At seven in the morning, Keeley pushed open the front doors of her dorm building. Her legs felt like they were filled with lead.

Her face was as pale as a sheet of paper. Dark, heavy circles bruised the skin under her eyes, and her lips were cracked and bloodless.

A sharp autumn wind blew past. She broke into an uncontrollable fit of coughing, wrapping her cheap coat tighter around her shivering frame.

She looked down at the piece of paper in her hand with the Brooklyn address. She started walking unsteadily toward the subway station.

Right at that moment, a pitch-black Maybach S680 glided silently to the curb right beside her.

The dark, bulletproof window of the backseat rolled down, revealing Holland's face. It was dark as a thundercloud.

His deep eyes scanned her swaying, fragile body like a radar. His eyebrows snapped together in a harsh line.

Hearing the engine, Keeley turned her head. When she saw him, she stumbled backward instinctively, like she had just seen a monster.

Holland didn't waste a single word. He shoved the car door open and stepped out, his long legs eating up the distance between them.

Panic flooded Keeley's veins. She turned around and tried to run toward the opposite street to escape his sight.

But the fever made her steps clumsy. Before she could take three steps, Holland's large hand clamped down hard on her thin wrist.

The burning heat radiating from her skin made Holland's expression freeze over. He harshly demanded to know why her phone was turned off.

Keeley struggled wildly. "Let me go!" she screamed, her voice hoarse and broken. "I have to go look at an apartment!"

Holland glanced at the crumpled piece of paper in her hand. A flash of violent rage ignited in his eyes.

He completely ignored her resistance. He bent down, scooped his arm under the back of her knees, and lifted her entirely off the ground.

Keeley let out a sharp gasp. Her feet dangled in the air. Her weak fists beat uselessly against his rock-hard chest.

A few early-rising Columbia students walked by, covering their mouths in shock at the aggressive scene.

Holland shot a lethal, warning glare at the bystanders. He carried her straight toward the Maybach.

The driver immediately pulled open the rear door. Holland shoved her struggling body into the luxurious interior.

Keeley scrambled toward the opposite door to escape, but Holland's massive frame was already inside. He slammed the door shut behind him.

The locks clicked with a sharp snap. Keeley was completely trapped in the airtight, opulent space.

"Dr. Evans' private clinic on the Upper East Side," Holland ordered the driver coldly.

Keeley pressed herself into the furthest corner of the leather seat. She glared at him with terrified, defensive eyes, like a wounded hedgehog.

Holland looked at the unnatural, feverish flush on her cheeks. He let out a heavy sigh.

Suddenly, he leaned forward. Ignoring her kicks and pushes, he dragged her forcefully into his broad chest.

He took off his cashmere overcoat-still warm from his body-and wrapped her up tightly like a cocoon.

Trapped in his embrace, surrounded by the heavy scent of cedarwood, Keeley felt a sickening, fatal sense of safety.

She wanted to bite his shoulder to protest, but the fever finally drained the very last drop of her energy.

Holland's large hand gently pressed against the back of her head, tucking her face into his chest.

Listening to his steady, powerful heartbeat as the Maybach drove smoothly through the city, Keeley's consciousness slipped into complete darkness.

Keeley lay quietly on the soft, pristine white hospital bed. The dangerous red flush of her fever had finally faded.

Inside the clear IV tube, the medication dripped steadily into the blue vein on the back of her hand.

Holland had taken off his suit jacket. Wearing only a dark dress shirt, he sat in the single leather armchair right beside her bed.

His deep eyes were fixed on Keeley's face, unblinking, as if trying to carve her features into his very bones.

Stripped of his polite, academic mask, his eyes boiled with a dark, greedy possessiveness.

He slowly leaned forward. He reached out with his long fingers and gently brushed away a few stray hairs sticking to her forehead.

His movements were agonizingly gentle, carrying a reverent carefulness that completely contradicted his usual ruthless dominance.

In her sleep, Keeley seemed to sense something. Her brows pulled together slightly, and the fingers of her free hand twitched.

Holland instantly flipped his hand over and wrapped her small, cool hand entirely within his large, warm palm.

In the middle of this quiet moment, Holland's private phone sitting on the marble nightstand suddenly let out a harsh vibration.

Holland's eyes turned to ice. He quickly picked up the device and glanced at the caller ID. It was an unknown number, but his photographic memory immediately recognized the digits—it was the exact same contact number printed on the tacky gold-embossed resume Emilee Harper had shoved in his face earlier.

To prevent the noise from waking Keeley, he pressed answer and brought the phone to his ear without saying a word.

Emilee's sickeningly sweet, fake voice immediately came through the speaker, calling him "Mr. Klein."

She aggressively tried to sell herself, hinting at an invitation to dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant tonight.

Then, her tone turned sly and conspiratorial. "I'm sure you appreciated Keeley's technical work, but between you and me, Mr. Klein, a junior who only knows how to bury her head in code will never help you network or close deals. Some of us actually understand how to move in your world."

Hearing this, the corner of Holland's mouth curled into a smile of pure, cruel contempt.

He turned his head to look at Keeley, who was still sleeping peacefully. A fierce protectiveness surged in his chest.

Using a low, arrogant, and freezing tone, he mercilessly cut off Emilee's rambling.

"I don't need networking advice from a stranger who confuses a resume with a dinner invitation," he said. "And the fact that you think my interest in her code is technical tells me you understand nothing—neither code, nor me."

He coldly announced that his time was extremely expensive, and he had absolutely zero tolerance for desperate, talentless climbers attempting to bypass professional boundaries.

"If you ever approach me—or Keeley Jackson—again, I will personally ensure your resume is blacklisted from every tech firm on the East Coast," he stated softly, his voice dripping with lethal warning.

Emilee was so shocked she lost the ability to speak, only managing to let out an awkward, choked sound.

Holland didn't give her a single second to recover. He pressed the end call button.

With practiced ease, he dragged her number straight into the block list, permanently cutting off the annoying woman's fantasies.

Having disposed of the trash, he tossed the phone back onto the table and returned his full attention to Keeley.

He lowered his head and pressed a soft, highly restrained kiss right above the vein on the back of her hand.

Keeley's long eyelashes fluttered. She slowly forced her heavy eyelids open.

The soft but bright spotlight above her made her instinctively raise her hand to block the glare.

A sharp prick of pain shot through the back of her hand. That was when she realized she was hooked up to an IV drip.

As her vision cleared, she looked around and realized she was in a ridiculously luxurious hospital room that looked like a five-star hotel suite.

Memories flooded back into her brain. She snapped her head to the side and saw Holland sitting on the sofa next to the bed.

Keeley woke up instantly, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. She struggled to sit up.

Holland immediately uncrossed his legs and stood up. One large hand pressed firmly against her shoulder to keep her down.

With his other hand, he picked up a glass of warm water and brought it to her lips, ordering her to drink.

Keeley stubbornly turned her head away. She reached over with her free hand, trying to rip the IV needle out of her vein so she could leave.

Holland's reflexes were terrifying. He grabbed her thin wrist, his grip so tight she couldn't move an inch.

A violent physical struggle broke out on the bed. Keeley's breathing turned ragged.

With red-rimmed eyes, she furiously demanded to know what he wanted and why he was haunting her life like a ghost.

Hearing this, Holland laughed out of pure anger. A freezing curve appeared on his lips.

He leaned down, his face inches from hers, and brought up how she had run away like a coward four years ago without a single word.

Keeley's heart contracted painfully. She fired back, accusing him of his suffocating, psychotic controlling behavior back then.

They tore at each other's old wounds. The temperature in the room dropped to freezing, the air thick with the smell of gunpowder.

During the heated argument, Keeley swung her trapped arm wildly, trying to push him away.

Thud.

The back of her hand accidentally slammed into the glass of water Holland was holding.

The glass tipped over. More than half of the warm water splashed directly onto Holland's chest.

The water instantly soaked through his expensive custom silk tie and his dark gray tailored shirt.

The screaming match in the room stopped abruptly. Dead silence fell over them.

Keeley stared at the wet mess on his chest, sucking in a sharp breath. Her body froze.

Holland looked down at the wet fabric clinging to his pectoral muscles. His chest rose and fell heavily.

He slowly looked up. A highly dangerous, predatory light flashed in his dark eyes.

Surprisingly, he didn't explode. Instead, he slowly used one hand to pull the ruined tie off his neck.

He tossed the wet tie onto the white bedsheets. His tone was lazy, but it carried an undeniable, crushing weight.

He stated that the tie was a discontinued, handmade Italian piece. As compensation, he demanded Keeley spend the entire day tomorrow acting as his personal assistant.

Keeley gritted her teeth and refused. She said she would pay him back in installments, but she would never sell him her time.

Holland let out a cold sneer. He casually brought up the internship position at Nexus Innovations that she had been killing herself to apply for.

Faced with this naked threat of being blacklisted from the industry, Keeley closed her eyes in pure humiliation. She was forced to agree to the unequal treaty.