Clay Franks stepped over a puddle, his expensive shoes making no sound on the wet concrete. He walked to Bailey and offered her a hand, his face a mask of calm indifference.

Bailey's expression shifted instantly to one of a wounded victim. She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet and into his arms.

Chloie watched them from the floor, the pain in her abdomen a dull throb compared to the fire in her soul. She stared at the two people she had loved most in the world, locked in an embrace over her broken body.

Clay kissed Bailey's forehead, then looked down at Chloie like she was something he'd scraped off his shoe.

"Why?" Chloie rasped, blood bubbling at her lips. "I gave you everything."

A cold smile touched Clay's lips. He let go of Bailey and walked slowly toward Chloie. He reached into his coat and pulled out a black Glock 19. The sound of him chambering a round was sharp and final.

He crouched down and pressed the cold barrel of the gun under her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You were always so pathetic," he said, his voice soft. "Begging for affection like a stray dog. It made me sick."

Chloie didn't flinch. She met his gaze, her own eyes burning. "The fire," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "In the Hamptons. Was it you? The one who saved me?"

Clay stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. It was a cruel, ugly sound that filled the cavernous space.

He leaned in closer, his face inches from hers. "The idiot who ran into a burning building and got half his skin burned off?" he said, drawing out every word. "That was him." He jerked the gun toward Adrien's body.

The final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Chloie's world shattered into a million poisoned shards.

"I just happened to be walking by," Clay continued, savoring his victory. "I found his family signet ring on the lawn. That's all it took. Ten years of your pathetic, undying devotion for a cheap lie."

A sound escaped Chloie's lips, a low, guttural moan like a dying animal. She turned her head, her eyes finding Adrien's still form. She had to get to him.

She began to crawl, dragging the heavy chair with her, the ropes tearing her wrists to shreds.

Clay watched her with a frown of disgust. He stood up, took a step back, and aimed the Glock at the center of her chest.

Chloie didn't even look at the gun. Her arm was outstretched, her fingers scraping against the gritty concrete, trying to bridge the impossible distance to Adrien.

"It's over," Clay said, his voice flat. He pulled the trigger.

The gunshot was deafening, a roar that swallowed the sound of the storm outside.

The bullet slammed into her chest. The force threw her backward. She landed hard, a warm, wet sensation spreading across her shirt. Her life was draining out of her, fast.

Her vision blurred. The triumphant laughter of Clay and Bailey seemed to come from very far away, muffled, like she was underwater.

With the last of her strength, she turned her head and fixed her gaze on Adrien's pale, beautiful face.

Hot tears of regret slid from the corners of her eyes, mixing with the blood and grime on the floor.

If I get another chance, she thought, a silent, burning vow, I will tear you both apart.

She looked at Adrien. And I will protect you. I swear it.

With that final, desperate promise, her breath hitched. The world dissolved into blackness.

Then, a violent feeling of falling. The darkness was replaced by the thumping bass of electronic music and the clinking of champagne glasses.

Chloie's eyes flew open. She was sitting bolt upright, gasping for air, in the middle of a soft, sprawling bed.