Chapter 3

The words hung in the air.

The spacious study fell into a dead, suffocating silence. It felt as if all the oxygen had been instantly sucked out of the room.

Ezra's expression froze for two seconds. Then, a low, dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. The laugh grew louder, echoing off the mahogany walls. It held zero warmth. It was pure, malicious mockery.

He slammed his hands flat onto the desk and leaned forward. He looked at her like she had lost her mind.

"Do you think I'm an idiot, Harlow?" Ezra snarled. "We used strict protection every single time."

Harlow took a desperate step forward. "The yacht," she pleaded, her voice cracking. "That night on the yacht, we didn't-"

"Don't take another step toward my desk," Ezra roared.

Harlow froze.

Ezra pushed his chair back. He walked around the desk, his tall frame closing the distance between them. He stopped so close she could feel the heat radiating off his chest.

"You stole the core data for Bray Pharmaceuticals," Ezra said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "You handed it to Atticus Duffy. And then you spread your legs for him. You think I don't know?"

Harlow shook her head frantically. "No! That was a setup! I never touched Atticus. I never stole anything!"

Ezra's hand shot out. His large fingers clamped around her jaw. He squeezed so hard Harlow thought her bone would snap.

He forced her head up, making her look into his furious, burning eyes.

"I saw the bank transfers, Harlow," Ezra hissed through his teeth. "I saw the photos of you walking into his hotel room. You deserved every day you spent in that cell. And now you think you can waltz in here and use a deaf bastard to extort me?"

The pain in her jaw was blinding. But the word 'deaf' shattered her completely.

Harlow jerked her head back, tearing herself out of his grip. Tears finally spilled over her lower lashes, tracking down her pale cheeks.

Her hands shook violently as she reached into the pocket of her sweater. She pulled out a thick, manila envelope. The paper was warm from being pressed against her body. It bore the official logo of Mount Sinai Hospital.

She thrust the envelope toward Ezra's chest. Her voice broke into jagged, desperate pieces.

"I have stage IV lung cancer," Harlow sobbed. "I have three months left to live."

Ezra's eyes darted to the hospital logo. His pupils contracted sharply. For a fraction of a second, his breathing stopped.

Then, his jaw clenched. The brief flash of shock was instantly buried under a thick layer of disgust.

He didn't reach for the envelope. He stared at her, his eyes narrowing.

"Cancer," Ezra repeated flatly. "Bray Pharma is about to launch the most advanced cancer drug in the world, and suddenly you have terminal cancer. Your corporate espionage tactics have gotten incredibly lazy."

Harlow stared at him in horror. He didn't believe a word.

"Look at it!" Harlow screamed. She ripped the envelope open. She pulled out the thick stack of medical records and the black-and-white CT scans. She tried to shove them directly into his hands.

Ezra swatted her hands away.

He didn't mean to hit her hard, but his arm struck her wrists. The thick stack of medical files flew out of her hands.

Papers fluttered through the air. The black-and-white images of her decaying lungs scattered across the expensive Persian rug.

Harlow stood frozen. She stared at her death sentence lying in pieces on the floor. The last shred of her human dignity was crushed under Ezra's polished shoes.

She slowly closed her eyes.

Ezra looked down at the scattered papers. A sudden, inexplicable spike of anxiety pierced his chest. He immediately crushed the feeling down with logic.

"Forging medical documents is a federal crime," Ezra stated coldly. "You found out Katherine and I are getting married. You found out I'm taking over the company. So you came here to make a scene and grab a payout."

Harlow opened her eyes. She looked at the man standing in front of her. He was a stranger. Words were useless.

She slowly squatted down. Her joints ached. She sifted through the scattered papers until she found a specific, crumpled photocopy. It was a warning letter from the New York State Child Protective Services.

She held the letter up. Her voice was suddenly, terrifyingly calm.

"I don't have health insurance," Harlow said, staring at his chest. "I don't have a permanent address. CPS is going to take her away."

She slowly raised her eyes to meet his.

"I don't want a single cent of your money, Ezra. I just want you to give Clementine a legal guardian status and a trust fund so she doesn't end up on the streets when I die."

Ezra looked at her dead, hollow eyes. The absolute lack of hope in her gaze made his stomach drop. A nameless dread began to crawl up his spine.

To hide his sudden panic, Ezra turned his back to her. He walked over to the crystal decanter on the bar cart and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

"I am not raising another man's mistake," Ezra said to the wall.

Harlow knew she had no other cards left to play. She took a deep breath. She dragged her heavy legs toward Ezra's back.

Then, she did the one thing Ezra never expected.

Her knees buckled. She dropped heavily onto the hard hardwood floor. The loud thud of her knees hitting the wood echoed sharply in the quiet room.

Ezra whipped around.

He stared in shock. Harlow Aguilar, the proudest, most stubborn woman he had ever known, was kneeling at his feet.

Harlow tilted her head back. Tears streamed down her face. She had abandoned every ounce of her pride. She was nothing but a desperate mother.

"Do a DNA test," Harlow begged, her lips trembling. "Just one test. You pick the lab. You take the sample. When the results come back, you'll know I'm not lying."

Ezra's fingers tightened around his whiskey glass. His knuckles turned a sickly white. He stared down at the woman kneeling on his floor, a violent storm raging in his chest.