Chapter 3

The silver Aston Martin slowed down and turned right, disappearing down a ramp into the underground parking garage of The Sovereign, one of the most exclusive luxury apartment buildings on the Upper East Side.

Audrey hit the brakes. Her old Volvo idled on the street. She didn't have a resident keycard to access the underground garage.

She threw the car into drive, sped down to the next block, and jerked the wheel, pulling into an open-air pay lot. She didn't bother grabbing a ticket. She shoved the gearshift into park, killed the engine, and practically threw herself out of the car.

The snow was falling harder now, sticking to the pavement. Audrey walked fast, her heels clicking sharply against the wet concrete. She crossed the street, ignoring the crosswalk, her eyes fixed on the towering glass and stone structure of Building D.

She reached the heavy brass-and-glass double doors of the main entrance. Through the glass, she saw the private elevator doors sliding shut. Colton, the woman, and Willow were already inside.

Audrey pushed through the heavy doors.

The lobby was silent, smelling of expensive oud wood and burning logs from the massive stone fireplace.

A man in a crisp, dark uniform stepped out from behind the marble concierge desk. He moved quickly, placing himself directly in Audrey's path. His expression was polite but entirely unyielding.

"Excuse me, ma'am," the concierge said. "Do you have an appointment? This is a private residential building."

Audrey stopped. Her chest was heaving. She forced herself to take a deep breath, pushing the panic down into her stomach.

"I am here for Colton Christian," Audrey said. Her voice was flat, cold, and demanding.

The concierge's eyes flicked over her damp coat and wind-blown hair. He picked up a tablet from the desk and tapped the screen.

"Mr. Christian is a primary resident here," the concierge said slowly. "But he hasn't authorized any guests for today."

Primary resident.

The words hit Audrey like a physical blow to the chest. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin nearly broke. He lived here. He had a second home.

Audrey lifted her chin. She channeled every ounce of the cold, corporate arrogance she had seen Colton use a thousand times.

"I am his wife, Mrs. Christian," Audrey stated, her voice laced with the sharp, defensive arrogance of a wealthy spouse pushed to her absolute limit. "We had an urgent agreement to meet here, but his phone is turned off. This is a severe family emergency."

The concierge hesitated. His finger hovered over the phone on his desk. He knew Colton Christian's reputation. The man was a ruthless workaholic who fired people for breathing too loudly.

"Are you seriously questioning me right now?" Audrey demanded, stepping closer to the marble desk, her eyes blazing with a desperate, aristocratic fury she didn't know she possessed. "Do you have any idea what the consequences will be if you delay Colton Christian during a family crisis?"

The concierge set the tablet down.

"Of course. My apologies," he said. He stepped over to the guest elevator and swiped a master keycard against the panel. "He is in suite 507. Fifth floor."

"Thank you," Audrey said, stepping into the wood-paneled elevator.

The doors slid shut. The elevator began to rise.

Audrey stared at the digital numbers above the door. Two. Three. Four. Her heart was beating so violently it felt like it was going to crack her ribs. Her mouth was completely dry.

Ding.

The doors opened. The fifth-floor hallway was dead silent. The floor was covered in a thick, cream-colored wool carpet that swallowed the sound of her footsteps.

She walked slowly down the hall, her eyes scanning the brass numbers on the walnut doors.

505. 506.

507.

Audrey stopped.

As she approached, the heavy double doors of suite 507 suddenly clicked and began to swing open. A uniformed building staff member backed out into the hallway, pulling a silver room-service cart. "Have a wonderful evening, Mr. Christian," the worker said politely, turning and pushing the cart toward the service elevator without noticing Audrey frozen in the shadows. The heavy walnut door began to glide shut on its hydraulic hinge. Audrey's heart leaped into her throat. She darted forward, her hand shooting out to catch the heavy wood just a fraction of a second before the latch engaged. She held her breath until her lungs burned, her fingers trembling against the cold brass, leaving a mere two-inch gap.

She crept closer, pressing her shoulder against the doorframe, and positioned her eye near the crack.

Warm, golden light spilled out from the apartment. The soft, rhythmic sound of a jazz record played from high-end speakers.

Through the narrow gap, her eyes immediately tracked to the entryway floor. A pair of women's house slippers sat neatly on the rug. They were the exact same brand and style Audrey wore at the Long Island mansion, just in a different color.

She shifted her gaze further into the room.

In the center of the massive living room sat a custom velvet sofa. The woman in the beige coat-Kelsey-was sitting on it. She had a small fork in her hand.

She scooped up a piece of pink cake and fed it directly into Willow's mouth.

Willow chewed, her face lighting up with pure joy.

"Thank you, Mommy Kelsey," Willow said. Her voice was loud, clear, and incredibly happy.

Audrey's pupils dilated. A violent shudder ripped through her entire body. The blood drained from her face so fast she felt dizzy.

Then, Colton walked into her line of sight.

He had taken off his overcoat and suit jacket. He was wearing just his white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He walked up behind the velvet sofa.

He leaned down, resting his hands on the back of the couch, and pressed his lips softly against the side of Kelsey's neck.

"Happy birthday, my girl," Colton murmured. His voice was deep, intimate, and dripping with affection.

Audrey's stomach violently convulsed. The bile rose hot and acidic in the back of her throat. She slapped her hand over her mouth to muffle the gagging sound and stumbled backward, her heel catching on the thick carpet.