Chapter 4

Audriana fell backward.

Dalton's arm shot out. He caught her by her narrow waist, his strong grip stopping her fall instantly. He pulled her flush against his hard chest.

She slumped against him, too weak to stand. Her face was as pale as a sheet of paper, and a cold sweat coated her forehead.

Dalton didn't hesitate. He scooped her up into his arms, carrying her easily as he walked toward the expansive living room.

He lowered her onto the Italian leather sofa. His movements were painstakingly slow, treating her as if she were made of fragile glass that would shatter at the slightest jolt.

Audriana immediately tried to push herself up. She pulled the edges of the cashmere coat tightly around her neck, her eyes wide and filled with raw defense.

"Why did you lie to them?" she asked, her voice shaking uncontrollably. "Why did you say I was your fiancée?"

Dalton walked to the kitchen island. He poured a glass of warm water and walked back, holding it out to her. His deep eyes locked onto hers, hiding the agonizing memories of his past life.

"It was the only way to kill the story," Dalton said, his voice completely rational and detached. "It protects your reputation."

Audriana took the glass. The warmth of the water seeped into her freezing fingers, bringing back a tiny sliver of clarity. But her guard remained high.

She set the glass down on the glass coffee table. She forced her shaking legs to support her as she stood up.

"Thank you," she said, her voice tight. "But I need to leave the hotel right now."

Dalton's brow furrowed into a sharp V. He stepped directly into her path. His massive frame blocked her completely, an immovable mountain in the center of the room.

"There are at least thirty paparazzi swarming the main lobby right now," Dalton said coldly. "Walking out there is suicide."

Audriana bit her lower lip hard, the pain keeping her focused. "I can take the service elevator. Or the back exit."

Dalton took a step forward. He breached her personal space. The sheer physical dominance radiating from him made her instinctively take a step back.

He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. He held it up to her face.

The live security feeds of the hotel lobby played on the screen. Every single exit, every service door, was completely blocked by men holding cameras.

The brutal reality crushed Audriana's last hope. Her shoulders slumped. She collapsed back onto the leather sofa and buried her face in her hands.

Dalton looked down at her defeated posture. His hands curled into tight fists at his sides. His fingernails dug into his palms as he fought the desperate urge to pull her into his arms.

He forced his voice to soften.

"You take the master bedroom tonight," Dalton said. "I'll sleep out here on the sofa."

Audriana's head snapped up. She stared at him in shock. The ruthless Wall Street tyrant the media always talked about was offering to sleep on a couch for a stranger.

She looked at Dalton's imposing height-he was easily six-foot-three-and then looked at the sleek, modern sofa. It was far too small for him. She hesitated.

Dalton didn't give her a chance to argue. He turned his back to her and walked straight to the wet bar. He poured two fingers of neat whiskey into a crystal glass.

"Go wash up and go to sleep," Dalton ordered, his back still turned. "Lock the door."

The sudden coldness in his voice startled her. Exhaustion was pulling her under, and she had no fight left. She gave in.

She dragged her heavy feet toward the master bedroom. She stepped inside and pushed the door shut.

Click.

The sound of the lock turning echoed in the quiet penthouse. Dalton's heart physically ached at the sound of her locking him out.

He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. He stared out at the glittering Manhattan skyline. His eyes darkened, the cold rationality replaced by a vicious, predatory glare.

He threw his head back and downed the whiskey in one gulp. The alcohol burned his throat, but it was nothing compared to the rage boiling in his blood.

He walked over to the sofa. He ripped his silk tie off and tossed it onto the coffee table. He lowered his massive frame onto the cushions, his long legs hanging awkwardly off the edge.

The strip of light under the bedroom door vanished. She was in bed. The tight knot in Dalton's chest finally loosened a fraction.

In the dark, his phone screen lit up.

A text from Simon: Chadwick Kowalski is secured in the holding room.

Dalton's thumbs moved quickly over the screen, typing out his next order. He hit send. The players from his past life were all moving into position. The game was just beginning.