Carolina stepped out of a yellow cab the next morning. The cold autumn wind immediately bit into her face.

She stood on the sidewalk in front of the grand Gonzalez Estate on the Upper East Side. The sight made her stomach drop. Two massive moving trucks were already parked on the manicured front lawn, their rear doors wide open like gaping mouths.

She rushed up the gravel driveway and pushed through the heavy oak front doors.

The grand foyer was chaotic. Men in gray uniforms were everywhere, shouting orders and wrapping her family's history in cheap bubble wrap.

Standing in the center of the room was Mr. Peterson. The balding bank-appointed asset liquidation agent held a metal clipboard, pointing aggressively toward the living room.

Carolina intercepted him, physically stepping into his path.

"Stop them!" she demanded, pointing to two men lifting her mother's antique Steinway piano. "You can't take that. It's exempt from the corporate filing!"

Peterson adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. He looked at her with pure bureaucratic apathy.

"The property and all its contents are now owned by the bank, Miss Gonzalez," he stated coldly. "Move aside."

Carolina's voice cut through the noise like a blade. "That piano is not part of the corporate filing. It was my mother's personal property, willed to me directly. If your men damage it, I will sue the bank for destruction of exempt assets."

Peterson ignored her, stepping around her to check a box on his clipboard.

A mover carrying a heavy porcelain vase backed up without looking. His shoulder slammed hard into Carolina.

She lost her footing, stumbling backward over a rolled-up Persian rug.

Before she hit the floor, a pair of hands grabbed her by the shoulders, steadying her with a firm grip.

Carolina gasped and turned around.

Jerrad Hutchinson stood there. He was dressed in an immaculate, navy-blue Tom Ford suit, his blonde hair perfectly styled. He looked entirely out of place in the middle of her ruined life.

Jerrad put on a face of deep, exaggerated concern. "Carolina, darling, are you hurt?"

Carolina stepped out of his grip immediately. A wave of physical revulsion washed over her skin where his hands had been.

Jerrad didn't notice. He turned to Peterson, puffing out his chest.

"Halt the foreclosure immediately," Jerrad commanded loudly, his voice echoing in the foyer.

Peterson paused. He looked at Jerrad's expensive suit and recognized the Hutchinson heir. A mix of fake hesitation and corporate respect crossed the bank manager's face.

Jerrad turned back to Carolina. He gently took her cold hand, playing the role of the devoted white knight to perfection. He pulled her away from the noise, leading her into the empty, echoing dining room.

"I can fix this," Jerrad said, his voice dropping to a soothing murmur. "I can pay off the immediate debt and save the house right now."

Carolina felt a brief, agonizing flicker of hope ignite in her chest.

"Where have you been?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Why didn't you answer my calls all week?"

Jerrad sighed, running a hand through his hair. "My father locked my trust fund when the SEC news broke. He forbade me from helping you. But I finally found a legal loophole."

He stepped closer. He slid his hand up her arm, his thumb stroking her skin.

"I just need one thing," Jerrad said softly. "You just need to sign over your voting rights in the Gonzalez Group to me. Let me handle the board."

Carolina froze. The blood turned to ice in her veins. She stared at his handsome, perfect face as the predatory nature of his offer clicked into place.

He didn't want to save her. He wanted to steal her father's company for pennies on the dollar while she was too weak to fight back.

Jerrad stepped even closer, invading her space. "Move into my apartment, Carolina. Let me take care of you. You don't have to worry about business anymore."

Carolina felt physically sick. Bile rose in the back of her throat. Gerard's cold warning from the night before echoed in her mind: Jerrad Hutchinson's loyalty is as worthless as your company's stock.

She violently yanked her arm away from his grasp.

She swung her hand and slapped him hard across the cheek.

The loud smack echoed off the bare walls of the dining room.

Jerrad's head snapped to the side. His fake, comforting smile instantly vanished.

He slowly turned his head back to her. His eyes were completely dark, filled with vicious, unmasked anger. He rubbed his red cheek with two fingers.

"Get out," Carolina screamed, pointing a shaking finger toward the front door. "Get out of my house!"

Jerrad sneered. The nice-guy act was dead.

"You're a bankrupt beggar, Carolina," he spat, his voice dripping with venom. "You'll end up on the streets by tonight. And I won't give you a dime."

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

Carolina stood alone in the empty dining room, her entire body trembling as the sound of moving trucks roared outside.