Finley didn't take the elevator down. She pushed through the heavy fire doors into the stairwell and stopped.

Her chest heaved as she leaned against the cold concrete wall. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to process the London acquisition file she had just seen. Haiden was siphoning Blackwell funds. She needed proof.

She cracked the stairwell door open just an inch.

Down the hall, Rhys was frantically talking into his headset, rushing toward the elevator bank to deal with the PR mess she had just created.

The corridor was empty.

Finley kicked off her red Louboutins, holding them in her left hand. In her stocking feet, she moved silently across the thick carpet, slipping back through the half-open doors of the CEO's office.

The office was empty. The sound of running water echoed from the private washroom attached to the suite. Haiden was washing up.

Finley darted toward the mahogany desk. She scanned the surface, but the London file was gone. He had locked it away.

Frustration burned in her throat. She reached for the handle of the top drawer.

Suddenly, a black burner phone sitting on the edge of the desk vibrated. The screen lit up. There was no caller ID, just a string of numbers.

Finley's heart slammed against her ribs. Her instincts screamed at her.

Her hand trembled as she reached out. She tapped the green accept button and hit speakerphone.

"Daddy?"

The voice was tiny. A little boy, crying. "Daddy, when are you coming to see Leo and Mommy?"

Finley stopped breathing. The air in the room vanished. The word Daddy echoed in her skull like a gunshot.

Then, a woman's voice came through the speaker. It was weak, breathless, and painfully gentle. "Leo, sweetheart, give me the phone. Daddy is working. We can't bother him."

It was Clara. The woman from the hospital.

Finley's hands shook so violently she had to grip the edge of the desk to stay standing. The blood roared in her ears. A sickening wave of betrayal and pure, unadulterated rage crashed over her.

The water in the washroom shut off.

Haiden walked out, drying his face with a towel, his dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

He froze.

His eyes locked onto Finley, then dropped to the burner phone on the desk. The little boy's cries were still broadcasting into the silent office.

Panic—raw and unfiltered—flashed across Haiden's face.

He lunged across the room. He snatched the phone off the desk, his thumb aggressively jabbing the end call button. He gripped the plastic so hard his knuckles turned white.

"What are you doing in here?" Haiden roared. The veins in his neck bulged. "Who told you to touch my phone?"

Finley stared at him. A hysterical, broken laugh ripped from her throat.

"You hypocrite," she spat, her voice trembling with venom. "You absolute, disgusting liar."

She stepped toward him, jabbing her finger into his chest. "How old is the bastard, Haiden? Were you planning to drain my grandfather's company to build a trust fund for your little whore and her brat?"

A lethal darkness swallowed Haiden's eyes at the word bastard.

He grabbed Finley by the shoulders, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh. "Shut your mouth, Finley. You don't know what you're talking about."

The physical pain ignited the explosive fury inside her.

Finley wrenched her arm free, planted her feet, and slapped him across the face with every ounce of strength she had.

The sharp crack echoed off the glass walls.

Haiden's head snapped to the side. A bright red handprint instantly bloomed across his pale cheek.

He didn't move. He didn't hit her back. His chest heaved as he slowly turned his head to look at her. His eyes were dead, filled with a terrifying, suppressed violence.

Finley didn't wait for him to react. She grabbed her shoes and bolted out the door, running for her life.

She slammed the elevator button, tears of pure rage blurring her vision.

When she reached the underground parking garage, she threw herself into the driver's seat of her Aston Martin. Her hands gripped the leather steering wheel so hard her joints ached.

She slammed the Aston Martin into gear and peeled out of the parking spot, her tires screeching against the concrete. Her hand instinctively reached for her phone to open the GPS tracker—but she cursed under her breath. The administrative access to the Maybach's system wasn't active yet; the estate's head of security had demanded a face-to-face meeting to hand over the credentials, and she hadn't found a safe window to sneak away from Haiden's watchful eyes. So she was stuck doing this the old-fashioned way. She sped up the ramp just in time to see the sleek black tail of Haiden's Maybach turning the corner onto the avenue. She gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white, and hit the gas, tailing him recklessly through the busy streets.

In the back of the speeding Maybach, Haiden pressed a cold ice pack to his stinging cheek.

His phone buzzed. Dr. Albright.

"Mr. Mitchell, Clara just went into cardiac arrest. We revived her, but Leo is terrified. He won't stop screaming."

Haiden closed his eyes, a crushing weight pressing down on his chest. Finley's misunderstanding was total and absolute now, but he couldn't stop to fix it. Clara was dying.

"Run the red lights," Haiden ordered his driver, his voice tight.

The Maybach tore through the Manhattan streets, screeching to a halt outside the hospital. Haiden threw the door open and sprinted toward the entrance.

A block away, a red Aston Martin quietly pulled to the curb, watching him go inside.

Finley left the Aston Martin parked illegally in the ambulance loading zone. She shoved a pair of oversized Tom Ford sunglasses over her swollen, red eyes and marched through the sliding glass doors of Mount Sinai Hospital.

She kept her head down, avoiding the front desk. She remembered the layout from the night her grandfather was admitted. She bypassed the main elevators and slipped into the private VIP lift.

She hit the button for the 16th floor. The elevator hummed upward. The sterile smell of bleach and rubbing alcohol made her stomach churn with anxiety and rage.

The doors slid open.

Finley peeked around the corner. Down the long, quiet corridor, two of Haiden's massive bodyguards stood outside Room 1608.

She waited. A nurse walked by, holding a chart. One of the bodyguards turned to ask the nurse a question, stepping slightly away from the door.

Finley moved like a ghost. She sprinted down the hall, grabbed the heavy metal handle of Room 1608, and shoved it open with all her body weight.

The door slammed against the wall with a deafening crash.

Everyone in the room froze.

Finley stood in the doorway, her phone raised high, the camera already recording.

On the hospital bed lay Clara. She was shockingly pale, her skin almost translucent beneath the harsh fluorescent lights. An oxygen mask covered half her face.

Haiden was leaning over the bed. One of his large hands was wrapped tightly around Clara's frail fingers. His other hand was resting on the head of a little blonde boy-Leo-who was crying softly.

The perfect, tragic family portrait.

"How touching," Finley sneered, her voice dripping with acid. She stepped further into the room, keeping the camera pointed right at them.

Leo let out a terrified scream at the loud noise. He scrambled backward, hiding behind Haiden's long legs, burying his face in the dark fabric of his suit trousers.

Haiden dropped Clara's hand instantly. He spun around, shielding the boy with his body.

When he saw Finley, his eyes turned into black holes of pure, murderous rage. "Get out," he snarled, his voice a guttural threat.

Finley ignored him. She stepped closer to the bed, shoving the phone toward Clara's face.

"Is this the bitch?" Finley screamed. "What kind of pathetic tricks did you use to hook the Blackwell family dog?"

Clara gasped, her eyes wide with panic. She reached up with trembling hands, trying to pull the oxygen mask down to speak.

The effort was too much. Clara began to cough-a violent, wet, tearing sound. The heart monitor beside the bed instantly started shrieking, the red numbers flashing wildly.

Haiden snapped.

He lunged forward, moving faster than Finley could react. He snatched the phone out of her hand and hurled it against the concrete wall.

The phone shattered into pieces, glass and plastic raining down on the floor.

Finley shrieked in fury. She lunged toward the bed, her hands outstretched, trying to grab the collar of Clara's hospital gown.

Haiden caught her from behind. He wrapped both of his massive arms around her waist, locking her against his chest in an inescapable iron grip.

"Let me go!" Finley thrashed wildly, kicking backward with her heels.

"Daddy, don't fight!" Leo screamed, sobbing hysterically in the corner.

That word-Daddy-snapped the last string of Finley's sanity. She twisted her upper body and sank her teeth hard into Haiden's forearm.

She bit down until she tasted blood.

Haiden let out a sharp grunt of pain, but his grip didn't loosen a single millimeter. He held her suspended off the ground.

"Get the doctors!" Haiden roared at the bodyguards standing paralyzed in the doorway.

A swarm of nurses and a doctor rushed into the room, pushing past them to get to Clara, who was now convulsing on the bed.

Taking advantage of the chaos, Haiden dragged Finley backward out of the room. He kicked open the door to an empty doctors' lounge across the hall and threw her inside.

Finley crashed onto a leather sofa. Her hair was a tangled mess, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. She glared at him, her eyes burning with lethal hatred.

Haiden slammed the door and locked it. He stood leaning against the wood, his chest rising and falling heavily. Blood seeped through the white fabric of his shirt where she had bitten him.

He looked at her, exhaustion and despair warring in his eyes.

"Clara is a friend," Haiden said, his voice tight, trying to force the words through his anger. "Leo is my godson. There is nothing going on between us."

Finley threw her head back and laughed. It was a manic, broken sound.

"He called you Daddy!" she screamed, pointing at the door. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"

She stared at the shattered pieces of her phone, a wave of sheer, helpless panic crashing over her. The only leverage she had was gone. Her chest heaved as the panic rapidly morphed into a wild, hysterical anger. "You destroyed the evidence!" she shrieked, pointing a shaking finger at him. "You think you can just break my phone and hide this? I'm going to tell my grandfather! I'm going to tell everyone what a disgusting liar you are!"

Haiden closed his eyes. A muscle feathered in his jaw. He realized then that she was completely unreachable. The truth didn't matter anymore.

When he opened his eyes, the exhaustion was gone. Only the ruthless CEO remained.

"If you leak that video to the press," Haiden said, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper, "I will dismantle Blackwell Industries piece by piece. I will ruin your family."

Finley felt a chill run down her spine at the absolute certainty in his voice. But she refused to back down.

"I'm going to my grandfather," Finley spat, lifting her chin. "I'm ending this marriage today."

She shoved past him, unlocking the door, and ran down the hallway, leaving him bleeding in the quiet room.

The Aston Martin tore up the gravel driveway of the Long Island estate, skidding to a violent halt right in front of the main steps.

Finley didn't even bother shutting the car door. She hiked up her skirt and sprinted up the stairs, bursting through the front doors.

She ran straight up the grand staircase, her breath burning in her lungs. She threw open the heavy oak doors to Benton's master suite.

Benton was sitting in his wheelchair by the window. Two private nurses were adjusting the IV drip in his arm.

Finley rushed to his side, dropping to her knees beside the wheelchair. Her hands shook violently as she pulled out her backup phone and pulled up the cloud video.

"Look at this," Finley gasped, shoving the screen in front of her grandfather's face.

The video played. Clara's weak voice. Leo crying out Daddy. Haiden violently grabbing Finley to protect them.

"He's cheating on me, Grandpa," Finley cried, her voice cracking. "He's using our money to fund his secret family. You have to call the lawyers. Annul the marriage right now."

Benton stared at the screen. His cloudy, aged eyes didn't widen. His expression didn't change. He looked completely, terrifyingly calm.

He raised a frail hand and waved the nurses out of the room. The door clicked shut, leaving a suffocating silence behind.

Benton looked down at Finley.

"Loyalty in a marriage is a luxury for the poor, Finley," Benton said, his voice raspy and cold. "Haiden is keeping the stock prices stable. He is crushing our competitors. I do not care if he has ten bastards hidden in the city."

Finley felt like she had been struck by lightning. She stared at the man who had raised her, feeling as though she were looking at a monster.

"You're selling me?" she whispered, horror choking her throat. "For the stock price? You're letting him humiliate me?"

Benton started to cough. He pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to his mouth. When he pulled it away, there was a bright spot of red blood.

"I am dying, Finley," Benton wheezed, leaning back in his chair. "I do not have the energy to clean up your tantrums anymore."

The bedroom door opened. Arthur stepped in, his face solemn.

"Sir, the medical transport to the private clinic in the Swiss Alps is ready," Arthur announced.

Finley scrambled backward, her hands slipping on the hardwood floor. "You're leaving? You're leaving me here with him?"

A team of paramedics entered the room, completely ignoring Finley as they began to detach Benton's monitors to prepare him for the flight.

Half an hour later, Benton's wheelchair was pushed into the grand foyer downstairs.

Haiden was already there. He stood by the front doors, wearing a fresh black suit. The bite mark on his arm was hidden beneath his crisp white cuff. He looked like a king waiting to take his throne.

Benton's wheelchair stopped in front of Haiden. The two men locked eyes. A silent, heavy understanding passed between them.

Benton reached out and patted Haiden's hand. "She's yours to manage now."

Finley screamed. She lunged down the stairs, reaching for her grandfather's wheelchair. "No! You can't do this!"

Haiden stepped forward, his massive body blocking her path. He clamped a heavy hand down on her shoulder, his fingers digging into her collarbone, pinning her in place.

Finley thrashed against him, tears streaming down her face, as she watched the paramedics load Benton into the armored medical van.

The heavy doors slammed shut. The van drove away, disappearing down the long driveway.

One of the bodyguards stepped forward, pulled the massive front doors of the estate shut, and turned the deadbolt. The loud clack echoed in the foyer.

The estate had just become a prison.

Haiden looked down at Finley, who had collapsed onto her knees on the marble floor. There was no pity in his dark eyes. Only absolute, suffocating authority.

He crouched down. His long fingers gripped her chin, forcing her tear-stained face up to meet his gaze.

"Your grandfather is gone," Haiden said, his voice a low, cruel rumble. "There is no one left to protect you. From now on, you will learn how to be an obedient Mrs. Mitchell."

Finley bared her teeth. She spat directly into his face. "You're a monster. I will kill you."

Haiden didn't flinch. He calmly pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his cheek. He stood up, towering over her.

"Arthur," Haiden commanded without looking away from Finley. "Confiscate her phone, her car keys, and all her electronics."

Arthur and two maids stepped forward. Finley fought them, screaming and kicking, but they easily overpowered her, stripping her of her only lifelines to the outside world.

Haiden turned and walked toward the grand study, his footsteps echoing with absolute power.

She sat alone on the cold floor. The tears slowly stopped falling. She lowered her head, letting her messy, tangled black hair fall forward to completely hide her face. In the heavy, suffocating silence of the empty foyer, hidden entirely within the dark shadows of her hair, the corners of her tear-stained mouth slowly curled upward into a strange, unsettling smile.