The elevator doors slid open with a soft ping. Adelle sprinted out, clutching a small orange pill bottle.

She ran to Kieran, her hands shaking as she popped the cap off and tipped two white pills into his palm. "Here, take them," she urged.

Kieran swallowed the pills dry. He let out a slow breath, his tense shoulders relaxing slightly. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice still playing the part of the weakened man.

Adelle turned her head. She looked at Essie, who was still pressed flat against the concrete pillar, trembling like a leaf, her face completely drained of color. A flicker of confusion crossed Adelle's perfect features.

Kieran spoke up immediately, cutting off any questions. "Essie looks like she's about to pass out. To be safe, I've already called a car to take her home."

Adelle nodded, easily accepting the lie. "You're right. I need to get you home to rest anyway. I couldn't possibly drive her now."

A massive, black Lincoln Navigator rolled smoothly into the underground garage and parked right in front of them.

Kieran stepped forward. He grabbed Essie by the upper arm-his grip bruisingly tight under the guise of helping her-and practically shoved her into the spacious backseat of the SUV.

The heavy door slammed shut, instantly cutting off the sounds of the garage.

The Lincoln glided out of the hospital and merged into the glittering, chaotic traffic of the Manhattan night.

Essie curled herself into a tight ball in the corner of the plush leather seat. She wrapped her arms around her knees, trying to get her racing heart to slow down.

In the driver's seat, a burly white man named Gus Petrenko glanced at Essie through the rearview mirror.

Gus knew exactly who she was. He had been the one dispatched in the dead of night, countless times, to drive her to the penthouse.

Gus cleared his throat. His eyes remained fixed on the road, his posture rigidly professional, but his voice carried a chilling, detached tone. "Mr. Cortez ordered me to ensure you are secured and transported to your residence. Please fasten your seatbelt."

Essie's entire body went rigid. Her head snapped up, her eyes wide with shock and deep humiliation.

Gus adjusted the rearview mirror, his expression completely blank, offering no sympathy. "The boss expects absolute compliance, miss. I suggest you don't make this difficult for either of us."

The words felt like a physical slap across Essie's face. Her cheeks burned with a hot, shameful flush.

She gripped the edge of her scrub top. "We are not in that kind of relationship," she said, her voice shaking with outrage.

She leaned forward desperately. "It's a misunderstanding. He just called the car because he felt bad for an employee."

Gus didn't even blink. He let out a curt, icy breath that sounded almost like a scoff. "My job is to drive, miss. What Mr. Cortez does with his property is none of my business."

That cold, dismissive response shattered the last of Essie's defenses. She felt completely exposed, stripped naked, and put on display like a cheap piece of meat.

She bit down on her lip, turning her head sharply to stare out the tinted window. The city lights blurred as hot tears pooled in her eyes.

The car was dead silent, save for the low hum of the heater blowing warm air into the cabin.

As the Lincoln crossed into the rundown streets of Queens, Essie suddenly lunged forward and slammed her hand against the back of the driver's seat.

"Stop the car. Pull over right here," she demanded. They were still three blocks away from her apartment.

Gus frowned, looking at the dark, sketchy street. "It's freezing out there, miss. And this isn't exactly a safe neighborhood."

"I said stop the car!" Essie yelled, her hand already yanking on the door handle.

Gus hit the brakes. The heavy SUV lurched to a halt by the curb.

Essie shoved the door open and threw herself out into the biting, freezing wind of the New York winter.

She pulled her thin coat tight around her scrubs. She kept her head down and practically ran down the poorly lit sidewalk, terrified that Charles might look out the window and see the luxury car dropping her off.

Essie trudged through the freezing wind for three long blocks. By the time she reached her building, her lips were a pale, sickly blue, and she couldn't feel her fingers.

She shoved her key into the rusted lock with shaking hands and pushed the flimsy wooden door open.

The living room was pitch black. The only light came from the sickly yellow streetlamp shining through the dirty window.

Assuming Charles was asleep, Essie closed the door as quietly as possible. She ran her numb hand along the wall and flicked the light switch.

Click. The faulty overhead bulb flickered violently before finally buzzing to life.

Essie gasped, her heart leaping into her throat.

Charles was sitting dead center in the living room in his wheelchair. He was holding a plastic ice pack against his bruised, swollen cheek. He looked like a statue carved out of pure hatred.

The sudden cold and the shock made Essie instinctively reach up. She pulled the collar of her turtleneck higher and quickly hooked a blue surgical mask over her ears.

Charles stared at her with dead, cold eyes. "Why are you so late?" his voice was a low, scratchy rasp.

Essie kept her eyes glued to the floor. "There was an emergency surgery. They needed extra hands," she lied, her voice trembling.

Charles let out a harsh, mocking laugh. He grabbed the wheels of his chair and pushed himself forward. The rubber tires ground heavily against the cheap wood floor.

He stopped right in front of her. His sharp eyes locked onto the blue mask covering half her face.

"Wearing a mask inside your own home?" Charles sneered. "What, does the stench of poverty in here bother you now?"

Essie shook her head frantically. "No, I just... I think I caught a cold. I don't want to get you sick."

Charles's eyes darkened into something terrifying. Before Essie could react, his hand shot out like a viper.

He grabbed the fabric of the mask and yanked it down with brutal force.

The elastic strings dug into Essie's ears before snapping with a loud pop. The mask fluttered to the floor.

Under the harsh, unforgiving glare of the overhead light, Essie's face was fully exposed. Her lips were swollen and split. And right above the collar of her sweater, the dark, angry purple hickey Kieran had sucked into her skin was impossible to miss.

Charles's pupils shrank to pinpricks. The muscles in his face contorted in a mix of absolute shock and explosive rage.

He hurled the ice pack at the floor. The plastic burst open, sending ice cubes and freezing water exploding across the room.

Charles pointed a shaking finger right at her face. He opened his mouth and unleashed a torrent of pure venom.

"You disgusting whore!" he screamed, his voice cracking. "You actually went out and sold yourself to those sick, rich old men!"

He gripped the armrests, his knuckles turning white. "I would rather be a cripple for the rest of my miserable life! I would rather blow my brains out right now than spend one single cent of the dirty money you make spreading your legs!"

Every word was a serrated blade slicing directly into Essie's heart. Everything she had sacrificed, every piece of her soul she had sold to keep him alive, was being spat on.

Tears flooded her face. "Shut up! Just shut up!" she screamed back, her voice breaking into a sob.

Charles didn't stop. "You make me sick! Just looking at you makes me feel filthy!"

The last thread of Essie's sanity snapped.

She raised her right hand and swung it with every ounce of strength she had left in her exhausted body.

Smack.

The sharp, explosive sound of her palm hitting his face echoed off the cramped walls. Charles's head snapped to the side. A thin line of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

The world stopped spinning. The silence in the room was deafening.

Charles slowly turned his head back. He stared at her, his eyes wide with shock, slowly filling with a hatred deeper than anything she had ever seen.

Essie looked down at her stinging, trembling hand. She slapped both hands over her mouth, letting out a choked, devastated wail.

She couldn't look at him for another second. She spun around, stumbled down the short hallway, and threw herself into her tiny bedroom.

She slammed the door, locked the deadbolt, and slid down the cheap wood until she hit the floor, sobbing so hard she couldn't breathe.