Harper pressed her hands flat against the freezing concrete steps. She tried to push herself up. The torn skin on her knees burned like fire. She sucked in a sharp breath.
She crawled forward and started picking up the scattered pages of her proposal. The sharp edge of a paper sliced across her index finger. A drop of blood fell onto the white sheet.
Her phone vibrated violently inside her bag. The ringtone sounded unnaturally loud.
She leaned against a metal streetlight pole and answered it. Chloe's voice came through the speaker, thick with tears. "Boss, you need to look at Twitter right now."
Harper opened the app. A high-definition video of Chase filled the screen.
Chase stood in front of a microphone. He looked deeply sad. He told the reporters that Harper's aggressive behavior had caused Lila to lose the baby.
Blood rushed to Harper's head. The pressure behind her eyes was blinding. The Young family was using her as a human shield to protect their stock prices.
A white van slammed on its brakes right in front of her. The side door slid open with a loud crash. Six paparazzi jumped out, holding massive cameras.
The flashbulbs exploded in Harper's face like machine-gun fire. The reporters shoved their microphones inches from her mouth.
"Ms. Ryan, how does it feel to kill your husband's baby?" a man screamed at her.
Harper stepped backward. The reporters pushed forward. Her back slammed hard against the brick wall of the building. She had nowhere to go.
Thunder cracked loudly above them. The sky opened up. Freezing, heavy rain poured down, soaking everyone in seconds.
A reporter shoved his camera forward. The heavy plastic lens smashed directly into the bruise on Harper's forehead. The skin split open. Warm blood mixed with the cold rain and ran down into her eye.
She held her bag up to shield her face. She tried to push through the wall of bodies. A large hand grabbed the collar of her suit jacket and yanked her backward.
Harper's wet shoes slipped on the pavement. She lost her balance and fell toward the dirty, flooded street. Panic closed her throat.
She did not hit the ground. A strong hand, wrapped in expensive leather, clamped around her upper arm like a vice.
Harper gasped and looked up. A massive black umbrella blocked the rain and the flashes.
Two huge bodyguards with blank faces shoved the paparazzi backward, physically tearing a path through the crowd.
The black Maybach was parked silently at the curb. The rear door was wide open, looking like a dark cave.
The bodyguard holding Harper did not speak. He pulled her forward and shoved her roughly into the back seat of the car.
The heavy door slammed shut. The noise of the rain, the screaming reporters, and the flashes instantly vanished.
Harper fell against the soft leather seat. The air inside the car smelled faintly of cedarwood and expensive cologne.
She gasped for air, her chest heaving. She turned her head. Antoni Donovan sat next to her. His legs were crossed. He held a crystal glass of whiskey in one hand.
Antoni did not look at her. He lifted his chin and spoke to the driver. "Drive."
The Maybach pulled smoothly away from the curb. The absolute silence and safety of the car caused the tight string holding Harper's sanity together to snap.
The exhaustion, the severe stomach pain, and the high fever from the freezing rain hit her all at once. Her vision blurred into gray static.
She opened her mouth to say thank you. Her throat was so swollen only a broken rasp came out. Her body went completely limp, and she fell sideways.
Antoni slammed his glass down. He reached out with both arms and caught her burning body before she hit the floor.
Right before Harper lost consciousness, she felt a cool, dry hand press gently against her bleeding forehead. The touch was shockingly tender.
Antoni looked down at the woman passed out in his arms. He brushed the wet hair from her bleeding forehead with a shockingly gentle touch. For a moment, the icy control in his expression cracked, replaced by a raw, possessive darkness before he masked it again.
