Annette swallowed hard. The back of her throat tasted like copper.

"I don't have any contact with him anymore," Annette said. Her voice was stiff and hollow.

Across the table, Declan's eyes darkened into a storm. His large hand wrapped around his whiskey glass. His knuckles turned stark white. The thick crystal groaned under the immense pressure of his grip.

Leo stood up quickly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

"Alright, the tension is killing my appetite," Leo announced, clapping his hands. "Everyone move to the VIP lounge. We're playing Truth or Dare."

Annette immediately pushed her chair back.

"I should go," Annette said, grabbing her purse. "I have court files to review for tomorrow."

She turned to walk away.

Ciera shifted her weight and subtly stuck out her stiletto.

Annette's foot caught on the sharp heel. She lost her balance completely. She pitched forward, her hip slamming violently into the solid mahogany back of a chair.

A sharp, breathless gasp ripped from Annette's throat.

Declan's body reacted before his brain did. He lunged forward, his chest hitting the edge of the table. But he caught himself just as fast. He froze, his jaw clenching so hard it looked like the bone might snap. He forced himself to sit back down, his face a mask of stone.

Clara rushed over and grabbed Annette's arm.

"Are you okay? Come on, just sit for one game," Clara begged, pulling her toward the sunken circular sofas in the VIP area.

Annette was too dizzy from the pain in her hip to fight back. She let Clara drag her to the edge of the leather couch.

Declan took the center seat. He sat with his legs spread, his arms resting on the back of the sofa. He looked like a king presiding over an execution.

Leo placed an empty champagne bottle on the glass coffee table. He spun it hard.

The glass scraped against the table with a high-pitched shriek.

The bottle slowed. The green glass neck pointed directly at Annette's chest.

The groomsmen cheered.

Ciera leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with malice. "I'll ask."

Ciera smiled. "Truth. Did you already blow through all the cash you got for selling your soul?"

Annette's breathing turned shallow and erratic. Her fingers gripped the edge of the leather cushion so tightly her joints ached.

She looked at Declan. He was staring at her, his face completely devoid of any human empathy.

"Dare," Annette whispered.

Ciera's smile widened into a smirk. She pointed a manicured finger at the center of the table.

"Drink the penalty cup. All of it. No stopping."

Sitting in the middle of the table was a massive pint glass. It was filled with a dark, foul-smelling mixture of vodka, gin, rum, tequila, and whiskey.

Annette stared at the brown liquid. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

If she drank that, the chemical collision with her fragile physical state would send her into a severe, potentially fatal, physical shock.

She couldn't move her arms. She was paralyzed.

"Ten, nine, eight..." the groomsmen started counting down, slamming their hands on the table.

The noise pounded inside Annette's skull. The pressure was suffocating.

She closed her eyes. She reached her trembling hand out toward the glass.

Suddenly, a large, warm hand shot out and snatched the heavy glass right out from under her fingers.

Annette's eyes snapped open.

Declan brought the penalty cup to his lips. He tilted his head back and swallowed the massive amount of mixed liquor in three heavy, continuous gulps.

He slammed the empty glass back onto the table. He didn't even cough. He just wiped a drop of liquor from his bottom lip, his brow furrowing slightly at the burn.

The entire lounge went completely silent.

Ciera's face flushed dark red. Her nails dug into her own thighs.

Annette stared at Declan, her chest heaving. A tiny, pathetic spark of hope ignited in her chest. Her heart fluttered. He still cared. He just protected her.

Declan slowly turned his head to look at her.

"Don't look at me like that," Declan said. His voice was absolute ice. "I just think this game is boring. I didn't want to waste my night watching you play the victim."

The spark in Annette's chest was instantly crushed. A massive wave of humiliation crashed over her, drowning her completely.

Leo awkwardly spun the bottle again.

It spun fast and stopped. It pointed directly at Declan.

A bridesmaid, heavily flushed from the wine, giggled. "Dare! I dare you to kiss the woman in this room you want to kiss the most."

The air in the room vanished.

Every single pair of eyes darted between Ciera and Annette.

Ciera sat up perfectly straight. She pushed her shoulders back, her eyes shining with anticipation.

Declan didn't move. He slowly dragged his gaze across the room.

His eyes landed on Annette's pale, terrified face.

He stared at her. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

Annette stopped breathing. She felt like a prisoner standing on the gallows, waiting for the lever to be pulled.

Declan's eyes turned dead. He looked away from her.

"Not interested," Declan said flatly.

He reached across the table, picked up a bottle of straight whiskey, and poured himself a penalty shot. He swallowed the burning liquid without a flinch.

He would rather drink pure fire than touch her.

The realization sliced through Annette's chest like a serrated knife. Her psychological defenses shattered into a million pieces.

Annette shot up from the sofa.

Her knee slammed into the low glass table. A tall wine glass tipped over and shattered against the floor. The sharp sound of breaking crystal echoed in the silent room.

Nobody moved.

Annette ignored the broken glass at her feet. She stared straight into Declan's eyes. Her chest rose and fell rapidly.

"For the record," Annette said, her voice raspy but violently steady. "I don't regret a single choice I made five years ago."

The words hit the room like a bomb.

The cold indifference in Declan's eyes vanished. It was instantly replaced by a raging, violent inferno.

Declan kicked the coffee table.

The heavy glass table screeched against the floor, sliding two feet away from him.

He stood up. The dark, suffocating aura radiating from his body made the hair on Annette's arms stand up. He didn't say a word. He turned his back and walked out of the VIP lounge, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hall.

Ciera shot Annette a look of pure murder. She grabbed her designer clutch and ran after him.

The party atmosphere was completely dead.

Leo rubbed his face, sighed heavily, and walked toward the front desk to pay for the broken glass.

Clara grabbed Annette's arm and pulled her into a small, private alcove near the coat check. She shut the heavy velvet curtain behind them.

The second they were hidden, Annette's knees gave out. She slid down the wall and hit the floor, burying her face in her hands. Her body shook with silent, dry sobs.

Clara crouched down and handed her a glass of lukewarm water.

"Why did you do that?" Clara asked, her voice tight. "Why did you provoke him?"

Annette took a shaky breath. "I'm tired of being looked at like a circus animal."

Clara bit her lip. She pulled her phone out of her purse and tapped the screen. She held it out to Annette.

It was the digital front page of the Wall Street Journal.

The headline screamed in bold black letters: Declan Carter Assumes Full Control of Carter Family Trust.

"He's not the boy who ate street hotdogs with you in Brooklyn anymore, Annie," Clara whispered. "His net worth is a number normal people can't even comprehend. He owns half the commercial real estate in Manhattan. The mayor answers his calls on the first ring."

Annette stared at the screen. She read the words 'corporate acquisitions' and 'billion-dollar mergers'.

Her stomach cramped violently again. Every word on that screen was a physical reminder. She had destroyed her own life, her own reputation, just to make sure his security clearance wasn't ruined by her father's criminal record.

She had bought him this throne with her blood.

Annette pushed the phone away. She forced her face into a mask of indifference.

"That has nothing to do with me," Annette lied.

Clara looked at the frayed collar of Annette's dress. She sighed. "Just... stay away from Ciera."

"I need to use the restroom to fix my makeup," Annette said, pulling herself up from the floor.

She walked out of the alcove. The hallway was completely empty. The dim yellow wall sconces cast long, lonely shadows on the carpet.

Annette leaned her back against the cold wall. She reached into the deep pocket of her coat and pulled out a small, unlabeled white plastic bottle.

Her hands shook so badly she almost dropped it. She popped the cap, shook two heavy pills into her palm, and swallowed them dry. The pills were large and chalky, scratching her throat as she forced them down. A wave of nausea immediately rolled in her stomach, a familiar, bitter cost for a few hours of chemical peace.

Suddenly, a cold draft hit her ankles.

At the end of the hallway, a heavy metal fire door creaked open. The wind howled through the crack.

Annette felt suffocated by the heavy air inside the restaurant. She needed real oxygen.

She walked toward the door and pushed it open.

She stepped out onto the rusted metal platform of the fire escape. There were no streetlights here. Only the faint, bleeding neon colors from the distant Manhattan skyline cut through the pitch-black darkness.

The cold rain hit her face. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

The second she exhaled, a massive, muscular arm shot out from the absolute darkness.

A large hand clamped around her waist like a steel vice.

Annette screamed.

The sound was instantly cut off as she was violently shoved backward. Her spine slammed against the rough, freezing brick wall of the alley. The jagged bricks scraped painfully against her shoulder blades.

A heavy, suffocating scent of expensive cedarwood cologne mixed with raw tobacco flooded her lungs.

The faint red glow of a distant neon sign flickered, illuminating the face of her attacker.

It was Declan.

His tie was ripped loose. The top three buttons of his crisp white shirt were torn open. He looked like a feral animal that had finally snapped its chain.

Annette panicked. She shoved her hands against his hard chest, trying to push him away.

Declan didn't even flinch. He grabbed both of her wrists with one massive hand and pinned them forcefully above her head against the wet bricks.

He stepped into her space. His tall, broad body completely caged her in. He forced his knee between her thighs, spreading her legs slightly to press his hips flush against hers. He cut off every single avenue of escape.

His chest he heave. His hot, ragged breath washed over the sensitive skin of her neck, sending violent, involuntary shivers down her spine.

Annette's brain short-circuited. Five years ago, on a fire escape just like this, he had kissed her with so much devotion it made her cry.

But there was no devotion in his gray eyes now. There was only a dark, violent need to destroy.

"You don't regret it?" Declan hissed, his voice vibrating against her skin. "Then why can't you even look me in the eye, Annette?"

Annette turned her face away. She clamped her lips shut. Her eyes burned with unshed tears.

Her silence shattered the last thread of his sanity.

Declan released her wrists. His hand shot up and gripped her jaw. His long fingers dug into her cheeks, forcing her face forward.

Before she could gasp, his mouth crashed down onto hers.

It wasn't a kiss. It was an assault. It was a violent collision of teeth and rage.

He bit down on her bottom lip. Hard.

The sharp pain made Annette gasp, and he used the opportunity to force his tongue into her mouth. He devoured her, stealing all the oxygen from her lungs.

The taste of copper exploded in their mouths. He had bitten her lip so hard it was bleeding.

Annette thrashed against him. She shook her head wildly, but his grip on her jaw was like iron. He swallowed her whimpers, kissing her deeper, punishing her for every day of the last five years.

The raw, masculine heat of his body pressed against her freezing, wet clothes. The contrast was agonizing.

A single, hot tear escaped Annette's eye. It rolled down her cheek and dropped onto the back of Declan's hand.

The tear was scalding. Declan's entire body went completely rigid.

For a fraction of a second, his grip loosened.

Annette didn't hesitate. She bit down on his tongue with all the strength she had left.

Declan let out a deep, guttural groan of pain. He tore his mouth away and stumbled half a step back.

Annette slumped against the brick wall. Her chest heaved violently as she gasped for air. She lifted the back of her trembling hand and wiped the smear of blood from her swollen lips.

Declan stood in the darkness. He wiped his own mouth with his thumb. He looked at the blood on his skin, then looked up at her. His eyes were pitch black.

"Playing the victim again?" Declan sneered, his voice dripping with absolute disgust. "Or did that old man you sold yourself to just not train you right?"

The words were a physical blade. They gutted her. They sliced through her stomach and shredded her dignity into bloody ribbons.

Annette let out a choked cry. She raised her hand and swung at his face with everything she had.

Declan caught her wrist in mid-air. His grip was brutal.

He yanked her forward, leaning down until his mouth was a fraction of an inch from her ear.

"Get out of my city," Declan whispered. The deadly calm in his voice was more terrifying than his yelling. "Get out of my sight. Because if I see you again, I will make you wish you were dead."

He dropped her wrist like it was infected.

He turned around, kicked the heavy fire door open, and walked back into the bright, warm hallway without looking back.

The heavy metal door slammed shut.

Annette was left completely alone in the freezing darkness. Her legs gave out. She slid down the brick wall and collapsed onto the rusted iron grate, curling into a tight, shivering ball.