The next evening, I went to Ardor.

It was the most crowded lounge in downtown Los Angeles. Low velvet booths, dim amber lights, and photographers waiting outside the doors.

I wore a dark silk dress and hired an escort named Derek. He was tall, polished, and had kind eyes. I paid him three thousand dollars just to sit next to me and order drinks.

"What's the job, pretty lady?" Derek asked.

"Just put your hand over mine," I said.

He did. I took a photo of our linked fingers on the marble table, with two cocktail glasses in the frame. I posted it on my personal account without a caption.

Cole saw everything I posted. He had an alert set on his phone.

He arrived forty minutes later.

He didn't take off his coat. He cut through the crowded lounge like a razor. People parted to let him through. When he reached our booth, his jaw was clenched tight. A vein pulsed along his neck.

Without a word, Cole grabbed Derek by the wrist. He twisted it back with crushing force. Derek gasped, his chair scraping the hardwood floor.

"Touch her again," Cole whispered, his voice dangerously low, "and I'll break every bone in your fingers. Get out."

Derek looked at me, then at the murder in Cole's eyes. He didn't argue. He pulled his hand free and vanished into the crowd.

Cole turned to me. His chest rose and fell fast. "Are you out of your mind?"

"I'm single," I said smoothly, sipping my club soda. "I can do whatever I want."

His hand shot out. He gripped my upper arm, his fingers digging into my skin. He pulled me up from the booth and dragged me toward the private exit.

He shoved me into the passenger seat of his sedan and slammed the door. He walked around, got behind the wheel, and gunned the engine. The car shot out into the rainy night.

He drove like a madman up toward the winding cliffside highway. The speedometer climbed.

"You belong to me, Leia," he bit out, glaring at the road. "You don't play games with cheap escorts. You don't embarrass me."

"You belong to Jaycee," I said. "On paper and in bed."

"Shut up!" he barked, hitting the steering wheel with his palm. "I told you that was to save her—"

His phone cut him off.

It buzzed loudly against the center console. The screen flashed: *Jaycee*.

Cole hit the speaker button. "Jaycee, what is it? I'm busy."

"Cole..." Jaycee's voice was thin and trembling through the speakers. A steady, electronic beeping sound came from her side. "The system... the system issued a penalty. My heart rate is one hundred and ninety. I can't breathe... the app says cardiac failure in ten minutes..."

Cole's face lost all its color.

The rage in his eyes vanished. It was replaced by instant panic. It was a trained reaction. She had conditioned him like a dog over the past two years.

"Hold on, Jaycee," Cole said frantically. His voice shook. "I'm coming. Don't close your eyes."

He slammed on the brakes. The car skidded to a stop on the dark shoulder of the cliff road.

The ocean was hundreds of feet below us in the pitch-black fog. There were no streetlights. No guardrails. Just sharp wind and gravel.

Cole reached across me, shoved the passenger door open, and unbuckled my belt.

"Get out," he said.

I stared at him in disbelief. "Cole, we're on a cliff highway. It's midnight."

"Jaycee is dying, Leia!" he roared. He shoved me hard.

My purse slipped from my lap and fell under the dashboard. I tumbled out onto the wet dirt road. My palms hit the sharp stones, cutting my skin.

Cole didn't even look down at me. He yanked the passenger door shut.

The tires kicked up a spray of mud and gravel against my face as the sedan sped away into the darkness. Red taillights disappeared around the bend.

He left me with no car. No coat. No phone.

I stood up, shivering violently in the freezing ocean wind.

Then I heard gravel crunch behind me.

Two figures stepped out from the shadows near the tree line. They wore dark hoodies and heavy boots.

"Leia Sanders?" one of them asked.

My body went cold. "Who are you?"

They didn't answer. The taller man lunged forward. Before I could turn to run, two heavy hands shoved me hard in the chest.

My feet slipped off the edge.

The ground vanished beneath me. The dark ravine rushed up.

I screamed, throwing my arms out blindly. My fingers slammed into a thick, exposed pine root sticking out from the dirt wall.

The impact tore the skin off my palms. A fiery pain ripped through my shoulders as my body jerked to a dead stop, dangling over the drop.

Below me, sharp rocks jagged out of the black earth.

Above me, footsteps trotted away and a car engine rumbled to life down the road.

I gritted my teeth. Tears burned in my eyes, but I swallowed the sob in my throat. I used to race cars at two hundred miles an hour. I survived crashes that snapped steel. I was not going to die on this dirt cliff for Cole Pierce.

I kicked my heels into the wet earth. My knees scraped raw against the rough stone wall.

"One," I whispered to myself, pulling upward.

"Two."

Muscles burning, hands covered in blood and mud, I hooked one elbow over the edge. Then my leg.

I rolled onto the cold asphalt, panting hard. My dress was ripped to shreds. My hands were bloody pulp.

I lay there for a minute, looking up at the gray rain. Then I got to my feet.

I walked.

Three miles along the dark shoulder. Every step sent a jolt of pain through my bruised legs.

It was nearly four in the morning when the yellow neon sign of a remote gas station appeared through the fog.

The clerk inside gasped when he saw me. He handed me a towel, a bottle of water, and pointed to the dusty payphone mounted by the restroom.

I dialed Cole's private number from memory.

He didn't answer the first three times. On the fourth try, the line clicked open.

"What?" Cole snapped. His voice was tired and annoyed. "Who is this?"

"It's me," I said. My voice was completely flat.

Cole paused. He let out a heavy, irritated sigh. "Where are you? You should have just called a cab, Leia. You didn't need to throw a dramatic tantrum."

I listened to him, feeling nothing. Not anger. Not sorrow. Just empty stone.

"Jaycee survived the episode," Cole continued casually. "The doctors managed to stabilize her vitals. But my skin is burning up. My hives are flaring and my levels are spiking because you walked off. Take an Uber to Cedars-Sinai right now. I need your hand."

I held the plastic receiver in my bloody, trembling fingers.

"No," I said softly.

"What did you say?" Cole asked, his tone sharpening.

I hung up the phone.

Two days after Cole left me on the cliff road, my palms were still raw. I wore thin leather gloves to hide the bandages.

The annual children’s hospital charity luncheon was held in the Crystal Ballroom at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Sunlight streamed through the tall arched windows. Fifty women from high society sat around round tables decorated with pink peonies and crystal glasses.

I sat at a side table near the terrace doors. I wanted to see how far Cole would go in public.

At noon, the double doors opened.

Cole walked in. He wore a tailored charcoal suit and his usual calm, untouchable expression. But he wasn't alone. Jaycee was tucked firmly under his arm.

A quiet murmur rippled across the room. Several women glanced between Cole and me.

My eyes dropped to Jaycee’s dress.

It was a pleated ivory silk midi dress with pearl buttons down the front. It was identical to the custom piece Cole bought me in Paris last spring. The exact same cut. The exact same shade.

Jaycee caught my eye. She gave a sweet, fragile smile and whispered something to Cole. Cole nodded once and let her go.

She picked up a glass of red wine from a passing waiter's tray and walked straight toward my table. The heels of her pumps clicked lightly on the polished marble.

"Leia," Jaycee said, stopping right beside my chair. Her voice was soft and musical. "I was hoping I'd see you today. Are you feeling better?"

I didn't answer. I just looked at her.

"I know things have been tense between us," she continued, tilting her head. "I really want us to be friends. Cole cares about you so much, and—"

She stumbled.

It was a clean, practiced motion. Her heel hitched on the carpet. Her hand jerked forward.

The heavy crystal glass tipped. A dark red wave of cabernet poured straight out, splashing across my lap. The wine soaked through my skirt, soaking into my thighs and dripping onto the carpet.

Several women at nearby tables gasped.

"Oh! Oh my goodness!" Jaycee cried out.

She dropped to her knees right in front of me. She grabbed three linen napkins from the table and began dabbing frantically at my skirt. Her face was pale with apparent shock. Big, shiny tears welled up in her eyes.

"I am so sorry!" she stammered loudly enough for five tables to hear. "I lost my footing. I'm so clumsy. Please let me pay for the dry cleaning! Leia, I'm so sorry!"

She looked like a sweet, repentant angel trying to help a victim.

Then she leaned in closer. Her hand pressed the wet napkin against my knee.

Jaycee lifted her chin slightly. Her lips were just inches from my ear. Her trembling voice vanished, replaced by a cold, venomous whisper.

"Cole told me how much you've sacrificed for him," she murmured. Her eyes were completely steady, dark and cruel. "It's so selfless, really. Giving up your racing. Giving up your life. I don't know how you do it. But don't worry. I'll take good care of him now."

She pulled back just as quickly. Her eyes widened with fake panic again. "Did any get on your blouse? Let me help—"

"Don't touch me," I said quietly.

I stood up. The wet silk clung to my legs, cold and heavy.

Six feet away, Cole stood by the champagne tower. His hands were tucked casually into his trouser pockets. He had watched the entire thing. He hadn't moved an inch. His face was a blank mask.

I stepped around Jaycee, walked past the staring socialites, and headed for the quiet corridor near the private restrooms.

Footsteps followed me.

Cole caught up just outside the lounge. He grabbed my arm. His grip was firm, familiar, and suffocating.

"Leia," he said.

I yanked my arm free and turned to face him. "She did that on purpose, Cole."

Cole let out a long, weary breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "She tripped, Leia. You saw her heels. She almost hit the floor."

"She wore my dress," I said. My voice was steady, but my chest burned. "She spilled red wine directly onto my lap. And then she knelt down and mocked me for giving up my life for you."

Cole shook his head. He looked at me with that practiced, condescending patience he used whenever I dared to challenge him.

"Jaycee is just trying to be friendly," he said softly. "You're imagining hostility where there isn't any."

"I heard her voice, Cole. She said—"

"You've been so stressed lately," Cole cut in smoothly. His tone sounded caring, but his eyes were completely cold. "First you run off to a hotel, then you hire an escort to provoke me, and now this. Maybe you should talk to someone, Leia. A therapist. You're losing your grip on reality."

I stared at him. The sheer cruelty of his words didn't even hurt anymore. It just made everything very, very clear.

He didn't care about the truth. He only cared about control.

Cole reached out and took my right hand. He peeled off my leather glove without asking. When his bare skin touched my palm, he let out a low, shuddering breath. His shoulders dropped an inch. His tactile allergy—his burning, prickling skin—calmed down instantly.

He was like an addict getting a dose of his medicine. He took what he needed from my skin, completely ignoring the bandage wrapped around my palm.

"Go home and change," he murmured. He leaned forward and pressed a dry, dismissive kiss to my forehead. "We'll have dinner tonight. Just the two of us."

He let go of my hand and turned around. He walked back into the ballroom, straight toward Jaycee's table.

I stood alone in the empty hallway.

The wine stain felt freezing against my skin. The smell of fermented grapes hung thick in the air.

I pulled my phone out of my purse.

I opened a new, password-protected folder in my cloud drive. My fingers didn't shake.

I typed out the date and the time. I wrote down the names of the five women who had watched Jaycee spill the wine. I noted the dress. I wrote down every single word Jaycee had whispered in my ear.

Then I took a photo of the blood-red stain soaking my ivory skirt.

I locked the screen.

Cole thought I was losing my mind.

I was just building my case.