His Broken Doll's Second Chance

"If you don't let me marry Erick, I will die right here. Tomorrow, the Wyatt family will be the biggest joke in the country."

Hayden Larson pressed the jagged edge of the broken champagne flute against her left wrist.

The sharp glass bit into her pale skin.

A thin, crimson line appeared on her skin, a stark contrast to its paleness. A single drop of blood formed, hanging precariously before falling onto the priceless Persian rug beneath her bare feet.

Her chest heaved. She dragged in shallow, ragged breaths, her eyes locked on the man sitting on the leather sofa opposite her.

Alois Wyatt sat entirely in the shadows.

The harsh overhead lights of the VIP club room barely caught the sharp, rigid lines of his jaw.

His large hands gripped the armrests of the sofa. The knuckles were stark white. The thick blue veins on the backs of his hands bulged against his skin.

The air in the room felt like solid concrete.

Barnett Stephens stood a few feet away, his mouth slightly open, holding his breath. He didn't dare make a single sound.

Alois stared at the blood dripping from Hayden's wrist. A violent spasm of pain and raw, suppressed rage flashed through his dark eyes.

He closed his eyes hard. His Adam's apple bobbed as he forced a swallow down his dry throat.

The room was dead silent. The only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioning vent above them.

Alois opened his eyes.

"Fine," he said. His voice was a harsh, gravelly scrape, like sandpaper against raw wood. "I agree."

Those three words hit Hayden's ears.

They were supposed to be her victory. They were supposed to mean she finally got what she wanted.

Instead, a high-pitched ringing exploded in her eardrums.

Her vision blurred. The expensive wood paneling and the leather sofas began to twist and spin, like a warped reel of old film.

A freezing chill shot up from the soles of her feet, straight into her skull.

Suddenly, her nostrils flared.

She smelled it. The thick, choking stench of gasoline. The sickening odor of burning flesh.

The phantom agony of jagged metal crushing her ribs and tearing into her internal organs slammed into her body without a single second of warning.

Her lungs stopped working.

Erick's cold, mocking laughter echoed in her head. She could physically feel the bite of the freezing leather restraints cutting into her wrists, and the sickening stench of bleach and rotting despair that had choked her in that European asylum for three long years flooded her senses.

Hayden's entire body began to shake violently.

Her fingers went numb. The bloody shard of glass slipped from her grip.

It hit the crystal coffee table with a sharp, shattering crack.

Alois's pupils shrank to pinpricks. He thought she was about to drive the glass deeper into her vein. His massive frame lunged forward off the sofa.

Barnett shouted a curse, stepping forward to kick the glass away.

Hayden snapped her head up.

The hostile, rebellious glare she had worn just seconds ago was entirely gone. Her eyes were wide, overflowing with a thick, suffocating terror and absolute despair.

She gasped for air, her mouth open like a drowning victim finally breaking the surface of the water.

She looked at Alois.

The image of an older, broken Alois kneeling in front of her gravestone with snow-white hair violently collided with the man standing in front of her now. The man in the immaculate bespoke suit. The man who was alive.

A crushing weight of guilt and the hysterical joy of finding something she thought was lost forever completely shattered her sanity.

Hayden didn't care about her bleeding wrist.

She stumbled forward, her bare feet crunching over the tiny shards of broken glass.

Under the shocked stares of Barnett and the bodyguards by the door, she threw herself directly at the sofa.

Alois hadn't even fully stood up before a soft, trembling body slammed hard into his chest.

The heavy scent of copper and blood hit his nose.

Hayden locked her arms around his neck. She buried her face deep into the crook of his neck, inhaling the cold, sharp scent of cedar that clung to his skin.

Hot, wet tears instantly soaked into the collar of Alois's silk shirt.

Hayden squeezed her eyes shut and let out a loud, gut-wrenching sob. She cried like a wounded animal, the sound tearing out of her throat and echoing off the walls, completely destroying everyone's expectation that she was about to celebrate her victory.

The second Hayden's arms wrapped around him, Alois's body turned into a block of solid ice.

His arms hung stiffly at his sides. His large hands twitched, fighting the violent, instinctual urge to wrap around her waist and pull her closer.

Barnett's eyes bulged. The expensive cigar slipped from his fingers and clattered against the edge of the crystal ashtray. He muttered a harsh curse under his breath.

Alois sucked in a sharp breath. His brows pulled together into a deep, dark scowl.

He brought his hands up and grabbed Hayden's wrists, trying to pry her arms off his neck.

"Let go," he ordered. His voice was a flat, freezing command. "Stop acting crazy."

Hayden felt the hard pressure of his fingers trying to push her away.

Her chest tightened painfully. She panicked and locked her arms even tighter around him.

Her bleeding left wrist dragged across the lapel of his gray suit, leaving a thick, dark red smear of blood against the expensive fabric.

She lifted her face. Her eyes were swollen and red, her cheeks soaked with tears.

"I was joking," she cried out, her voice shaking so hard her teeth rattled. "I was just joking."

The sheer absurdity of that excuse sucked all the oxygen out of the room.

Alois stopped trying to push her away.

He looked down at her. His dark eyes narrowed into a dangerous, calculating stare, dissecting every inch of her face.

He stared at her trembling, bloodless lips. He searched her red eyes for the lie, waiting for the trap to spring.

Hayden met his heavy, oppressive gaze. She shook her head frantically.

"I'm not marrying him," she gasped out, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "I'd rather die than marry Erick."

The muscle in Alois's jaw ticked. His breathing hitched, the steady rhythm breaking for a fraction of a second.

He let out a low, mocking scoff.

"Are you really putting on a show this pathetic just to get your hands on the trust fund?" he demanded.

Hayden shook her head harder. She reached up and grabbed his face, her small hands pressing against his hard, cold cheeks.

"Don't leave me," she begged, her voice cracking into a pathetic whine. "Take me home. Please."

Home.

That single word struck the most violently guarded, hidden nerve in Alois's chest.

The dark hostility in his eyes fractured. A deep, bottomless undercurrent of something entirely different bled into his gaze.

Alois didn't say a word.

He suddenly bent his knees. He slid one thick arm under the back of her knees and the other around her back.

Barnett sucked in a sharp breath as Alois lifted Hayden straight off the ground, cradling her against his chest.

The sudden loss of gravity made Hayden gasp. She instinctively turned her face and pressed her ear flat against the hard wall of his chest.

Beneath the layers of his suit, she heard the heavy, rapid thud of his heartbeat. It was beating far too fast.

Alois turned his head. He swept a freezing, warning glare over the bodyguards and Barnett.

"Lock down this entire floor," Alois ordered his assistant, who was standing frozen by the door. "Not a single word of tonight leaves this room. Not even a fly gets out."

The assistant immediately dropped his head. "Yes, Mr. Wyatt." He pulled out his phone and started dialing the club's head of security.

Alois didn't look back. He carried Hayden with long, heavy strides toward the thick, carved wooden doors of the VIP room.

A bodyguard rushed forward and pulled the doors open.

The harsh, fluorescent light of the hallway spilled in.

The sudden brightness stabbed Hayden's eyes. She squeezed them shut and buried her face deeper into Alois's chest, hiding from the light.

Alois tightened his grip on her. He shifted his body, using his broad shoulders to cast a shadow over her face, completely shielding her from the glare.

He walked straight into his private elevator.

The heavy steel doors slid shut, completely cutting off Barnett's suspicious, glaring eyes.

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open to the underground, climate-controlled parking garage.

A blast of cold air hit them.

Alois carried Hayden quickly across the polished concrete floor toward the black, bulletproof Maybach parked in his reserved spot.

His driver, Rudy Kowalski, practically jumped out of the driver's seat and yanked the heavy rear door open.

Before Alois could step inside, the adjacent elevator dinged.

Barnett stormed out, his leather shoes slapping loudly against the concrete.

"Alois!" Barnett yelled, his face red with frustration.

Alois stopped walking. He didn't turn around. He just carefully lowered Hayden onto the soft leather seat of the Maybach.

The second Hayden's legs touched the seat, she grabbed the edge of the doorframe. Her knuckles turned white as she looked nervously past Alois at Barnett.

Barnett marched right up to the car. He pointed a stiff finger at Hayden.

"Are you out of your mind?" Barnett demanded, staring at Alois. "You actually believe this bullshit?"

Barnett lowered his voice, but the venom in it was thick. "She is a snake. You can't domesticate a snake. Ten minutes ago she was ready to slit her own wrists to ruin you, and now she's playing the good girl?"

Barnett leaned closer. "This is a new trick. Erick taught her this. She's just trying to steal your corporate secrets to please that pathetic, broke loser!"

Hayden sat frozen in the backseat.

Hearing those words felt like a physical blow to her stomach. The pain radiated through her chest because she knew Barnett was right. In her past life, she had been exactly that vile.

She didn't snap back at him. She didn't scream.

She just lowered her head. Huge, heavy tears welled up and dropped onto the back of her hands.

Alois shifted his stance. He moved his massive body directly in front of the open door, completely blocking Barnett's view of Hayden.

He stared at his oldest friend. His eyes were as cold as a morgue.

"Watch your mouth, Barnett," Alois said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, vibrating low. "She is still under Wyatt protection."

Barnett flinched, physically stepping back from the sheer violence in Alois's eyes. He gritted his teeth. "She's going to get you killed one day."

Alois calmly reached up and adjusted his right cufflink.

"That's my problem," Alois said flatly. "Not yours."

He turned his back on Barnett, stepped into the Maybach, and slammed the heavy door shut.

The loud thud instantly cut off the echoing noise of the garage. The inside of the car was suffocatingly quiet.

Alois leaned his head back against the headrest. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, his chest rising and falling heavily.

In the driver's seat, Rudy kept his eyes glued to the rearview mirror. He didn't dare start the engine.

"Mercer Hospital," Alois ordered, his eyes still closed. "Drive fast."

The Maybach's engine roared to life. The heavy car glided smoothly out of the underground garage.

The dim blue ambient lighting clicked on, casting sharp, cold shadows across the hard lines of Alois's profile.

Hayden curled her legs up on the opposite side of the spacious backseat. She kept her head down, but her eyes darted sideways, watching the man beside her.

She saw his right hand resting on his thigh. It was curled into a tight fist. The knuckles were completely white.

She slowly uncurled her legs. She tried to slide across the smooth leather to get closer to him.

The movement pulled the skin on her left wrist.

A sharp, tearing pain shot up her arm. She sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth.

The tiny hiss of pain was magnified in the silent car.

Alois's eyes snapped open.

His gaze locked onto her like a predator. He stared straight at her left wrist. The blood was still slowly dripping from the cut.

He reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and ripped out his silk pocket square.

He leaned across the wide center console, his large hand snapping out to grab her wrist in an iron grip.