Chapter 6

Arden returned to the empty art studio and locked herself inside her small office.

She sat in the dark, staring blankly at the rejected proposal glowing on her computer screen.

Federico's cruel, mocking words from the elevator echoed in her head.

The humiliation burned in her chest, transforming into a hot, driving fuel. Her fingers hit the keyboard.

She pulled up dozens of successful European cultural tourism case studies, analyzing their financial structures. She began rebuilding the entire commercial logic of her pitch from scratch.

Hours bled into each other.

The blue light of the monitor burned her dry retinas. Outside the window, the glittering Manhattan skyline slowly faded into the gray light of dawn.

Arden swallowed her fourth cup of black espresso.

She rubbed the tight, aching muscles in the back of her neck and finally typed the last sentence of the new proposal.

Just as she rested her forehead on the desk to close her eyes for five minutes, the studio doorbell rang in a rapid, aggressive sequence.

Arden frowned, her body heavy with exhaustion.

She walked to the front door and pulled it open.

Federico stood in the hallway. He was wearing casual clothes, his jaw clenched tight, looking extremely impatient.

"Get your things," he ordered, his voice hard. "Grandma Augusta is having heart palpitations. She demanded we both come to the Hamptons estate immediately."

Hearing that Augusta was sick made Arden's stomach drop.

She forgot how tired she was, grabbed her coat and purse, and followed him down the stairs.

They climbed into the back seat of his black Maybach.

The air pressure inside the luxury car was so thick and heavy it made it hard to breathe.

As the car merged onto the Long Island Expressway, Arden leaned her head against the cold glass of the window.

A sharp, stabbing pain suddenly hit her stomach. The acid from the coffee was eating away at her empty stomach lining.

She dug into her purse to find an antacid.

Her fingers brushed against a smooth, heavy paper bag.

It was an Hermes bag. Brenda had aggressively shoved it into her hands last night when she was packing, loudly announcing it was a gift Brooklyn had left in Federico's office.

Arden pulled the orange bag out. She held it out toward Federico without looking at him.

Federico looked down at the bag, his brow furrowing deep. "What is that?"

"Brooklyn's gift to you," Arden said. Her voice was completely flat, devoid of any anger, jealousy, or emotion. "I brought it for you."

Federico's face darkened instantly.

He stared at Arden's calm, uncaring profile. A sudden, violent surge of anger erupted in his chest.

He had expected her to yell, to throw it at him, to show some sign that she cared. Her total apathy made him feel like he meant absolutely nothing to her.

He snatched the bag from her hand.

He ripped the thick paper open, pulling out a dark silk tie. His eyes grew colder.

He violently yanked open the center console. While Arden watched in shock, he shoved the expensive silk tie deep into the dark compartment, crushing the delicate fabric under his heavy fist. He slammed the lid shut with a deafening crack, as if disposing of a disgusting piece of trash that contaminated his space.

"Are you crazy?" Arden asked, her eyes wide. "Isn't that from the woman you love?"

Federico turned to her, his eyes blazing with fury.

"Don't use these cheap tricks to test my limits, Arden."

He leaned closer, his voice a low, vicious snarl. "Do you think if you push me toward Brooklyn, I'll sign the check faster so you can run off with Jude?"

The twisted, backward logic of his accusation actually made Arden laugh.

The laugh triggered a violent spasm in her stomach. A wave of cold sweat broke out across her forehead.

She bent forward, wrapping both arms tightly around her stomach, curling into a tight ball on the leather seat. She bit her lip hard to keep from making a sound.

Federico noticed her sudden movement.

He saw the pale, sickly color of her skin and the sweat on her brow. A flash of genuine panic broke through his anger.

His hand shot out automatically, reaching to touch her forehead to check her temperature.

Arden saw his hand coming.

Even though she was in agony, she jerked her head back, pressing herself flat against the door to avoid his touch.

"Don't touch me," she said, her voice weak but laced with absolute disgust.

Federico's hand froze in mid-air.

He stared at her for a long second before slowly pulling his hand back, curling his fingers into a tight fist.

The car fell into a dead, freezing silence that lasted until the massive iron gates of the Hamptons estate finally appeared.