Chapter 8

Abigail limped through the dim, concrete expanse of the hotel's underground parking garage.

The cold air bit at her bare arms. The bathrobe belt holding her torn dress together felt heavy and ridiculous.

She spotted her Porsche in the VIP section. She dug her keys out of her bag and pressed the unlock button.

The headlights flashed twice.

Before she could take another step, the screech of heavy tires echoed through the garage.

Two massive, black Cadillac Escalades shot out from the lower ramp. They swerved violently, one braking inches from her front bumper, the other boxing her in from behind.

Abigail froze. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

She took a step back, her hand diving into her bag, her fingers wrapping around the cold metal of her pepper spray.

The rear door of the lead Escalade swung open.

A long leg stepped out.

Josephus Hodges emerged from the vehicle.

He was wearing a flawless, dark grey tailored suit. His hair was perfectly styled. His jaw was locked in a hard, unforgiving line.

He looked nothing like the feral, desperate man from the night before. He radiated cold, absolute authority.

Between his index and middle finger, he held the crumpled hundred-dollar bill she had left on the table.

He walked toward her. His sheer size and presence sucked the oxygen out of the damp garage.

He stopped two feet away, forcing Abigail to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.

"Your note," Josephus said. His voice was a low, flat baritone. "Was very creative."

Abigail didn't flinch. She stared straight into his dark, calculating eyes.

"I thought it was an accurate appraisal," she shot back. "Since you seem to put a price tag on everything."

Josephus didn't blink. He didn't show a flicker of anger.

He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

Alex Stone stepped out from the shadows behind the SUV. He walked forward and held out a thick, leather-bound legal document to Abigail.

"What is this?" she demanded, refusing to take it.

"A solution to both our problems," Josephus said coldly. "I require a wife to satisfy a clause in my family's trust, and a strategic entry point into the media sector. You require a shield."

Abigail let out a harsh laugh. "I don't need a shield."

"Don't you?" Josephus tilted his head. "Vance Media is burning to the ground as we speak. Preston Vance's scandal will drag you down with it. The board will freeze your assets by noon."

He stepped closer. The scent of cedar wrapped around her.

"Sign this prenuptial agreement. Be my wife in name only for one year. In exchange, I will personally dismantle Preston's empire and hand you the ashes."

Abigail snatched the folder from Alex. She flipped it open.

The terms were brutal. Total compliance for public events. No interference in his private life. She would leave with nothing after twelve months.

It was a transaction. Cold, sterile, and utterly devoid of humanity.

"Why me?" she asked, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "Why pick a woman with a ruined face and a public scandal?"

Josephus looked at her left cheek. His eyes lingered on the scar for exactly one second before snapping back to her eyes.

"Because you are messy, and you are the key to a very lucrative acquisition," he stated flatly. "Vance Media's collapse will trigger an industry panic. I intend to absorb their assets at a fraction of the cost. Marrying you gives me a legitimate, inside angle to dismantle them from the top down. As for my family, they will never believe I would willingly marry someone so physically flawed and embroiled in scandal. It makes the lie perfect. They will assume it's purely a ruthless business move, satisfying their demands without them digging deeper into my personal life."

The words hit her like ice water.

Any lingering, stupid fantasy she had about the way he kissed her scar last night died instantly.

He didn't care about her pain. He just saw her defect as a convenient tool.

Abigail's blood boiled.

She raised the heavy folder and slammed it directly into the center of Josephus's chest.

The binder popped open. Dozens of pages fluttered through the air, scattering across the dirty concrete floor.

"I would rather go bankrupt," she hissed, her eyes blazing with fury, "than sell myself to a tyrant like you."

The air in the garage turned to ice.

The bodyguards by the SUVs instantly stepped forward, their hands dropping to their waists.

Josephus raised a single finger. The guards froze.

He looked down at the papers on the floor, then back at Abigail. His eyes were pitch black.

"You will regret this," he said softly.

Abigail turned her back on him. She yanked the door of her Porsche open and threw herself into the driver's seat.

She slammed the door shut and hit the ignition. The engine roared, echoing violently off the concrete walls.

She slammed her foot on the gas. The tires squealed as she cut the wheel hard, the side of her car missing the Escalade's bumper by a millimeter.

She sped up the ramp and disappeared into the daylight.

Josephus stood perfectly still in the exhaust fumes.

He looked down at the scattered contract.

"Keep eyes on her," he ordered Alex. "She won't last forty-eight hours."