Chapter 2

The cab didn't move.

Carra stared at the glowing red taillights stretching endlessly down Sunset Boulevard. The meter clicked loudly, echoing the frantic pounding of her heart.

"Move," Carra snapped, leaning forward to grip the plastic partition. "Please, just drive."

"I can't fly, lady," the driver muttered, pointing a thick finger at the windshield. "Fender bender up ahead. We're stuck."

Carra bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper. She needed to get there. She needed to see it.

A massive, pitch-black Maybach pulled up silently into the lane next to the cab. It looked like a tank wrapped in luxury.

The heavily tinted rear window hummed down.

Jory Elliott's sharp profile appeared in the gap. He turned his head, locking those dead eyes onto her through the glass.

"Get out of the cab," Jory commanded. It wasn't a request.

Carra looked at the gridlocked traffic ahead. She didn't have a choice.

She threw a crumpled twenty-dollar bill at the driver, kicked the door open, and stepped into the damp street.

She climbed into the back of the Maybach. The heavy door shut with a solid thud, instantly cutting off the noise of the city. The air inside smelled of rich leather and that same intoxicating cedarwood.

"Drive, Frank," Jory said.

The driver smoothly merged the massive car into the restricted bus lane, bypassing the miles of stuck cars with absolute immunity.

Jory opened a hidden compartment. He poured a heavy measure of amber bourbon into a crystal glass and shoved it into Carra's trembling hands.

She didn't hesitate. She threw her head back and swallowed the liquor in one gulp. The alcohol burned a fiery trail down her throat, forcing her lungs to expand.

Jory watched her chest heave. His lips curled into a cold, hard line.

"The woman in the photo," Jory said, his voice slicing through the silence. "Her name is Eloisa Lindsey."

Carra stiffened. Everyone in Los Angeles PR knew that name. She was a billionaire heiress, untouchable and pristine.

"She is also my fiancée," Jory added.

Carra's head snapped toward him. Her eyes widened.

The pieces clicked together. The photos. The tracking. The cold fury radiating from his pores. He wasn't a rival agent. He was a man whose pride had just been dragged through the mud, exactly like hers.

The Maybach pulled up to an unmarked building covered in thick ivy. There was no sign. No bouncer. Just a solid oak door.

Carra stepped out onto the pavement. Her legs felt like lead.

She walked toward the entrance. Two men wearing earpieces stepped out of the shadows, crossing their arms to block her path.

"Black card only, miss," one of them grunted.

Jory stepped up behind her. He reached over her shoulder, holding a heavy metal card between his index and middle finger. It bore a gold family crest.

The guard's eyes dropped to the card. The color drained from his face. He bowed at a sharp ninety-degree angle and scrambled to pull the heavy oak door open.

They walked into a dimly lit hallway. Low bass jazz pulsed through the floorboards. The air was thick with the smell of expensive perfume and secrets.

Jory leaned down. His mouth was inches from her ear.

"Dry your eyes," he whispered harshly. "This place eats the weak alive."

He guided her to a private elevator at the end of the hall. The doors slid shut, trapping them in a space so small Carra could feel the heat coming off his body.

The elevator dinged. The doors opened to the penthouse floor.

They stepped onto a thick Persian rug. At the end of the corridor, the double doors to the Presidential Suite were cracked open.

A high-pitched moan echoed into the hallway.

Carra's body froze. Her blood turned to ice. She knew that voice. She knew the low, breathless laugh that followed it. It was Vance.

Her feet refused to move.

Jory stepped behind her. He placed his large, scorching hands on her bare shoulders and shoved her forward.

Carra stumbled until she was standing right outside the gap in the door.

She looked through the crack.

Vance was on the velvet sofa. Eloisa's blonde hair was tangled in his hands.

The last thread of Carra's sanity snapped.

She reached into her purse with shaking hands and pulled out her phone. She opened the camera app. She needed proof to protect herself from the PR fallout. But her thumb was trembling so violently she couldn't press the red circle.

Jory's large hand covered hers. His grip was bruising, but it stopped the shaking.

He pressed her thumb down onto the record button.

The screen captured the betrayal in high definition.

Carra let out a shaky breath. Her hand slipped. The edge of her phone slammed hard against the wooden doorframe.

A loud, sharp crack rang out in the quiet hallway.

Inside the room, the movement on the sofa stopped instantly.