Chapter 8

The nurse shoved the thick needle into Ashlyn's vein with frantic urgency. The dark red blood shot through the plastic tubing, rapidly filling the collection bag.

Ashlyn's face drained of all color within minutes. Her skin turned a translucent, sickly white. But she locked her jaw, refusing to make a single sound of pain. Her eyes were fixed on the screen of her phone, watching the notification pop up: a massive, six-figure wire transfer hitting her offshore account.

The blood bag was rushed out of the room.

An hour later, the heavy sliding doors of the ICU opened. The doctor stepped out, pulling down his surgical mask. He looked at Alex and nodded. "She's stabilized. The crisis has passed."

The invisible wire holding Alex's spine together finally snapped. He slumped against the wall, exhaling a long, shuddering breath. He rubbed his hands over his face. When he lowered them, his eyes were no longer frantic. They were hard, cold, and entirely closed off.

He pushed off the wall and walked toward the small waiting lounge.

Ashlyn was slumped sideways on a cheap vinyl sofa. She looked incredibly fragile. She was holding a small paper cup of warm sugar water the nurse had given her, her hands trembling slightly.

Alex walked right up to her. He didn't ask how she felt. He didn't offer a hand.

He reached down, snatched the paper cup out of her hands, and tossed it into the trash can.

"Get up," he ordered, his voice like cracking a whip. "Time to go back to your gilded cage."

Ashlyn didn't argue. She pushed herself up from the sofa. Her knees buckled slightly, her body swaying.

Alex stood there with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He watched her struggle to find her balance. He didn't move a single muscle to help her.

They walked out of the hospital in silence.

They climbed into the back seat of the armored SUV. Simon, Alex's most trusted enforcer, was in the driver's seat.

The back cabin was massive, but the physical distance between them felt like a canyon. Ashlyn pressed herself completely against the right passenger door. Alex sat flush against the left. The empty leather seat between them was a physical manifestation of their hostility.

The streetlights strobed through the tinted windows, casting harsh lines across Alex's rigid profile.

The SUV merged onto the massive suspension bridge connecting the city to the elite sector.

Alex finally broke the silence. His voice was low, vibrating with a freezing, lethal calm.

"You won," he said, staring straight ahead. "The money will hit your account on the first of every month."

Ashlyn turned her head. She forced a bright, sickeningly greedy smile onto her pale face. "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Robinson."

That fake, satisfied smile felt like a knife twisting in Alex's gut. His eyes snapped to her, blazing with sudden, violent intensity.

He lunged across the seat. His massive frame closed the distance in a second, trapping her against the door. The sheer physical pressure rolling off him made it hard for her to breathe.

He reached out. He pressed his index finger hard against her chest, right over her heart.

"Listen to me very carefully," he snarled, his voice dropping to a vicious whisper. "Don't think that just because you used my sister's life to leverage your way back in, you actually mean something."

He pushed his finger harder against her sternum. "This is a transaction. I will never marry. And I will sure as hell never fall in love with a cheap, blood-selling whore like you."

The words were so vicious, so laced with pure poison, that even Simon's eyes flicked nervously to the rearview mirror.

Inside her mind, Helga Caldwell let out a cold, mocking laugh. Love? Marriage? I just need your security system to keep the Decker family assassins off my back.

But Ashlyn Grant had to break.

Her pupils dilated in shock. She violently jerked her shoulder, pulling away from his touch.

Tears instantly welled up in her eyes and spilled over her lashes. The drops hit the expensive leather seat. She bit her lip, her face twisting into a mask of utter humiliation and heartbreak. She looked away, staring out the window, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Alex stared at her crying profile. He expected to feel the rush of victory. He had put her in her place. He had established dominance.

Instead, a sudden, sickening wave of frustration hit him. The sight of her tears made his chest burn.

He cursed violently, throwing himself back into his seat. He reached over and violently punched the window control. The heavy, armored glass lowered just a fraction of an inch, opening a narrow, two-inch slit.

The freezing, damp night air off the ocean blasted into the cabin.

Ashlyn gasped as the cold hit her depleted body. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, curling into a tight, miserable ball, shivering uncontrollably.

Alex saw her shivering from the corner of his eye. His hands twitched on his lap. He thought about the cashmere blanket in the trunk.

He forced his hands to stay still. He locked his jaw and stared out the open window, letting the freezing wind punish them both. He was proving his point. No warmth. No mercy. Just a transaction.

The SUV pulled into the underground garage of the penthouse.

Before the car even fully stopped, Alex shoved his door open. He stepped out and strode toward the private elevator. He didn't look back. He didn't wait.

Ashlyn pushed her door open with a trembling hand. She dragged her exhausted body out of the car.

She watched his broad back disappear into the elevator. As the doors closed, the pathetic, crying expression vanished from her face completely.

The corner of her mouth curled up into a sharp, victorious smirk.

She was back inside the fortress. And he had just handed her all the power.