Chapter 6

The next morning, Garrett leaves the hospital to manage the PR fallout and check on Cristina.

Elliana pushes herself out of bed. She wears a thin hospital gown. Her right arm is encased in a heavy white plaster cast, strapped to her chest in a sling.

She shuffles down the quiet VIP corridor, her mind racing with survival strategies. Through the glass walls of the private lounge at the end of the hall, she spots a familiar profile. A man in a razor-sharp Tom Ford suit stands with his back to the door, barking into a Bluetooth earpiece.

"Move the offshore trust to the Cayman accounts by noon. I want her cheating bastard of a husband left with nothing but the lint in his pockets."

Elliana stops. She recognizes that aggressive posture and ruthless tone from the cover of last month's Forbes magazine. Dennis Nixon. The most cutthroat, bloodthirsty divorce attorney in Manhattan.

To fight a monster like Garrett, she needs a shark.

She pushes the heavy glass door open, stepping into the lounge, and taps her knuckles against the glass table.

Dennis spins around. His eyes are cold, predatory. He looks annoyed at the interruption. "This is a private area. Leave."

Elliana doesn't flinch. She looks him dead in the eye. "Garrett Bruce."

Dennis pauses. The annoyance vanishes, replaced by the sharp gleam of a predator smelling blood. The Bruce family is Wall Street royalty.

He ends his call and slowly looks her up and down.

"I want him ruined," Elliana says, her voice steady despite her pale face. "I want to take everything he loves."

Dennis lets out a dry, humorless laugh. "You're a battered wife in a hospital gown. You have no leverage. His lawyers will paint you as a hysterical, mentally unstable woman."

He pulls a matte black card from his inner pocket and slides it across the table. It has only a phone number on it.

"Don't call this number unless you have hard, irrefutable proof of financial fraud or criminal activity. Something that puts him in a cell."

Dennis walks past her, leaving her alone in the room.

Elliana grips the card in her left hand. She walks back to her room, picks up her phone, and dials her best friend, Audrey Keller.

Audrey is old money. She knows every dirty secret in the Upper East Side.

"Ellie? Where are you?"

Elliana quickly explains the crash. Audrey unleashes a string of vicious curses.

"Audrey, I need you to dig into Garrett and Cristina's business dealings. Right now."

"I'm coming to the hospital," Audrey demands.

"No. Garrett will suspect something. Just get the intel."

Elliana hangs up. She walks into the bathroom, tears the black business card into tiny pieces, and flushes it down the toilet. The number is burned into her memory.

That afternoon, Garrett returns. He carries a massive bouquet of lilies.

He sits on the edge of the bed and reaches out to stroke her hair. Elliana rolls her head to the side, pretending to wince in pain to avoid his touch.

Garrett sighs. "The doctors told me about your hand, Ellie. I'm so sorry."

He pulls a thick stack of papers from his briefcase. "To take the stress off you, I had the legal team draft an IP management agreement. My firm will handle The Prairie Fire for you."

Elliana's blood runs cold. He is making his move.

She blinks rapidly, letting tears pool in her eyes. "My head is spinning, Garrett. The words are blurry. I can't read this right now."

Garrett smiles, satisfied by her pathetic state. "Of course, darling. Rest. We have plenty of time."