The last message on Dulce Long's cracked iPhone had arrived twelve minutes ago. KAI: Suite 808. The keycard is waiting at the front desk under your name. I'm already upstairs. Come straight in when you get here—I have a surprise for you. Today was her third anniversary with Kai Copeland. They had agreed to spend the night alone at the Grand Regency, away from work, family, and every other pressure that had kept their relationship frozen at the edge of its final boundary. Dulce had even bought a new ivory lace set to wear beneath her champagne-colored slip dress—something far more daring than anything she normally chose. The thought of Kai seeing it sent a rush of heat into her cheeks. They had never slept together. Kai had always promised he would wait until she was ready, and tonight, after three years of loving him, she finally was. After three years together, she and Kai had begun talking seriously about the future—about an engagement, about leaving behind the frantic pace of Manhattan once his architectural firm found its footing. Their third anniversary was supposed to be the turning point. Dulce slipped the phone back into her small clutch, slid the keycard out of its worn paper sleeve, and pressed it to the reader beside the carved mahogany double doors marked with the gilded numbers 808. The indicator flashed green. With a soft click, the lock released, and one of the doors drifted open by a fraction of an inch. From somewhere inside the suite came the steady rush of running water. Her pulse fluttered. Kai must be in the shower, getting ready for the night they had both waited three years for. The hallway on the penthouse floor of the Grand Regency was deadly quiet, the thick crimson carpet swallowing the sound of her heels. She tightened her grip on the paper sleeve, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. "Kai?" she whispered, resting one hand against the partly open door. "I hope you really like what I've planned for tonight." She took a slow, trembling breath and pushed the heavy wood open. No lights were on. Instead of the delicate scent of white lilies Kai usually brought her, a wave of bitter cigar smoke, spilled bourbon, and a sharp, intoxicating undertone of cold cedar hit her face. A strange chill crept down her spine. From somewhere deep within the shadows of the expansive suite, a rough, ragged sound echoed. It was a man's breathing—heavy, scorching, and ragged, like a wounded animal backed into a corner. A soft smile touched her lips despite the darkness. Perhaps Kai had already finished his shower and decided to turn her surprise back on her. She stepped across the threshold into the foyer and pushed the heavy door shut behind her, hearing the automatic lock engage with a definitive click. "Kai? Is that you? Why didn't you turn on the lights?" A sharp flash of lightning outside the floor-to-ceiling glass wall ripped through the room, briefly carving a tall, imposing silhouette out of the darkness near the sofa. Before she could process that the man standing there was far broader and taller than her slender boyfriend, a hand shot out from the shadows. Blistering heat and calloused fingers clamped around her wrist like a steel band. Dulce gasped. The sheer force pulled her off balance, yanking her forward until her face slammed into a chest as solid as granite. Her small clutch, the keycard, and its paper sleeve slipped from her numb fingers, hitting the plush wool carpet without a sound. "Let go of me!" The man did not speak. His heavy arm hooked around her narrow waist, pulling her flush against his towering frame. His body temperature was terrifyingly high, burning right through the thin silk of her champagne-colored slip dress. Dulce thrashed violently in the dark, her nostrils filling with the suffocating scent of cedar and raw masculine heat. Her forehead grazed the sharp edge of his collarbone. "You're not Kai! Who are you?" A low, gravelly voice vibrated against the shell of her ear, thick with suppressed fury and the slurred edge of a dangerous drug. "Who sent you tonight? The old men on the board? Or my second uncle?" The sheer venom in his tone made her blood freeze. The room was too dark to see his features, but as his left hand gripped her nape to tilt her head back, the raised edge of an old scar across his knuckle scraped roughly against her sensitive skin. She shoved against his chest with both hands. Her palms pressed into rigid slabs of muscle that felt like hot iron. "You have the wrong person! I'm a guest—I walked into the wrong room! Let me out!" A cold, humorless chuckle broke from his throat. His breath scalded her lips. "The wrong room? Climbing into my bed smelling this clean... you bastards certainly know how to pick an excuse." Before she could scream, his arm swept beneath her knees. He lifted her off her feet effortlessly, turning on his heel and carrying her through the darkened corridor toward the master bedroom. "No! Stop! Help me!" He tossed her onto the enormous king-sized mattress in the center of the room. The velvet coverlet sank beneath her weight. Dulce scrambled backward on her elbows, trying desperately to reach the edge, but the man came down over her like a collapsing ceiling. His weight pinned her hips completely. With one fluid, brutal movement, he ripped the black silk tie from his collar and pinned both of her wrists together, forcing them flat against the pillow above her head. Thunder cracked outside, shaking the glass. In that split-second flare of electric white light, Dulce caught a terrifying glimpse of a chiseled jawline, high cheekbones carved with aristocratic arrogance, and a pair of blue-grey eyes swirling with dark, feverish madness. The power disparity was absolute. Her struggles were nothing more than the fluttering of a moth under a boot. Hot tears of humiliation and panic spilled over her temples, soaking into her hair. His mouth came down on hers with bruising, punishing weight. The kiss was an assault that crushed every cry back down her throat. He tasted of aged whiskey, fever, and raw dominance. Dulce bit down hard on his lower lip with everything she had. The metallic tang of blood flooded between their mouths, but instead of stopping him, the pain seemed to snap whatever thin thread of restraint he had left. A guttural growl tore from his chest as he tore the thin silk straps of her dress. His mouth moved down to the curve of her throat, burning a trail of fire over her collarbone while her muffled sobs were lost to the sound of the rain beating against the glass. The storm outside raged for three unrelenting hours, matching the fevered, merciless tempest inside the suite. By the time the suffocating heat finally began to break, the man slumped heavily onto his side, his arm remaining clamped around her waist like an iron chain. His breathing slowed into the deep, dead sleep of a body finally succumbing to the drug's aftermath. Dulce lay frozen in the pitch black, her swollen eyes staring at the ceiling. Every bone in her body felt fractured. The sharp ache between her thighs was a brutal reminder of what had just been stolen from her. Biting back a whimper of agony, she reached down with trembling fingers and slowly, inch by inch, lifted his heavy forearm off her waist. Her bare feet touched the icy hardwood floor. A pale sliver of moonlight filtering through the curtains guided her movements. She dropped to her knees, gathering the shredded remnants of her dress and pulling them over her bruised skin with frantic, clumsy hands. As she steadied herself against the nightstand, her eyes caught a dull gleam of platinum. A custom Patek Philippe watch lay near the lamp, its face engraved with an intricate crest featuring an eagle and the name Justice. A wave of nausea and pure terror surged through her gut. Whoever he was, he possessed power that could erase someone like her without leaving a trace. She turned away from the bed, not daring to flick a switch, and stumbled toward the front door. Her small clutch still lay where it had fallen in the foyer. Dulce snatched it from the carpet and fumbled with the lock. When it clicked open, a draft of icy hallway air washed over her feverish face. Dulce cast one last terrified look back at the gaping maw of the dark room, swallowed the bile in her throat, and ran barefoot into the stormy night. Less than a minute after the suite door swung shut, Brendon Justice opened his eyes. The drug still dragged at his limbs like liquid lead, but the cold air lingering in the corridor had cut through the fever enough to pull him back toward consciousness. His arm tightened instinctively around empty sheets. The woman was gone. Brendon forced himself upright, every muscle in his body rigid with the effort. His split lower lip throbbed. When he touched it, fresh blood stained the pad of his thumb. Fragments of the past three hours returned in violent flashes. Champagne silk. Long black hair. A pair of terrified dark eyes. A tiny mole beneath the outer corner of her right eye. Her teeth sinking into his lip as she fought him with everything she had. And her voice. You have the wrong person. His gaze dropped to a torn strip of champagne-colored silk lying across the black sheets. The fear in her eyes had not been feigned. Neither had her confusion. She had not come willingly. Someone had drugged him. Someone else had arranged for that woman to enter his suite at the exact moment he lost control. Brendon seized the secure phone from the nightstand and called the only number stored on its encrypted line. Jax Tucker answered before the second ring. "Mr. Justice?" "Lock down the Grand Regency," Brendon ordered, his voice raw but deadly steady. "A woman just left Suite 808. Mid-twenties. Long black hair. Champagne-colored dress. She may be injured." There was a brief silence, followed by the rapid clicking of a keyboard. "Sir, the penthouse surveillance feed went offline shortly before ten," Jax said. His voice sharpened. "The backup footage has been wiped, and the electronic access log for Suite 808 has been erased." Brendon's fingers slowly closed around the torn strip of silk. Whoever had engineered tonight had expected the drug to erase his memory. It had not. "Find whoever breached the system," he said. "Then find the woman before they do."

Dulce plunged through the revolving doors of the Grand Regency and stumbled barefoot out onto the flooding pavement of Fifth Avenue. The downpour was merciless, cold sheets of water instantly soaking her torn dress and plastering her dark hair to her face. She wiped the rain from her eyes, but the tears kept coming, burning against her raw cheeks. Her old iPhone vibrated violently inside the small clutch she had managed to snatch off the suite floor. The cracked screen lit up with one name: Kai. Dulce pressed the call button with shaking fingers, lifting the receiver to her ear as she leaned against a freezing concrete pillar. "Kai! Where are you? Something terrible happened at the hotel... Kai, please pick up!" There was no warm, reassuring voice on the other end. The line crackled with the howling roar of high-altitude wind, punctuated by ragged, agonizing gasps and the distant sound of heavy thuds against metal. "Dulce... don't... don't go to the hotel..." Kai's voice was barely a rasp, trembling with sheer exhaustion and pain. "Run... get out of New York..." Her stomach dropped into a bottomless void. "Kai? What are you talking about? What's happening?" "I'm... on the roof of the Copeland Building," he wheezed, his voice breaking as if every word cost him blood. "Listen to me, Dulce... whatever you do... never trust... Justice..." A sickening crunch of metal echoed through the speaker, followed by a sharp gasp and the dead, droning tone of a disconnected call. "Kai! Kai!" she screamed into the phone. Panic overtook the physical pain tearing through her body. She sprinted toward the curb, her bare soles slapping against the flooded pavement. Her right foot came down on the jagged edge of an iron drainage grate. Pain sliced through her sole, throwing her off balance. Dulce crashed down hard onto the filthy, flooded asphalt. Her knee split open, blood mixing with the dirty street water, but she scrambled back up on all fours, waving her arms wildly at an approaching yellow cab. The taxi skidded to a halt, splashing muddy water across her bare shins. "Copeland Architecture Building! Mid-town! Hurry, please, I'll pay double!" she sobbed as she threw herself into the backseat. The driver glanced back at her ripped clothes and bloody legs, his eyes widening, but he slammed his foot on the gas without asking questions. Ten minutes later, the cab screeched to a halt in front of the thirty-story glass tower bearing the Copeland name. The plaza below was already in chaos. Flashing red and blue lights cut through the rain, casting an eerie, bloody glow over the wet marble pavement. Security guards in black raincoats were screaming into walkie-talkies, pushing back a small crowd of horrified onlookers. Dulce shoved the door open and hit the wet ground running. "Ma'am, stay back! Police line!" an officer shouted, reaching for her shoulder. Dulce ducked under his arm, her eyes fixed on the sky. High above, at the edge of the thirtieth-floor observation deck, a streak of jagged lightning split the pitch-black clouds. For a single, horrific second, a slender silhouette in a dark coat tumbled over the railing, plummeting downward like a bird with broken wings. His wavy, ash-brown hair whipped violently in the gale. The lightning cast his soft, refined features into stark relief. It was Kai. Her throat clamped shut. No sound came out of her mouth, only a dry, rattling gasp of pure horror. A deafening, wet impact echoed across the wide plaza as his body slammed onto the edge of the raised marble fountain. A fountain of dark water and bright crimson blood sprayed across the stone. "Kai!" Dulce tore past the perimeter tape, ignoring the hands grabbing at her arms, and threw herself onto the freezing marble beside him. His limbs were twisted at unnatural angles, his chest caved in beneath his soaked woolen coat. Dark blood welled steadily from the base of his skull, pooling around his pale cheek. His light-hazel eyes stared blankly up at the weeping sky. "No, no, no... Kai, look at me!" Dulce fell to her knees in the blood, pressing both hands against his chest, trying uselessly to push the life back into him. Her tears splashed down onto his cooling face. "Wake up! Kai, it's Dulce! We're supposed to take our engagement photos in Central Park next month! You promised me!" His bloody fingers twitched faintly. His lips parted, dark bubbles of blood frothing at the corner of his mouth as he struggled to form a syllable. His hand lifted an inch from the stone, as if trying to reach for her wet cheek, before dropping limp onto the red-stained marble. The sirens of an approaching ambulance wailed through the night, but she knew it was already too late. Two EMTs pulled her back by force, their gloved hands slipping on her bloody arms. Through her blurred vision, Dulce looked past the medical crew and saw three men in immaculate charcoal suits stepping back into the revolving doors of the Copeland Building, disappearing into the private elevator bank. Above the lobby entrance, a colossal digital billboard flashed the latest Wall Street breaking news: Justice Enterprise Completes Hostile Takeover of Vanguard Architectural Group. Kai's dying words crashed through her skull like a hammer. Never trust Justice. A luxury black town car skidded to a halt at the curb, its doors flying open before the engine even cut off. A middle-aged woman wrapped in an expensive mink coat stumbled out into the rain, flanked by two private bodyguards. It was Martha Copeland, Kai's mother. The glare of smartphone flashes and camera lenses flared continuously behind the police barricades. Martha Copeland stormed across the plaza, her designer leather heels clicking furiously against the wet stone. Her face, usually composed in the chilly elegance of old money, was twisted into a mask of pure grief and venomous fury.

She stopped two feet from where Dulce knelt in the puddle of blood, her gaze raking over the girl's torn dress, bruised collarbones, and bare, bloodied legs. "You worthless little parasite!" Martha swung her heavy, structured leather handbag with all her might, the metal clasp catching Dulce across the cheek with a sickening crack. The blow snapped Dulce's head to the side. A sharp sting flared along her cheekbone, warm blood immediately trickling down to her chin. She collapsed sideways against the wet steps, too exhausted to shield herself. Martha grabbed the torn neckline of Dulce's dress, yanking her up until their faces were inches apart. "Why was Kai on that roof? What did you do to him? And what are these disgusting marks all over your neck?" Reporters pressed closer against the tape, the shutters of their cameras clicking like a swarm of locusts, capturing every shred of Dulce's humiliation. Dulce swallowed past the dry, burning ache in her throat. Rain mixed with the blood on her lips. "Mrs. Copeland... please... it wasn't me... Kai was murdered... someone pushed him..." "Liar!" Martha screamed, shoving Dulce backward with vicious force. "If it weren't for him trying to buy you that ridiculous apartment, he would have never gotten involved with the board! You dragged him down! You killed my only son!" Dulce's lower back slammed into the sharp edge of the stone stairs. A sudden, white-hot spasm of agony ripped through her lower abdomen, so sharp and violent that her vision flared black. She curled onto her side, clutching her stomach as cold sweat broke out across her forehead. "Get out of New York!" Martha pointed a trembling, manicured finger at her face, her voice carrying over the crowd. "If I ever see your face at Kai's memorial, I will make sure you end up in the Hudson River!" Two of Martha's bodyguards stepped forward, grabbed Dulce by the arms like a sack of trash, and dragged her across the wet pavement, tossing her out onto the street beyond the yellow tape. Dulce lay in the gutter, shivering uncontrollably, her arms wrapped around her cramping stomach. Tires screeched near her head. A matte-red Jeep Wrangler mounted the curb, its door flying open instantly. Dulce's best friend, Alanis Burke, sprinted through the rain, dropping to her knees and throwing her long trench coat over Dulce's shivering frame. "Dulce! Sweet Jesus, Dulce, look at me!" Alanis's voice broke with panic as she hauled Dulce up into her arms. "Hold on, baby, I've got you. I've got you!" Alanis shoved Dulce into the passenger seat, slammed the door, and sped through three red lights, leaning on the horn until she screeched into the emergency bay of St. Mary's Hospital. Two hours later, the sharp stench of antiseptic filled the sterile white cubicle. Dulce lay under a thin hospital blanket, an IV line taped to the back of her bruised hand. The cramping in her gut had dulled to a heavy, rhythmic ache. The curtain was pulled back. A middle-aged emergency room doctor stepped in, holding a clipboard, his face grim. "Miss Long," the doctor began, pulling a stool beside the bed. "You have severe soft tissue contusions, a minor concussion, and a laceration on your cheek. Fortunately, the scans show no internal bleeding or permanent damage." Dulce looked at him, her fingers curling into the stiff bedsheet. "We've cleaned and closed the wound on your cheek. The muscle spasms in your abdomen appear to be the result of blunt-force trauma and extreme physical stress, but I want you to return immediately if the pain worsens, if you begin bleeding, or if you lose consciousness." Dulce nodded numbly. The doctor handed the clipboard to a nurse, gave Alanis a brief list of discharge instructions, and stepped out of the cubicle. The moment the curtain fell shut behind him, Alanis moved to Dulce's bedside, her eyes burning with protective rage. "Dulce... what happened to you tonight? Who did this?" Dulce stared at the rain streaking the narrow hospital window. The blue-grey eyes of the stranger in Suite 808 flashed through her mind. "I went into the wrong suite," she whispered. "There was a man inside. I couldn't see his face. I don't even know his name." Alanis went deathly still. She reached for Dulce's hand, gripping it tightly. "Then we go to the police." Dulce shut her eyes. She saw Kai's broken body on the marble and remembered his final warning. Never trust Justice. "Not tonight," she said hoarsely. "I can't do anything else tonight." Two days after Kai's death, the bells of Trinity Church tolled a slow, somber death knell. The Copeland family had organized a private, closed-door memorial service. High iron gates kept the public and the press at bay. Dulce stood fifty yards away, hidden in the shadows of a massive sycamore tree. She wore an oversized black coat, a low-brimmed cap, and dark sunglasses that concealed the bandage on her cheekbone. The mournful swell of an organ drifted through the stained-glass windows. Through the iron bars, she could see the sleek white casket being carried out toward the hearse, surrounded by weeping socialites in tailored black. Dulce reached into her coat and pulled out a small, oval-shaped wooden pendant hanging from a thin leather cord. Kai had carved it for her with his own hands on their first anniversary, the smooth cedar wood polished to a soft sheen. On the back, his neat, architectural script was etched into the grain: Forever, K. She pressed the wood to her lips, letting a single tear slip beneath the rim of her sunglasses. "Goodbye, Kai," she whispered against the cold bark of the tree. "I will find out who did this. I swear it." At the intersection fifty feet down the block, a sleek black Rolls-Royce Phantom sat idling in the rain. The rear tinted window slid down two inches. From the shadows of the leather interior, a pair of ice-cold blue-grey eyes fixed upon the slender figure standing by the sycamore tree, zeroing in on the carved wooden pendant resting against her collarbone. Six weeks after the night at the Grand Regency, Dulce woke before dawn and vomited into her bathroom sink for the third morning in a row. Her period still had not come. At first, she had blamed the delay on grief, trauma, and the sleepless nights that had followed Kai's death. But the nausea, crushing fatigue, and sudden aversion to the smell of coffee had become impossible to ignore. That morning, she bought three pregnancy tests from different pharmacies. Every one of them showed two lines. By noon, Alanis was sitting beside her in the obstetrics and gynecology department of St. Mary's Hospital. Dulce lay on an examination table beneath a thin paper sheet, staring at the grainy black-and-white image on the ultrasound monitor. Two small gestational sacs glowed against the darkness of her uterus. Within each one was a tiny embryo, accompanied by the rapid flicker of cardiac activity. The obstetrician set down the transvaginal ultrasound probe and turned toward her, her expression solemn. "Miss Long, the ultrasound confirms a viable twin pregnancy," she said. "Both embryos are measuring at approximately eight weeks of gestational age. That places conception roughly six weeks ago." The words felt like a physical blow to her chest. Twins. They could not be Kai's. She and Kai had never crossed that final line. The twins had been conceived during the assault in Suite 808. Alanis, who had been standing beside the examination table with her arms crossed, froze. She stepped forward, her eyes wide with shock, and pulled the curtain completely shut. "Dulce... they're his, aren't they?" Alanis whispered, her voice trembling with protective rage. "The man from the hotel. We have to terminate. We can't keep this." Dulce touched her flat stomach. The warmth beneath her palm felt terrifyingly fragile. "Miss Long," the obstetrician interrupted quietly, looking at her chart. "Before you make any decision, there is something I need to explain carefully. I reviewed the records from your previous gynecologic treatment. Your earlier uterine condition left extensive endometrial scarring, and your ovarian reserve is critically low. The fact that you conceived and that both embryos implanted successfully is medically extraordinary." Dulce's fingers tightened over her stomach. "What does that mean?" "Ending this pregnancy would not, by itself, make you infertile," the obstetrician said. "But your chances of conceiving again are already extremely low. If you terminate, I cannot promise that you will ever have another viable pregnancy. Continuing a twin pregnancy will also carry significant risks, so you would need close monitoring from a maternal-fetal medicine specialist." Silence fell over the small room, broken only by the steady beep of the heart monitor. Dulce stared down at her hands. The image of Kai's lifeless eyes on the cold marble flashed before her, followed by the memory of the terrifying power that had crushed him. If she ended this pregnancy, she might be giving up her only chance to ever become a mother. The choice was cruel, but it belonged to her. "I'm keeping them," Dulce whispered, a cold, stubborn resolve settling deep in her chest.