Chapter 4

The tension on the terrace was a physical, suffocating weight. Dawn and Arlo stood locked in a silent, vicious standoff. They were like two wounded animals circling each other in the dark, neither willing to expose their throat, both waiting for the other to strike the fatal blow.

Dawn's heart hammered against her ribs so violently she thought it might crack her sternum. Arlo's dark eyes bored into hers, searching for the weakness he knew was hiding just beneath her icy facade.

Suddenly, the heavy glass door leading back into the club was shoved open.

The loud, chaotic blast of jazz music and drunken laughter spilled out onto the quiet terrace, instantly shattering the heavy silence between them.

"I'm telling you, the market is going to crash before Q3!" a loud, slurred voice boomed.

Three men in expensive suits, their ties loosened and faces flushed with alcohol, stumbled onto the decking. They were old classmates, guys who worked on Wall Street and thought they owned the world.

The moment they spotted the two figures standing in the dark corner, their boisterous laughter died in their throats. The air was so thick with unresolved tension that even the drunkest among them could feel it.

Arlo reacted with terrifying speed.

The moment the door opened, the dangerous, predatory aura surrounding him vanished. He took a swift half-step back, instantly putting a socially acceptable distance between him and Dawn. He turned his head toward the intruders.

In the blink of an eye, the intense, brooding man was gone. In his place stood the flawless, untouchable heir to the Hammond empire. He pasted a polite, utterly fake smile onto his face-the kind of smile he used to charm investors and dismiss peasants.

One of the men, emboldened by the liquid courage in his veins, pointed a finger at them. "Hey, Arlo! Catching up with old classmates in the dark?" he slurred, a teasing grin on his face.

Arlo didn't even glance back at Dawn. His expression remained smooth, carved from marble. His voice, when he spoke, was so cold it could have frozen the Hudson River.

"I'm not catching up," Arlo said smoothly, his tone dismissive and flat. "We have absolutely nothing to do with each other anymore."

The words were spoken casually, but they hit Dawn like a rusty, serrated blade dragging across her bare skin.

We have absolutely nothing to do with each other anymore.

All the blood drained from Dawn's face in an instant. Her skin turned an ashen, sickly white. The brutal public dismissal, the casual way he erased their entire history in front of an audience, was a level of cruelty she hadn't prepared for.

But she was an Assistant District Attorney. She dealt with hostile witnesses and aggressive defense lawyers every day. She knew how to hold her ground. She locked her knees, forcing her spine to remain perfectly straight. She stared straight ahead, refusing to let the men see the devastating impact his words had on her.

Arlo casually lifted his left arm, checking the heavy, diamond-encrusted Patek Philippe watch on his exposed wrist. It was a timepiece that cost more than the apartment Dawn grew up in.

He tapped the face of the watch with his index finger. He gave the three men a brief, dismissive nod. "Excuse me, gentlemen."

He turned to walk away. But as he passed by Dawn, his shoulder brushing dangerously close to hers, he deliberately raised his voice just enough to ensure the entire terrace could hear his next words.

"I have to go downstairs. I'm picking up Anabel Ferrell, and she hates being kept waiting."

The name dropped like a bomb.

The three men gasped audibly. "Anabel Ferrell? The Victoria's Secret model?" one of them choked out, his eyes wide with disbelief and envy.

Anabel Ferrell. The current 'It Girl' of the fashion world. A woman whose face was plastered on billboards across Times Square. A woman who represented the absolute pinnacle of beauty, wealth, and status. She was everything Dawn was not.

Arlo didn't offer a single word of confirmation. He didn't need to. He didn't spare Dawn a single backward glance. He simply walked past her, his long strides carrying him toward the glass door. He pulled it open and disappeared into the blinding lights and deafening noise of the club, leaving her behind in the dark.

The moment the door clicked shut, severing him from her sight, the adrenaline that had been keeping Dawn upright completely evaporated.

Her body gave out.

The stress, the humiliation, and the sheer emotional trauma of the last ten minutes culminated in a violent physical rebellion. Her stomach, which had been tight with anxiety all night, cramped with an agonizing, tearing pain.

It felt as though someone had reached inside her abdomen and twisted her organs into a tight knot.

Dawn gasped, a choked, wet sound escaping her lips. She couldn't maintain her posture anymore. She bent double, her arms wrapping tightly around her midsection as she squeezed her eyes shut against the blinding pain. Her right hand shot out blindly, her fingers wrapping around the freezing metal railing in a desperate attempt to keep herself from collapsing onto the wooden floor.

A cold, clammy sweat broke out across her forehead. The fine hairs at her temples stuck to her skin. She couldn't breathe. The pain was all-consuming.

"Dawn!"

The glass door flew open again. Allyson came rushing out, her heels clicking frantically against the wood. She had been looking for Dawn inside and had seen Arlo leave the terrace alone.

Allyson took one look at Dawn's hunched, trembling form and sprinted forward. She threw her arms around Dawn's shoulders, taking the brunt of her weight just as Dawn's knees began to buckle.

"Oh my god, Dawn. Is it your stomach? Is it the nervous cramps again?" Allyson asked, her voice shrill with panic. "Do we need to go to the ER?"

Dawn couldn't speak. The pain robbed her of her voice. She could only manage a weak, jerky shake of her head, her forehead resting against Allyson's designer shoulder.

"Okay, okay. Lean on me," Allyson instructed, her arm wrapping firmly around Dawn's waist. She began to guide her away from the railing, steering her toward a side door that led to the club's private areas. "I'm getting you out of here. We're going to the VIP lounge. I'll get them to make you a hot peppermint tea. Just breathe, Dawn. Just breathe."