," Kara sobbed.

She waited until Charles left, then slipped out. She ran through the rain, out the service gate, and flagged down a taxi on the main road.

She had no cash. She pulled off her diamond stud earrings-the only jewelry Davin hadn't bought her-and tossed them to the driver.

"Johnston Global Tower," she commanded.

The lobby of the tower was a cathedral of glass and steel. Kara walked in, dripping wet, her clothes muddy, her hair plastered to her skull. She was shivering violently. The fever was spiking.

She approached the reception desk.

"I need to see Davin Johnston," she said. Her teeth chattered.

The receptionist looked her up and down with disdain. "Do you have an appointment?"

"I'm his wife!" Kara shouted.

The receptionist raised an eyebrow. "Ma'am, I know who you are. My instructions are clear. Mr. Johnston is not available to you." She reached for the phone. "Security."

Two large guards grabbed Kara's arms.

"Let me go! Davin!"

The elevator doors pinged open. Davin walked out, surrounded by a phalanx of suits. He looked immaculate.

He stopped when he saw the commotion. He saw the wet, screaming woman struggling with his guards.

"Davin!" Kara cried out. "Grandpa is dying! Please!"

Davin looked at her. There was no recognition in his eyes. Only cold annoyance.

"Get that trash out of my building," he said to the guards.

He turned and walked out the revolving doors, leaving Kara to be dragged backward across the marble floor.

Kara woke up on a bench in a bus shelter. The rain had stopped, but the damp cold had settled into her marrow. It was evening.

She had one option left.

She used the last of her strength to hail a cab, promising payment upon arrival. She directed him to the Meatpacking District.

The loft was hidden behind a rusted steel door. This was her sanctuary. The studio of S. Anders. A clean room, a fortress with its own servers, a place Davin knew nothing about.

She punched in the code. The door hissed open.

Kara stepped inside and gasped.

The studio was destroyed.

Rolls of French lace were unspooled and slashed. Mannequins were toppled, their limbs scattered like corpses. Cans of black paint had been thrown over her sketches pinned to the wall.

Kara clapped a hand over her mouth in horror. Someone had been there.

She ran to the floor safe in the corner. It had been drilled open. Empty. The emergency cash, the original pattern files-gone.

Behind her, a floorboard creaked.

Kara spun around.

Three men stepped out of the shadows. They wore ski masks and dark clothes. One of them was holding a baseball bat.

"Well, look who it is," the leader said. His voice was muffled. "Mrs. Johnston. You look worse than the pictures."

Kara backed up until her hips hit a cutting table. Her hand closed around a pair of heavy fabric shears.

"Who sent you?" she demanded. "Alyse?"

The man laughed. "Someone who wants to make sure you don't cause any more trouble. Someone paid a lot for your right hand."

He swung the bat. It smashed into the table, missing Kara's fingers by an inch.

Kara turned and ran. She bolted for the glass-walled office at the back of the loft. She slammed the door and locked it.

The men began to kick the glass. Spiderwebs of cracks appeared.

Kara slid under the desk. She pulled out her phone. The screen was cracked, but it worked.

She instinctively wanted to call Julian, but thought that Julian was only human and had no power, so he couldn't solve this kind of thug.

She dialed Davin. It was pathetic. It was weak. But he was the only power strong enough to stop this.

Davin picked up on the second ring.

"What now?" he snapped.

"Davin, help me..." Kara sobbed. "The studio... they're going to kill me..."

The glass door shattered.

Kara screamed.

Davin heard the crash. He heard the heavy boots crunching on glass.

"Grab her!" a male voice shouted.

"No! Please!" Kara begged.

There was a sickening thud. A sound of metal hitting flesh. Kara let out a choked cry.

The phone clattered to the floor. Then, a heavy boot stomped on it. The line went dead.

In the back of his Maybach, Davin stared at his phone. His blood ran cold. That wasn't acting. That was the sound of real fear.

Davin shouted at the driver,"Locate her phone! Mobilize all security teams! Hurry up!"

Charles reported: "Location: 14th Street, West End. Last known location before signal loss."

"West 14th Street! Go!"

Davin's Maybach sped through the streets, running three red lights.

Davin called his security detail. "Meet me at the target location. Bring everyone."

Ten minutes later, Davin kicked open the door to the loft. Six armed bodyguards flooded the room behind him.

The smell of copper hit him first. Blood.

<b>Davin arrived and saw Kara curled in the corner, covered in blood, with a thug raising a knife.</b>

<b>Davin felt his heart skip a beat. He rushed forward without thinking and kicked the thug flying.</b>

<b>The thug crashed into the wall and passed out instantly.</b>

<b>The other thugs tried to run but were quickly subdued by the bodyguards.</b>

<b>Davin dropped to his knees, his hands trembling as he reached out to check Kara's breathing.</b>

<b>She was still breathing, but it was as weak as a gossamer thread.</b>

<b>He carefully lifted her up, but was shocked to find she was as light as a feather.</b>

<b>"Damn it, how did you get this thin?" Davin murmured, a huge wave of panic rising in his heart.</b>

<b>Kara barely opened her eyes. Through her blood-blurred vision, she saw Davin's anxious face.</b>

*Is this a hallucination?* she thought.

<b>"Davin..." she called out unconsciously, then fell into a complete coma.</b>

<b>Davin rushed downstairs holding her: "To the hospital! Tell Dr. Foster to prepare for surgery!"</b>

<b>In the elevator, Davin looked down at the broken doll in his arms, and for the first time, he doubted himself.</b>

<b>Was her illness not an act? Was the miscarriage real?</b>

<b>He looked down at her arm. Beneath the fresh injuries, there were dense needle marks.</b>

<b>Davin's eyes narrowed. These needle marks... drug abuse? Or medical treatment?</b>

<b>Charles stayed behind to handle the thugs: "Don't let them die before the boss questions them."</b>

<b>Davin placed Kara in the back seat, holding her tightly, using his expensive handmade suit to staunch her bleeding.</b>

<b>The car sped away. Davin held her ice-cold hand, trying to pass her some warmth.</b>

<b>Suddenly, he saw a piece of fabric tightly clutched in her hand-it was a remnant of a wedding dress.</b>

<b>Davin recognized the fabric. It was the design she had begged him to look at before their wedding, but he had refused.</b>

<b>Regret gnawed at his heart like a venomous snake.</b>

<b>They arrived at the emergency entrance.</b>

<b>Suddenly, flashlights lit up. Snap! Snap! Snap!</b>

<b>Paparazzi, appearing out of nowhere, swarmed them.</b>

<b>Davin's tenderness froze instantly. How did the paparazzi know? Unless... someone tipped them off.</b>