The bathroom mirror reflected a stranger.

Cassidy stared at her pale face, her wet hair clinging to her neck. On the marble counter lay the "clothes" Jaret had prepared. It was a silk slip dress, the fabric so flimsy it was practically transparent, the hemline barely brushing mid-thigh. It was a costume designed for one thing, and it wasn't warmth.

She pulled it on, her hands shaking so badly she could barely tie the thin straps. The silk felt cold against her skin, a constant reminder of her vulnerability.

She took a deep breath, gripping the door handle. She had to face him. She had to survive this.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, Jaret was sprawled on the velvet sofa in the center of the room. The moment she appeared, his eyes raked over her, slow and deliberate. A flicker of something—shock, appreciation—crossed his features before he quickly smothered it with a mask of icy indifference.

He patted the empty space on the cushion beside him.

"Come here," he said. It wasn't a request. It was a command, the tone one might use to call a dog.

Cassidy planted her feet on the carpet. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into the fresh crescent wounds on her palms.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

Jaret let out a cold, humorless laugh. He leaned back, spreading his arms along the back of the sofa.

"Option one," he said, his eyes locking onto the thin fabric covering her chest. "You take that off yourself. Consider it... compensation for Burt's sins."

Cassidy's face drained of color. She bit down on her lower lip, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth.

"No," she whispered, the word barely audible.

"Option two," Jaret continued, completely unfazed. "I open that door, and I let my two guards outside come in and help you. And trust me, they aren't as gentle as I am."

As if on cue, heavy footsteps thundered outside. The brass doorknob rattled, the door groaning under pressure.

Pure, unadulterated terror seized her throat. She couldn't let them touch her. She couldn't survive that.

As the door cracked open an inch, Cassidy's hand shot out. She grabbed the heavy crystal ashtray from the side table. With every ounce of strength and desperation in her body, she hurled it at Jaret's head.

He moved like a snake, tilting his head to the side. The ashtray sailed past his ear and smashed into the antique vase behind him. Shards of porcelain exploded across the room.

Cassidy didn't wait. She bolted for the door, shoving her shoulder against the gap, catching the guard off guard. She stumbled into the hallway, the cold air hitting her bare arms.

Freedom was two steps away.

A hand clamped down on the back of her neck like a steel trap.

She gasped as Jaret yanked her backward, dragging her kicking and flailing back into the room. He slammed her against the hard wooden wall of the entryway with a sickening thud.

He flicked his wrist at the guards. "Close it."

The door shut with a definitive click.

Jaret's facade of calm was gone. His eyes were wild, his chest heaving as he pressed his forearm against her throat, pinning her to the wall.

"Fight me again," he hissed, his face inches from hers, "and I'll make sure you never walk out of this building."

Cassidy clawed at his arm, her lungs screaming for air. Her vision blurred, dark spots dancing at the edges. She was forced onto her tiptoes, her eyes locked onto his, refusing to show weakness even as she suffocated.

Something shifted in Jaret's expression. The anger was still there, burning bright. Her defiance was an unexpected variable, a challenge to his absolute control over the situation. He would crush it, not because he desired her, but because no one was allowed to defy him.

Suddenly, he released her.

Cassidy crumpled to the floor, her knees hitting the hard oak with a painful crack. She gasped, coughing violently, her throat burning.

Jaret looked down at her from his towering height.

"Kneel," he commanded.

It wasn't a request. It was a statement of fact. She was already on her knees, but he wanted her to accept it. He wanted her to submit.

Cassidy stared at the floor, the polished wood reflecting her tear-streaked face. Her pride lay in tatters around her. She had no weapons. No escape. Only survival.

Jaret crouched down, his fingers gripping her chin, forcing her mouth open.

He picked up a glass of amber liquid from the console table beside them.

"Drink," he ordered, pressing the rim of the glass to her lips.

He tilted it up. The harsh, burning liquid flooded her mouth, choking her. She tried to swallow, but it was too much, too fast. The whiskey spilled down her chin, dripping onto her collarbone, soaking the thin silk.

She coughed and sputtered, tears streaming down her face, mixing with the alcohol.

Jaret's thumb roughly wiped the spill from the corner of her mouth, his touch abrasive and possessive. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

"This is just the beginning," he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. "You will learn to obey."

Cassidy squeezed her eyes shut. She swallowed the burning in her throat, along with every ounce of shame and hatred. She wouldn't forgive him. She would never forgive him.

Jaret stood up, looking down at her crumpled form with a satisfied smirk. He adjusted his cuffs, his demeanor shifting back to the cold, untouchable billionaire.

He turned and walked toward the private study adjacent to the main room, his back to her. The heavy oak door swung open, revealing a dimly lit office lined with leather-bound books.

"Crawl," he said, his voice echoing through the suite. "Crawl to me."

Cold.

That was the first thing Cassidy felt. A deep, bone-chilling cold that seeped into her skin.

She blinked, her eyes gritty and dry. She was curled up on the sofa, a thin cashmere throw the only thing covering her shivering body. The morning light stabbed through the gap in the curtains, blinding her.

She sat up, her entire body screaming in protest. The ache in her muscles, the rawness in her throat-it wasn't a nightmare. It was real.

She looked toward the bedroom. The massive bed was perfectly made. Empty. He was gone.

On the glass coffee table in front of her sat a single slip of paper and a check.

Cassidy reached out with a trembling hand, picking up the note. The handwriting was sharp and arrogant.

"A tedious transaction. Disappear."

Bile rose in her throat. She stared at the check. The zeros blurred together, a number that could pay off her student loans, could save her apartment. But the price was her dignity. It was the ultimate insult, a payment for a service she never agreed to provide.

A short, hysterical laugh escaped her lips. It sounded alien, broken.

She ripped the check in half. Then again. And again. She threw the confetti into the metal wastebasket, her chest heaving.

She scrambled off the couch, finding her dress crumpled on the floor. She pulled it on, not caring that it was inside out. She didn't look back as she fled the penthouse, her bare feet slapping against the marble hallway.

The Manhattan morning rush hour hit her like a wave. Horns blaring, people shouting, the smell of exhaust and stale coffee. Nobody looked at her. Nobody knew that she was walking around dead inside.

She made it back to her tiny apartment and locked the door. She didn't stop there. She ran to the bathroom, turning the shower dial all the way to scalding.

She stepped under the spray, still wearing her dress, and grabbed the loofah. She scrubbed. She scrubbed her arms, her neck, her lips, until her skin was raw and bleeding. She couldn't feel his hands anymore, but the phantom sensation of his grip, his breath, his eyes-it was a stain she couldn't wash away.

Her phone buzzed on the counter, the shrill ringtone cutting through the steam.

She turned off the water, wrapping a towel around her shivering body. She looked at the screen. Meredith Croft. Her boss. Calling for the fifth time.

Cassidy cleared her throat, trying to force the hoarseness from her voice. "Hello?"

"Where the hell have you been, Fox?" Meredith's voice was a sharp whip through the speaker. "I've been calling since last night. The A-round is hanging by a thread. We are on life support here."

"I'm sorry, Meredith. I had a... personal emergency." Cassidy gripped the edge of the sink, fighting down the nausea.

"I don't care if you were hit by a bus. Get to the office. Now." The line went dead.

Cassidy stared at her reflection. The dark circles under her eyes looked like bruises. She looked like a ghost.

She couldn't fall apart. She had student loans that could buy a house, rent that went up every year, and a career that was the only thing keeping her afloat. She wouldn't let Jaret Taylor take that from her too.

She covered the angry red marks on her neck with layers of industrial-strength concealer, thankful for the high collar of her blouse. She put on her sharpest black pantsuit, a suit of armor. She walked out the door.

The office was a warzone. Meredith was pacing in the conference room, her face red. The whiteboard was covered in red ink. They had one month of runway left.

"Cassidy," Meredith barked, pointing a manicured finger at her. "Tonight is the Whitfield Charity Gala. Every major investor in the city will be there. You are going to get me a meeting with at least one top-tier VC. If you don't, you're fired, and this company is bankrupt."

Cassidy's stomach dropped. A gala. A room full of billionaires. The exact kind of people she wanted to avoid.

"I can't-" she started.

"Can you pay your rent next month?" Meredith cut her off, her eyes cold. "Because I can't."

Cassidy swallowed hard. She had no choice.

She spent the next four hours calling in every favor, begging every contact, until finally, a client who had a last-minute business trip agreed to transfer his digital invite.

By 7 PM, she was standing in front of her closet. She owned one dress that was remotely appropriate-a simple black slip that she had bought on sale. No diamonds, no designer bag. She would be the poorest person in the room.

She looked in the mirror and practiced smiling. A fake, professional smile that didn't reach her eyes. She locked the trauma in a box and threw away the key.

The subway ride was suffocating. The car was packed with bodies, the air thick and stale. Someone bumped into her from behind, and she flinched, her throat closing up. The memory of Jaret's hands on her neck sent her heart racing. She was trapped. She couldn't breathe.

She pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the door, counting the seconds until the next stop. It's just work. Just get through tonight.

The hotel lobby was a circus of flashbulbs and couture. Cassidy kept her head down, slipping past the photographers like a shadow.

The ballroom was a cathedral of wealth. Crystal chandeliers, champagne fountains, the murmur of the elite. Cassidy felt like an imposter. She grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing tray, needing something to do with her hands.

She turned, scanning the room for a friendly face or a lonely investor.

Her blood turned to ice in her veins.

Standing near the entrance, surrounded by a fawning circle of suits, was Jaret Taylor. He looked immaculate in a tailored tuxedo, his dark hair swept back, a champagne flute held loosely in his hand. He looked like a king holding court.

And he was looking right at her.

Cassidy jerked her gaze away, her heart slamming against her ribs so hard she was sure the woman next to her could hear it.

She spun around, putting a massive floral arrangement between herself and the door. Her hands were shaking so badly that the champagne sloshed over the rim of her glass, wetting her fingers.

Breathe. Just breathe.

She risked a glance over the orchids. Jaret was still surrounded, nodding at something a gray-haired man was saying. He hadn't moved. He hadn't noticed her.

She let out a shaky exhale. She had a job to do. She couldn't let him ruin her life twice in twenty-four hours.

She pulled out her phone, looking at the list of target investors. She took a sip of champagne to steady her nerves and approached a group near the bar.

"Excuse me, Mr. Henderson? I'm Cassidy Fox with GreenTech. We spoke last month about-"

"Not interested," the man said without even looking at her. He turned his back, resuming his conversation.

Cassidy stood there, the rejection stinging. She moved on to the next target. And the next. Each one was a variation of the same: a polite dismissal, a condescending smile, or outright ignoring her existence. They looked at her cheap dress and her lack of entourage and wrote her off. She was a minnow trying to swim with sharks.

She was fighting back tears of frustration when she felt it. That prickling sensation on the back of her neck. The feeling of being watched.

Across the room, Jaret had stopped listening to the man next to him. His gaze had drifted across the sea of heads, landing squarely on the black dress hiding behind the flowers.

His bored, arrogant expression vanished. His jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened, a predatory focus replacing the disinterest. He recognized her. The woman who had knelt for him last night was now standing tall, fighting for survival in a room full of wolves.

Kade Thorne, standing beside Jaret, noticed his friend's sudden tension. He followed Jaret's line of sight and let out a low, appreciative whistle.

"Well, well," Kade murmured, a smirk playing on his lips. "Isn't that your little trophy from last night? She's got guts showing up here."

Jaret took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving Cassidy. "Looks like she needs a reminder of the rules."

Cassidy, oblivious to the crosshairs on her back, finally caught a break. An older man in a rumpled suit seemed interested in sustainable energy. She pitched with everything she had, her voice passionate and clear.

He smiled, reaching into his jacket pocket. "You've got five minutes of my attention tomorrow. Here's my card."

Cassidy took the card like it was a lifeline. "Thank you, sir. You won't regret this."

Jaret watched the exchange. He leaned over to his assistant, murmuring a few words. The assistant nodded and immediately walked toward the older man.

Within sixty seconds, the man's face went pale. He looked at the assistant, then at Jaret, and practically bowed before scurrying away, leaving Cassidy standing alone by the bar, the card still clutched in her hand.

A cold dread settled in her stomach. She hadn't seen the interaction, but she felt the shift. The door that had just opened had been slammed shut by an invisible hand.

Jaret watched her from afar, a cruel satisfaction settling over him. He loved watching her struggle. He loved watching her hope and then fall.

He turned to Kade, giving a slight nod toward the hallway.

Cassidy felt sick. She needed a minute. She needed to splash cold water on her face and figure out a new plan. She set her empty glass down and hurried toward the lobby restrooms, keeping her head down.

She was rushing around the corner when she collided with a solid chest.

"Whoa, there," a smooth voice said. Hands caught her elbows, steadying her.

Cassidy looked up, her heart in her throat. The man was handsome, with slicked-back hair and a charming smile. He looked familiar.

"I am so sorry," she stammered, stepping back.

"Kade Thorne," he said, offering his hand. "Partner at Apex Ventures."

Apex Ventures. The name was a siren song. It was one of the biggest VC firms in the city. Cassidy's desperation overrode her caution.

"Cassidy Fox," she said, shaking his hand. "I'm with GreenTech."

"Ah, the green energy folks," Kade said, his eyes glinting. "I've been hearing some buzz about your tech. It's a fascinating model."

He was lying, of course, but Cassidy was too hungry to care. "We're looking for our Series A. I'd love to tell you about our projections."

"It's a bit loud in here," Kade said, gesturing to the ballroom. "I'm actually heading up to a private suite on the second floor. A few other partners are up there. We're looking for new ventures. Why don't you join me? We can talk in peace."

Cassidy hesitated. The voice in her head screamed danger, but the image of her empty bank account was louder. This was her job. This was what she came here to do.

"Okay," she said. "Lead the way."

Kade smiled, placing a hand on the small of her back and guiding her toward the private elevator. She didn't look back toward the ballroom. If she had, she would have seen Jaret watching her walk into his trap, a slow, victorious smile spreading across his face.