Chapter 9

Elisa pushed through the heavy velvet curtains of the SOHO Private Members' Club.

The bass from the music thumped against her ribs. She navigated the dark, smoke-filled corridors, following the room numbers until she reached VIP Suite 7.

She grabbed the brass handle and shoved the door open.

The music inside cut off instantly.

Elisa stepped into the room. There was no terrified nurse. There was no Claire.

Instead, the room was packed with men in expensive suits. August sat in the center of a massive leather sectional. His eyes were black with rage.

Allena sat pressed against his side, looking pale and tragically beautiful.

Devon and the rest of August's Wall Street circle sat around the glass coffee table, staring at Elisa with pure venom.

Elisa's muscles locked. It was a trap.

She gripped the strap of her purse, refusing to show an ounce of fear. "Who sent the text?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the silence.

Devon sneered. He picked up his phone and tossed it onto the glass table. "Bribing your cowardly little coworker was almost too easy," Devon mocked, waving his hand toward the screen. "A few thousand bucks and she handed over her phone crying." The screen lit up, displaying the photo Cyprian had taken at Le Bernardin.

"You sick bitch," Devon spat. "Celebrating a miscarriage? Spreading rumors about Allena to the whole city?"

Allena buried her face in August's shoulder. "August, please," she whimpered softly. "Don't be too hard on her... She's still Elisa. I know she's just hurting deep down."

Hearing the word sister made Elisa's stomach violently heave.

August stood up. He towered over Elisa, his broad shoulders blocking the dim light.

"Get on your knees and apologize to her," August commanded. His voice was a lethal whisper.

Elisa tilted her chin up. "I will never apologize to a whore."

The room erupted in angry shouts.

Just then, a young club waiter rushed into the room carrying a silver tray with two steaming mugs of black coffee.

As the waiter passed Devon, Devon subtly stuck his expensive leather shoe out.

The waiter tripped. He let out a yell, stumbling forward.

The silver tray flipped. The two mugs of scalding hot coffee flew through the air, heading straight for Allena's face.

Allena screamed, throwing her hands up.

August reacted on pure, blind instinct. He lunged forward to shield Allena. To get to her, he threw his arms out and violently shoved the only obstacle in his way.

He shoved Elisa.

The force of his panic was massive. Elisa's feet left the carpet. She flew backward.

Her hip clipped the edge of the sofa, spinning her around, and she crashed hard into the sharp corner of the glass coffee table.

A sickening crack echoed in the room.

The edge of the thick glass sliced right through the sleeve of her trench coat. A blinding, white-hot agony ripped through her right forearm.

The coffee mugs shattered on the floor, splashing harmlessly onto the rug. Allena was perfectly safe in August's arms.

Elisa collapsed onto the floor.

Bright red blood poured from her arm, soaking through the tan fabric of her coat and dripping steadily onto the white Persian rug.

The room went dead silent.

August stood frozen. He stared at the blood pooling around his wife on the floor, his hands trembling in mid-air.