His leather shoes were spotless. The laces, perfectly tied.

He was humiliating me.

But William was still on the operating table.

I didn't hesitate. I dropped to my knees with a dull thud. The marble sent pain shooting through my legs. Around me, sharp inhales and muffled snickers filled the air.

With trembling hands, I untied his laces and retied them into a neat bow.

"It's done, Mr. Vance."

I looked up.

Anthony stared down at me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

Then he kicked my hand away.

"What a pity. I'm in an even worse mood now."

He wrapped an arm around Audrey and strode off without a backward glance.

Leaving me there on the floor.

I burst out of the banquet hall like a madwoman, sprinting through the downpour toward the hospital.

Before I even reached the entrance, I slammed into a solid chest at the corner.

"Careful."

Strong hands steadied me.

I looked up. A composed face behind gold-rimmed glasses—refined, almost scholarly. But I didn't have time to study him. I shoved against his grip.

"Move! I need to save someone!"

He didn't let go. Instead, he handed me a payment slip.

"I already covered William Sullivan's surgery fee. You can pay it back slowly."

I froze. My mind went blank.

"Who are you?"

"Scott Delgado. The lawyer who handled the Sullivan Group bankruptcy. Currently representing your creditors."

He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the rain from my face.

"Miss Sullivan, even as a debtor, there's no need to degrade yourself for trash like him."

I kept vigil at the hospital all night. By morning, William was out of danger.

When I returned to the villa the next day, it was already noon. I was still wearing the suit jacket Scott had lent me, carrying the faint scent of mint and tobacco.

The moment I pushed open the door, the atmosphere hit me like a wall.

Anthony sat on the sofa. Cigarette butts littered the floor around his feet.

When he saw the men's jacket on my shoulders, he exploded.

He charged over, ripped the jacket off me, and hurled it to the ground, tearing at the fabric.

"Layla Sullivan, you're really something! You roll out of my bed and find yourself a new sugar daddy just like that?"

His eyes were bloodshot, his voice unhinged.

"Who is he? That Scott Delgado? When did you two start?"

He grabbed the scissors from the table and slashed the expensive jacket to shreds.

"I didn't! He saved William!"

I lunged forward, trying to salvage it—it wasn't even mine to ruin.

Anthony slammed me down onto the coffee table—right onto the shards from the glass he'd smashed yesterday.

Glass bit into my back. I gasped at the searing pain.

"Saved William?" He laughed, cold and cruel. "I think you're just addicted to selling yourself. For that half-dead bastard, you'd spread your legs for any man, wouldn't you?"

Smack!

I slapped him with everything I had.

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

Slowly, he turned back. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, his gaze lethal.

"Layla Sullivan. You dare hit me?"

I was panting, tears burning in my eyes.

"You can insult me all you want, Anthony. But don't you dare insult William. And don't you dare insult someone who actually helped me."

This was the first time I'd fought back since we reunited.

That slap shattered the last pretense of civility between us.

He laughed suddenly—a sound that sent ice down my spine.

"Fine. Very fine. Since you've got so much backbone, let's see just how hard those bones really are."

Anthony's revenge came fast.

That night, he took me to a private gathering.

Unlike the formal business banquets, this crowd ran wilder. The games were dirtier.

A grand piano dominated the center of the hall, and beside it sat a violin that probably cost more than most people's cars.

Audrey perched at the piano bench, all doe eyes and dimples.

"Layla, I heard you used to be concertmaster. Since everyone's here tonight—why don't we play a duet?"

Anthony lounged in the seat of honor, swirling his wine, his gaze lazy and mocking.

"Play. If you're any good, I'll let last night's slap slide."

Not a request. An order.

I stared at that instrument, and my hands wouldn't stop shaking.

These hands had hauled bricks, scrubbed dishes, weathered chilblains until the skin cracked. My joints were stiff now. I couldn't coax out that weeping, aching melody anymore.

But I had no choice.

I lifted the violin and tucked it under my chin.

The moment bow met string, a raw, grating screech tore through the room.

Snickers rippled through the crowd.

Audrey's piano kicked in right after—but she sabotaged the tempo on purpose, rushing then dragging, rushing then dragging.

My sound collapsed into chaos.

Before the piece ended, Audrey froze mid-phrase, her hand flying to her throat.

"My necklace! That was the engagement necklace Anthony gave me—it's worth thirty million!"

The room exploded.

"It was just there!"

"How does something like that just vanish?"

Audrey's gaze slid to my open violin case.

"Layla, could it be…"

She didn't have to finish. Two bodyguards were already on me, ripping the case from my hands, shaking it out.

A diamond necklace tumbled from the hidden lining.

Caught red-handed.

Every face in the room wore the same look: of course.

"It wasn't me!"

I could've had a hundred mouths and it wouldn't have mattered.

"I never even touched it!"

Anthony rose and walked toward me, slow and deliberate.

He picked up the necklace, studied it, then looked at me.

That look—cold, flat, utterly done.

"Layla, when did you sink this low? If you needed money, you could've asked. Stealing?"

"I didn't!" The scream ripped out of me. "She planted it! The case was sitting there the whole time—I never moved!"

Audrey cowered behind Anthony, tears streaming prettily down her cheeks.

"Layla, if you liked it that much, I would've given it to you. Why steal? If word gets out, Anthony's reputation…"

Anthony's eyes slid shut. Patience gone.

"Sticky fingers. No use keeping you."

He flicked his wrist. Two guards seized my arms, one on each side, and slammed my hands flat against the table.

Anthony grabbed a wine bottle by the neck.

"If these hands can't make music—if all they know how to do is steal—then let's get rid of them."

My eyes went wide, locked on the bottle rising above me.

"Anthony! You can't do this! I was the one who sold my violin to help fund your startup—did you forget?!"

"Shut up!"

His roar shook the room. "Even now you're lying! You were the one who chased money, took it, and ran off with some other man!"

That. That was why he hated me.

That lie from years ago—it had festered in him like poison.

I was out of options.

Explanations were useless. Tears were useless. Whatever we'd once had was the biggest joke of all.

Crack.

The bottle came down.

White-hot pain exploded through my left hand. I heard bone shatter.

I didn't scream. Didn't cry.

When pain hits a certain point, it just… goes numb.

Blood and wine spread across the white tablecloth in a dark, creeping stain.

Anthony stared at that pool of red. His hand trembled. The bottle slipped from his grip and shattered on the floor.

He didn't expect me not to dodge.

I reached into my pocket with my uninjured right hand and pulled out a check.

Scott's advance from this morning. Fifty thousand dollars.

I slammed it onto the table—blood smearing across the paper, my handprint staining the numbers red.

I met Anthony's eyes. Mine were hollow.

"Mr. Vance."

"This hand pays for your necklace."

"This check covers the rest."

I turned and walked out, dragging my ruined hand behind me. Each step left a drop of blood on the floor.

"We're even."