Clara dried her face and walked into HR. The director handed her a transfer notice with a cold expression.
"Ms. Sterling, you've been away from frontline business too long. The company is reassigning you to Sales Department Two as a junior account manager."
Clara's eyes flicked to the approval line. Julian's signature. He wanted to humiliate her into quitting. She signed without a word and walked to Sales Two.
Mitch, the sales manager, saw her coming. He walked up with a mocking grin. "Well, well. The boss's wife, coming down to experience peasant life?" He spoke loudly. The entire open office turned to stare.
Clara looked at him with flat eyes. "Manager Mitch, in the office, it's Ms. Sterling. Where is my desk?"
Mitch's smile faltered. He pointed to a broken, dusty desk shoved into the back corner next to the trash cans.
Clara walked over and started cleaning. She needed this position to access the company's financial data.
She made it to five o'clock. She walked out of the building. A black Bentley pulled up. Julian. The window rolled down.
"Get in, honey. I'll take you home." He wore his loving-husband mask.
Clara got in, not wanting to tip him off. The car reeked of his cologne.
The Bentley merged onto the highway toward Long Island. Julian started complaining. "You really embarrassed me today. Everyone is laughing."
Clara stared out the window. "You demoted me from Vice Director to junior sales. Who's laughing at who?"
Julian's face darkened. Before he could snap, his phone vibrated on the center console.
The caller ID showed an unsaved number. Clara recognized the last four digits instantly. Sierra.
Julian glanced at the screen. Panic crossed his face. He hit decline.
"Why didn't you answer?" Clara turned, a cold smile on her lips.
"Spam," Julian lied.
A text popped up on the lock screen. [Julian, help me! My ex found me! He's smashing the door! I'm so scared!]
They both read it. Julian's face drained of color. He yanked the steering wheel, tires screeching, and slammed the brakes on the shoulder.
"Clara, I have an emergency. Get out and call a cab." He was already unbuckling his seatbelt.
"We're on a highway!"
"Stop being difficult! Someone's life is in danger!" Julian dropped his mask and roared. He leaned over, shoved her door open, and practically pushed her out.
The heavy door slammed. The Bentley roared back into traffic and disappeared.
Clara stood on the shoulder in her thin skirt and heels. Freezing wind whipped her dark hair. Massive trucks thundered past. She pulled out her phone. No service.
The sky turned dark. The cold seeped into her bones. Just as despair started to choke her, a black Maybach slowed and stopped.
The back window rolled down. The streetlights lit Conrad's sharp profile. His deep eyes swept over her purple lips and shivering frame. His brow furrowed. "Get in."
Clara hesitated, then pulled the heavy door open. She slid into the backseat, pressing herself against the door, as far from him as possible.
"Drive," Conrad ordered Marcus. He reached out and cranked the heat to maximum.
The cabin was silent except for the blowing air. Clara's frozen limbs slowly thawed, but her nerves stretched tight.
"Where is Julian?" Conrad asked. His deep voice vibrated in the enclosed space.
"He had a work emergency. I wanted to take a walk." She lied to save her last shred of dignity.
Conrad let out a low scoff. "Taking a walk on a sixty-five-mile-per-hour highway?"
Clara's face burned. She stared down, twisting her skirt fabric.
Suddenly, a white-tailed deer leaped into the road. Marcus slammed the brakes. The tires screamed.
The violent momentum threw Clara forward. In a split second, Conrad's arm shot out, wrapped around her waist, and yanked her back.
She crashed against his solid chest. He grunted. Two buttons on her thin silk shirt popped off with a snap.
The car jerked to a stop. Clara found herself straddling Conrad's lap, her hands on his shoulders, her shirt torn open, exposing her skin and the deep curve of her cleavage. The concealer on her neck was completely gone. The dark purple hickey was bare.
Conrad's eyes dropped to the bruise. His pupils went black. His breathing turned heavy.
Clara scrambled off his lap. "I-I'm sorry." She clutched her torn shirt, face burning.
Conrad's throat worked. He ripped his gaze away and stared out the window. His voice was hoarse. "Marcus, keep driving." He shrugged off his suit jacket and threw it over her head.
Clara pulled the oversized jacket around her shoulders, drowning in his scent. Neither spoke. The air inside the car felt thick and dangerous.
Thirty minutes later, the Maybach pulled up to the Vance estate.
Clara whispered a quick "Thank you," pushed the door open, and ran toward the house.
Julian's car was already parked. He stood by the door, his eyes locked onto the oversized men's jacket draped over her shoulders. His gaze was venomous.
