Elliot didn't say a word. He stepped forward, ignoring the gasps of the crowd, and grabbed Breanna's uninjured left wrist.
His grip was a steel trap.
"Put the boy in the car," he ordered his men without looking away from Breanna.
He dragged her toward the center SUV and shoved her roughly into the back seat. The doors locked with a heavy clunk. The convoy sped away.
The air inside the SUV was suffocating. Elliot sat on the far side of the leather bench, eyes closed, but murderous rage radiated from every inch of the cabin.
Cole pressed tightly against Breanna's side. He held her bleeding right hand carefully in his two small palms, his lower lip trembling, eyes rimmed with red.
Breanna ignored the throbbing pain. She used her left hand to stroke Cole's soft hair, offering a silent, reassuring smile.
Elliot's eyes snapped open. Seeing his son hold this manipulative woman's hand made his stomach twist with violent, irrational sickness.
Twenty minutes later, the convoy pulled into the underground bunker of the Finch family's private hospital.
They rode up to the top floor in silence and entered a massive, sterile VIP suite.
A nurse approached Cole to check the small scratch on his cheek. Cole violently pushed her away, screaming, until Breanna knelt down and held his other hand. Only then did he let the nurse clean the cut.
Another doctor stepped toward Breanna with a bandage.
"Get out," Elliot commanded. His voice was quiet, but it echoed off the walls. "All of you. Out."
The medical team scrambled out. The heavy door clicked shut.
Elliot slowly walked toward Breanna. He backed her up until her shoulders hit the cold wall. He placed both hands on the wall beside her head, trapping her in his shadow.
"How long did it take you?" Elliot whispered, his breath hitting her face. "How long did you stalk my family to find out where my son goes to school?"
Breanna's chest heaved. "I didn't know he was your son. I was in the park looking for a job. It was a coincidence."
Elliot let out a dark, cruel laugh. "There are no coincidences in Manhattan. Only calculated moves."
He leaned an inch closer. "Using a six-year-old boy with an emotional disorder as your stepping stone to my wallet. You are the most disgusting creature I have ever met."
Tears of pure, burning rage filled Breanna's eyes.
Cole sensed the danger. He jumped off the examination bed and ran over. He wedged his small body between Elliot's legs and pushed hard against his father's knees.
"Stop it!" Cole screamed. "Don't be mean to her!"
Elliot stared down at his son. The sight of his own blood defending this woman made the vein in his neck throb.
He grabbed Cole by the back of his jacket, lifted him effortlessly, and handed him to the bodyguard outside the door. "Take him to the scan room."
The door shut again.
Elliot reached into his tailored jacket and pulled out a leather checkbook. He clicked a pen and wrote a number so large it would make a Wall Street banker sweat.
He ripped the check out and threw it directly at Breanna's face.
The paper hit her cheek and fluttered to the floor.
"Take it," Elliot sneered. "Take it and leave New York tonight. If I see you within a hundred miles of my son again, I will bury you."
Breanna looked at the check on the floor. The ultimate insult. A price tag on her dignity.
She slowly bent down and picked it up. She looked Elliot dead in the eye.
She grabbed the edges of the thick paper—but she didn't rip it.
Instead, she held it up between them. The paper trembled in her fingers—not from weakness, but from the effort of holding back. Her injured palm throbbed. A thin line of blood seeped through the bandage and stained the corner of the check.
"Your money," she said, her voice shaking with absolute defiance, "cannot buy my soul."
She didn't rip it. She didn't need to. She let the check hang in the air between them—an accusation, not an acceptance.
Then she let it fall.
The paper drifted down and landed at Elliot's feet.
The room went silent. Elliot stared at the check on the floor, then at the blood seeping through Breanna's bandage. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
She had made her point without lifting a finger.
