I took the fall for Dennis Henson's money-laundering operation. Five years in a women's prison, where they beat me so badly I nearly lost my uterus.
Before I went in, he kissed the shell of my ear and whispered that when I got out, the entire East District would be my wedding gift.
The day I walked free, his motorcade was waiting. And there he stood, in the middle of it all, draping his suit jacket over the shoulders of a rival syndicate's simpering little bastard daughter.
"She's carrying my child. In this line of work, she won't survive without a clean name. You've already got a record, so just hand over the queen's seat to her."
Every man in the Syndicate swallowed hard, certain I was about to pull a trench knife and sever his tendons at the ankle.
Instead, I brushed the dust off my prison uniform and let one word fall, cold as a blade: "Fine."
I turned around and slipped on the wedding ring offered by the Inner Circle's bloodthirsty crown prince himself.
On our wedding night, Dennis knelt on a carpet of broken glass, a gun jammed under his own chin. "You take off one piece of clothing and I'll blow my brains out right here in front of your marriage bed!"
——
"Drive. Don't let the filth outside dirty my eyes."
I leaned back against the Maybach's leather seat, my voice raw.
Beyond the window, Dennis was slamming his palms against the bulletproof glass.
That face of his, always so composed, so calculating, was twisted now. Nothing but shock and panic in his eyes.
Nellie Fox stood where he'd shoved her aside, shivering in the autumn wind, staring in disbelief at the convoy of blacked-out sedans bearing consecutive government plates.
"Margot Delgado! Have you lost your mind? Get the hell out of that car!"
The driver didn't hesitate. He floored it. The V12 engine let out a deep, guttural roar.
The man I'd spent five years protecting with my life shrank into exhaust fumes and dust.
The man sitting beside me took his time peeling off the black leather gloves he always wore, revealing a pair of pale, elegant hands.
Christian Finley. The Inner Circle's infamous crown prince—bloodthirsty, volatile, and utterly unpredictable.
He tossed the gloves aside. Behind gold-rimmed glasses, narrow eyes studied me.
"Ms. Delgado. Right now, you look like an abandoned dog."
He leaned in without warning and seized my chin.
His thumb dragged roughly across my cracked lips, the corner of his mouth curling upward.
"Lucky for you, I have a weakness for picking up feral cats. Especially the bleeding ones."
Pain shot through my jaw, bone grinding against bone. I didn't struggle.
My dead eyes met his dangerous gaze head-on.
Not only did I refuse to flinch—I closed the distance myself, letting my warm breath fall against his throat.
"If Mr. Finley is brave enough to take in a feral cat, isn't he worried I'll tear his throat out?"
I tugged at the corner of my mouth. The movement pulled at the bruise on my cheek.
"Lend me your power. I'm taking back the East District."
A low laugh rumbled from Christian's throat.
He wasn't angry. Not even close. Those long fingers traced down my neck, then wrenched open the thin collar of my prison uniform in one sharp motion.
The sound of tearing fabric was deafening in the sealed cabin.
His gaze darkened as it traveled over the scars scattered across my collarbone and abdomen—souvenirs from prison. Carved into me by people Dennis's rivals had paid off to deliver their revenge.
I'd nearly had my uterus ruptured during a beating that lasted three hours.
"All right. I'll give you everything you want."
Christian pressed his fingers down hard on a wound that hadn't yet healed.
Agony ripped through me. My whole body convulsed, cold sweat soaking through to my spine in an instant.
But he leaned into my ear, his voice tender, his words merciless.
"In return, from this moment on—your life, your bloodline, even every single breath you take—belongs to me."
