Chapter 2 2

The harsh morning sunlight pierced through the sheer curtains, stabbing at Aletha's eyes.

She sat up in the center of the massive, tangled bed, biting her lip to suppress a groan as the bruises on her shoulders and spine throbbed in protest.

The bathroom door clicked open.

Kristopher walked out, already dressed in a crisp, custom-tailored shirt. His face was a mask of total indifference as he adjusted his dark blue silk tie.

He walked over to his leather wallet on the dresser, pulled out a black American Express card with no spending limit, and tossed it onto the nightstand.

The cold plastic edge of the card bounced and scraped against the back of Aletha's hand. The physical contact sent a sharp sting of humiliation straight to her chest.

"Go buy yourself something you like. Consider it a reward for your cooperation last night," Kristopher said, not even looking at her.

Aletha snatched the black card off the nightstand and hurled it as hard as she could at the bedroom door.

The plastic smacked against the wood with a dull thud just as Kristopher walked out. He didn't even pause his stride. He just kept walking.

The heavy silence in the room was broken by the buzzing of Aletha's phone on the mattress. The screen lit up with her best friend Sloane's name.

Aletha cleared her throat and answered.

"Hey," she rasped.

"You sound awful. Meet me at Soho House for a drink. You need to relax," Sloane ordered.

"Okay. I'll be there."

Aletha walked into her massive walk-in closet. She bypassed the casual wear and selected a high-necked silk blouse, needing the fabric to cover the fresh, purple bruises blooming along her collarbone.

An hour later, her taxi pulled up to the exclusive Soho House in Lower Manhattan.

She walked up to the front desk, presented Sloane's secondary membership card, and let the host guide her toward the private lounge areas on the second floor.

Her heels sank into the thick wool carpet. As she walked down the dimly lit hallway, a familiar, delicate laugh echoed from one of the rooms.

Aletha's feet stopped moving. Her heart rate spiked, hammering against her ribs as the shadow of last night's trauma rushed back.

She looked through the half-open carved wooden doors. Through the warm, ambient lighting, her eyes locked onto the plush velvet sofas.

Dinah was sitting in the center, wearing a pristine white dress, surrounded by a group of wealthy Manhattan socialites.

Dinah's long, manicured fingers were gently stroking a dazzling Cartier Panthère necklace resting against her collarbone.

"Oh my god, Dinah, it's gorgeous! Which Wall Street billionaire dropped that kind of cash on you?" one of the socialites gasped loudly.

Dinah looked down, a shy, practiced blush creeping up her cheeks.

"It's from the man who treats me like I'm his whole world," Dinah murmured softly.

Aletha's stomach violently churned. The bile rose in her throat. The image of the cold black card thrown at her this morning clashed brutally with the millions of dollars currently sparkling on Dinah's neck.

She felt sick. She turned around sharply to leave, but the toe of her shoe caught the edge of a heavy brass decorative vase sitting in the hallway.

The vase tipped and hit the wall with a loud, hollow clang.

The noise instantly drew the eyes of everyone inside the private room.

Dinah turned her head. When she saw Aletha standing in the hallway, a flash of malicious calculation sparked in her eyes.

Dinah stood up, smoothed down her white skirt, and walked over to the doorway. She looked at Aletha with an expression of pure pity.

"Dr. Ward? How on earth did you get in here?" Dinah asked, her voice loud enough for the whole room to hear.

The socialites behind her began to whisper, throwing mocking glances at the ordinary doctor who dared to trespass into their elite circle.

Aletha forced her spine to straighten. She met Dinah's fake gaze with icy calm.

"I'm just passing through. I don't need to report my whereabouts to a patient," Aletha fired back, her voice steady.

Tears instantly welled up in Dinah's eyes. She took a dramatic half-step backward, clutching her chest as if she had just been physically struck.

From the shadows at the end of the hallway, Kristopher stepped forward. He held a crystal glass of whiskey in one hand, his posture relaxed but his aura terrifying.

Kristopher's freezing gaze bypassed Dinah entirely and stabbed directly into Aletha, who was gripping the strap of her purse to maintain her composure.

He didn't yell. He didn't even raise his voice.

"Security," Kristopher commanded, his tone completely devoid of warmth. "Escort this unauthorized person off the VIP floor immediately."