Azura's heels clicked sharply against the cold concrete of the emergency stairwell. She descended floor after floor, her breathing finally starting to slow down. The heavy, suffocating weight of Hunter Mcintosh's presence was fading with every step she took away from the penthouse.
She pushed open the heavy red fire door at the bottom. A blast of freezing air and the harsh smell of exhaust fumes hit her face. She was in the museum's underground parking garage.
She took one step toward the exit ramp.
Suddenly, a pair of blinding LED high beams flicked on, illuminating the dark concrete directly in front of her. Azura threw her hand up to shield her eyes.
The black, armor-plated Maybach sat idling silently, completely blocking the exit.
Arthur stepped out from the shadows near the front bumper. His suit was immaculate, his face a mask of polite, terrifying efficiency. He opened the rear door of the Maybach and gestured toward the dark interior.
"Please get in, Miss Briggs," Arthur said smoothly.
Azura took a step back, her hand diving into her clutch to grip her small canister of pepper spray. "The party is over. I'm taking the subway home. Get out of my way."
Arthur didn't move. "Mr. Mcintosh instructed me to inform you that if you do not get in the car, an anonymous tip containing photos of you entering a hotel room with Colby Mcintosh will be sent to the Dean of Columbia University tomorrow morning. The accusation will be high-end prostitution."
Azura's blood ran ice-cold. Her stomach violently cramped. She stared at Arthur in pure horror. They had created the perfect trap. She couldn't prove she wasn't an escort tonight.
Her hand slowly released the pepper spray. The fight drained out of her body, replaced by a crushing, nauseating defeat. She walked forward on trembling legs and slid into the back seat of the Maybach.
The door slammed shut, sealing her inside.
The cabin was dark. Hunter sat in the corner, leaning back against the leather, an unlit cigar pinched between his fingers. He didn't look at her.
Azura pressed herself against the opposite door, trying to put as much physical distance between them as possible.
The Maybach pulled out of the garage and merged into the midnight traffic of Manhattan.
Hunter slowly turned his head. His dark eyes locked onto her terrified posture. "You look like a cornered rat," he mocked softly.
Azura's fear instantly boiled over into rage. "If you didn't act like a rabid dog, I wouldn't have to run! Why are you doing this? You saved me upstairs just to blackmail me down here?"
Hunter's eyes darkened. He leaned forward, his massive frame instantly swallowing the space between them. He reached out, his thumb pressing roughly against the corner of her mouth where she hadn't applied the ointment.
Azura winced, a sharp breath escaping her lips.
"Watch your tone," Hunter whispered, his face inches from hers. "I pulled you out of a pack of wolves upstairs. You owe me your life."
"I owe you nothing!" Azura spat, slapping his hand away. "If your disgusting nephew hadn't abandoned me, I wouldn't have been attacked! You're both exactly the same!"
Hunter's jaw clenched. The comparison to Colby hit a raw nerve. He sneered, pulling back and pressing a button on the armrest.
The thick, soundproof privacy partition rolled up, completely sealing the back seat off from Arthur and the driver. The click of the lock sounded like a prison door slamming shut.
Azura's heart hammered against her ribs. She gripped the door handle, her knuckles turning bone-white.
Hunter reached into the minibar compartment and pulled out a thick stack of stapled papers. He tossed them onto Azura's lap.
"Sign it," he commanded.
Azura looked down. The reading light illuminated the bold letters at the top: NON-DISCLOSURE AND EMPLOYMENT AGREEMENT.
She scanned the first page. It was a draconian contract. It legally bound her to absolute silence about everything that happened tonight, and it forced her to be Hunter's "Personal Assistant" for the next twelve months, available 24/7.
"Are you insane?" Azura yelled, throwing the papers back at his chest. "This is a slavery contract! I will never sign this!"
The papers scattered across the floorboards. Hunter didn't blink. He looked at her with dead, calculating eyes.
"If you sign it," Hunter said, his voice terrifyingly calm, "I will make the medical debt your adoptive mother owes the hospital in Pennsylvania disappear. I know she's drowning in bills. Sign this, and her care is covered. Forever."
Azura stopped breathing. The air was sucked out of her lungs. She stared at him, her amber eyes wide with shock. He knew everything. He had dug into the deepest, most painful parts of her life and found the exact lever to break her.
Tears of pure, helpless frustration welled in her eyes. She bit her lower lip so hard she tasted fresh blood, refusing to let the tears fall.
The Maybach descended into a brightly lit, pristine underground garage. They had arrived at Billionaires' Row, beneath Hunter's private penthouse tower.
Hunter sat back, watching her internal collapse with cold satisfaction. He was waiting for her to break.
