The silence in the private dining room was suffocating. Essie's hands shook as she reached into the pocket of her faded sweater and pulled out her phone.

The screen lit up with a text from an unsaved number: Restroom. Now.

Essie felt a fresh wave of cold sweat soak through her sweater, sticking the cheap fabric to her spine. She knew exactly what Kieran would do if she dared to ignore him.

She stood up so fast her chair wobbled. "My stomach is killing me. I need to use the restroom," she lied to her coworkers, not meeting their eyes.

Ignoring their weird looks, Essie pushed open the heavy oak door and practically sprinted into the dimly lit hallway.

The thick carpet absorbed the sound of her footsteps. The wall sconces cast long, creepy shadows across the corridor.

Essie pushed open the heavy wooden door to the women's restroom. It was completely empty. Soft jazz music played from hidden speakers in the ceiling.

She walked over to the marble sink, reaching out to turn on the cold water to splash her face.

The door to the last stall-the oversized handicap stall-suddenly swung open. A massive, muscular arm shot out.

Before Essie could even scream, a large hand clamped hard over her mouth. She was violently yanked backward into the stall.

Bang. The stall door slammed shut. The sharp click of the deadbolt locking echoed loudly over the jazz music.

Kieran slammed Essie against the freezing tile wall. His massive frame pressed flush against her, completely immobilizing her.

His eyes were blazing with a psychotic fury. "Why wouldn't you look at me at the table?" he demanded in a harsh whisper.

Essie shook her head frantically. She brought her hands up, pushing desperately against his solid chest, letting out muffled whimpers against his palm.

Kieran grabbed both of her wrists with one hand. He wrenched her arms above her head and pinned them flat against the cold tiles.

He lowered his head and crushed his mouth against hers. It wasn't a kiss; it was a brutal punishment. His teeth tore at her lips, forcing her mouth open.

Tears spilled out of Essie's eyes. The pain was sharp. She bent her knee, trying to knee him, but he easily trapped her legs with his own heavy thigh.

Kieran's free hand grabbed the collar of her cheap sweater and yanked it down roughly. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, sucking and biting down hard on her sensitive skin.

Essie squeezed her eyes shut in pure agony. A sharp, stinging pain radiated from her neck. She knew he was deliberately leaving a massive, dark bruise.

Suddenly, the sharp clack-clack of high heels hitting the restroom tiles echoed from outside the stall.

"Kieran?" Adelle's voice rang out as she pushed the main restroom door open.

Essie's entire body went rigid. Her lungs stopped working. Her eyes flew open, staring at Kieran in absolute, paralyzing terror.

Kieran didn't pull away. Instead, a cruel, twisted smirk formed on his lips. He pressed his body even tighter against Essie's, purposefully rubbing the tip of his nose against her cheek.

Adelle's heels stopped right in front of the sinks. The sound of a purse unzipping followed, then the rush of water from the faucet. She was touching up her makeup.

Essie shook like a leaf in a hurricane. Silent tears streamed down her face. She was terrified that even the sound of her heartbeat would give them away.

Adelle's phone suddenly rang. "Yes? I'm coming," she said, her tone annoyed. The water shut off, and her heels clicked away.

The main restroom door swung shut.

Kieran finally removed his hand from Essie's mouth. He raised his thumb and casually wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

He stared down at her ruined, sobbing state. "My penthouse. Tomorrow at eight PM," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for negotiation. "Or Charles's medical trial is gone."

Kieran unlocked the stall door with a loud click. He adjusted his suit jacket, stepped out of the stall, and walked away without a backward glance.

Essie's legs gave out. She slid down the tile wall, hitting the floor. She wrapped her arms around her knees, desperately covering the throbbing hickey on her neck as she broke down.

Essie stood in the cramped, moldy bathroom of her Queens apartment. She frantically dabbed thick layers of cheap concealer over the dark purple bruise on her neck.

She pulled a tight, high-necked black turtleneck over her head, making absolutely sure the fabric covered Kieran's violent mark. She threw her blue scrubs on over it.

Essie grabbed her worn-out backpack and walked out into the freezing New York night, heading toward the subway station.

By 1:00 AM, the harsh fluorescent lights of the emergency room were blinding. Essie pushed a metal medical cart down the aisle between the trauma bays.

Inside her scrub pocket, her phone vibrated aggressively. It didn't stop. She pulled it out just enough to see Kieran's name flashing on the screen.

Essie ground her back teeth together. Her stomach churned with anxiety. She thumbed the mute button, silencing the vibration, and shoved the phone deep into her pocket. She refused to look at it again.

At 3:00 AM, the red trauma alarm on the wall started spinning wildly. The ear-piercing wail of an ambulance siren rapidly approached the bay doors.

The automatic doors slammed open. Paramedics rushed in, pushing a bloody gurney at full speed.

"He was assaulted!" one of the EMTs yelled over the chaos. "Found him near the Washington Square Park. They pushed his wheelchair over! He took a hard fall, multiple lacerations, suspected mild concussion—but he's on blood thinners, so we didn't want to risk a closer facility."

Essie snapped on a pair of blue latex gloves. She grabbed a stack of sterile gauze and ran alongside the attending doctor toward Trauma Room 1.

They shoved the gurney under the massive surgical lights. Essie looked down at the patient groaning in agony, his face covered in a mask of blood.

The stack of gauze slipped from her fingers and hit the linoleum floor with a soft thud.

It was Charles.

Essie's brain flatlined. A high-pitched ringing filled her ears. Her knees buckled, and she grabbed the edge of the metal bed rail to keep from collapsing to the floor.

"Essie! Pressure!" the attending doctor barked, snapping her out of her frozen state.

Essie forced her lungs to take a breath. She grabbed a fresh pack of gauze, her hands shaking violently, and pressed it hard against the deep gash pouring blood on Charles's forehead.

Charles thrashed weakly on the bed. He was half-conscious, spitting out slurred, angry curses through bloodstained teeth.

It took an hour of frantic suturing and bandaging before Charles's vitals stabilized. They wheeled him into the observation ward.

At 6:00 AM, Essie's grueling shift finally ended. She peeled off her blood-splattered isolation gown and threw it in the biohazard bin.

She walked into the observation ward. Charles was awake. He was propped up against the pillows, staring darkly at the ceiling tiles.

Essie went to the front desk, signed his discharge papers, and grabbed a spare folding transport wheelchair from the rack near the exit.

She didn't say a single word as she helped him into the chair and pushed him out the sliding glass doors of the hospital.

The early morning streets of New York were empty and freezing. Essie raised her hand and hailed a passing yellow cab.

The driver got out and helped shove the folded wheelchair into the trunk. Essie carefully helped Charles slide into the backseat.

The cab bounced over a pothole on the ruined Queens asphalt. Charles hissed in pain, his hand flying to his bruised ribs.

Essie turned her head. She looked at his swollen, purple face. "Why?" she asked, her voice trembling uncontrollably. "Why were you fighting?"

Charles turned his head away, staring out the dirty window. He was silent for a long time. His hands balled into tight fists on his lap.

Essie saw his jaw clench, then tremble. She had seen that look before—when they were kids, when their mother's boyfriend would lock him in the closet. He wasn't angry. He was ashamed.

"I know what you think of me," Charles finally said, his voice cracking. "After what I said to you that night... I know you think I meant it."

Essie froze.

"I didn't." He still wouldn't look at her. "I was just... I hate that you're with him. I hate that I can't do anything about it. And I hate myself for taking your money when I know where it comes from. So I called you names because... because it was easier than admitting I'm useless."

A tear slid down his swollen cheek, cutting a clean path through the dried blood.

"Those thugs on the corner," Charles ground out through his teeth. "They were laughing. Calling you a whore who sells herself. And I thought—I thought if I just sat there this time, I'd be no better than them. Than me."

The words hit Essie like a sledgehammer straight to the chest. A tidal wave of suffocating guilt crashed over her, drowning her instantly.

She bit down on her bottom lip so hard she tasted blood. Tears silently spilled over her eyelashes, dropping onto her knees. She gripped the hem of her turtleneck, pulling it tighter around her neck.

The cab pulled up to their rundown apartment building. Essie paid the driver. She pulled her muted phone out of her pocket.

The screen lit up. 50 missed calls from Kieran.

This notice lay there quietly, like a death sentence.

Essie tucked the heavy, moth-eaten quilt around Charles's sleeping body.

She stared at the angry purple bruises covering his face. She turned away, walked into the tiny kitchen, and dry-swallowed two ibuprofen pills to numb the pounding in her skull.

She couldn't afford to miss her afternoon double shift. She changed into a clean set of scrubs and rushed out the door.

By 8:00 PM, Essie's legs felt like they were made of lead. She clocked out, the machine beeping loudly in the quiet staff room.

She walked through the hospital's massive, brightly lit VIP lobby, heading for the subway exit.

Adelle was standing by the indoor fountain. She was wearing a flawless Chanel suit and holding a Birkin bag.

The second Adelle saw Essie's pale, exhausted face, a bright, overly enthusiastic smile stretched across her lips. She practically sprinted over on her high heels.

Adelle grabbed Essie's arm. Her grip was surprisingly tight. "Essie, you look awful! I absolutely insist on giving you a ride home."

Essie tried to yank her arm back. "No, really, Dr. Watts, I can take the train-" she stammered, terrified of Adelle seeing the slum she lived in.

Adelle didn't listen. She threw her arm around Essie's shoulders and half-dragged, half-guided her toward the VIP underground parking garage.

The motion-sensor lights flickered on as they entered the concrete garage. Adelle pressed the button on her keys, and a sleek red Porsche 911 chirped to life.

Suddenly, the deafening screech of tires echoed through the garage. A pitch-black Maybach slammed on its brakes, stopping inches from the Porsche.

The driver's door flew open. Kieran stepped out. He wore a dark grey trench coat, and his face was a mask of pure, murderous rage.

Adelle let out a delighted gasp. She let go of Essie and threw herself into Kieran's arms like a happy bird.

Kieran caught her, but his eyes-dark and venomous-shot right over Adelle's shoulder and locked onto Essie.

Essie stumbled backward in sheer terror. Her back slammed hard against a rough concrete pillar.

Suddenly, Kieran's brow furrowed. He let out a low groan, wrapping one arm tightly around his stomach, and hunched over.

Adelle panicked. She grabbed his arms. "Kieran! Oh my god, what's wrong?"

"Stomach cramps," Kieran rasped, his voice sounding incredibly strained and weak. "Go up to Dr. Evans' office on the fourth floor. Get my prescription."

Adelle bought it completely. Her eyes watered with worry. She turned and sprinted toward the elevator banks as fast as her heels would let her.

The elevator doors dinged and slid shut. The garage fell dead silent.

Kieran stood up perfectly straight. The pain on his face vanished instantly, replaced by the cold, ruthless glare of a tyrant.

He closed the distance between them in three massive strides. He grabbed the collar of Essie's turtleneck and literally lifted her off her feet.

He slammed her back against the concrete pillar. The rough stone scraped painfully through her thin scrubs.

"You ignored fifty of my calls," Kieran snarled, his face inches from hers. "Do you have a death wish?"

Essie shook violently. Tears poured down her cheeks. "My brother-he was in the ER-he was bleeding-" she sobbed, trying to explain.

Kieran didn't care. He lowered his head and smashed his mouth against hers. He forced her jaw open, kissing her with a punishing, bruising force that tasted like violence.

He pulled back, leaving Essie gasping for air. He leaned in until his lips brushed her ear. "If you ever ignore me again, I will make Charles vanish from this city."

Essie's eyes widened in absolute horror. She nodded frantically, her tears flying.

The mechanical hum of the elevator descending echoed through the garage.

Kieran instantly let go of her. He took two steps back, wrapped his arm around his stomach again, and leaned heavily against the Maybach, looking pale and sick.