The Range Rover pulled into the private alley behind a three-Michelin-star restaurant.
A bodyguard escorted Briana through the heavy steel back doors, leading her down a hallway lined with thick, sound-absorbing velvet carpets.
He pushed open a massive oak door. Inside the private dining room, low cello music played. Clark sat at the head of a long, black walnut table, slowly swirling a glass of dark red wine.
Briana intentionally dragged her feet, emphasizing her limp as she walked into the room. She kept her shoulders hunched, playing the terrified victim.
Clark didn't even look up. He picked up a thick manila envelope and tossed it onto the table. It hit the wood with a heavy smack.
Briana stopped. She stared at the envelope, her heart beating a rapid rhythm against her ribs. She calculated exactly how much he could have found out in an hour.
Clark tilted his chin toward the file. "Open it."
Briana bit her lower lip, letting her hand tremble as she reached out. She unwound the string and pulled out the papers.
The first page was a copy of Doyle's gambling debts from an underground casino. Attached to it was the transaction record of Doyle selling her to Preston for ten thousand dollars.
Briana forced her pupils to dilate. She let the tears spill over her lashes. Her shoulders began to shake violently.
She clutched the papers to her chest, her knees buckling. She collapsed into the chair, letting out a stifled, agonizing sob.
Clark watched her performance with dead, cold eyes. "You stabbed a man in the shoulder with broken glass and nearly severed his artery," he stated, his voice devoid of any pity.
The lie was exposed. Briana's crying stopped instantly. She lowered the papers. She looked up at him, the fake tears gone, replaced by the cornered, feral glare of a trapped animal.
Before she could speak, her stomach let out a loud, aggressive growl.
The sound shattered the heavy tension in the room. Briana's face flushed hot red. She dropped the file and stared directly at the steaming plate of Beef Wellington sitting in the center of the table.
Clark let out a short, humorless scoff. He gestured to the food. "Eat."
Briana didn't hesitate. She grabbed a fork and knife and tore into the expensive meat. She shoved huge pieces into her mouth, chewing with her mouth open, letting the rich gravy smear across her chin.
She ate like a starving dog. It was repulsive. It completely shattered any lingering illusion Clark might have had that this girl shared anything in common with the elegant, refined Imogen.
Clark watched her, a flicker of cold disappointment settling in his eyes. The absurd hope that had sparked in the car was irrational. This girl's desperation was raw, her vulgarity a harsh product of her environment. Whatever fleeting resemblance he had imagined was just that-a phantom conjured by his own mind. He would use her as a pawn, and when he was done, he would discard her. The mystery of her familiar gaze could wait.
Briana swallowed the last piece of meat. She grabbed a glass of lemon water and downed it in one gulp. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing the grease further.
Her eyes were now crystal clear and sharp.
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "I need your protection."
Clark leaned back in his chair, looking at her like she was a joke. "And why would I protect a slum girl with a murder charge hanging over her head?"
Briana's hands gripped the edge of the table. "Because you are being suffocated by your family's pressure to marry."
She stated the name of the socialite he was supposed to meet tonight-a detail she had deduced from her past life. She knew the Ellis matriarch's obsessive habits; the old woman always scheduled Clark's mandatory dates on the last Friday of the month, and she had caught a fleeting glimpse of a text notification flashing on Clark's phone screen earlier that confirmed the target.
The temperature in the room plummeted. Clark's eyes narrowed into lethal slits. Murderous intent rolled off him in waves.
Briana fought the urge to shrink back. Her palms were sweating, but she held his gaze. "I can be your perfect shield. I'll get rid of any woman you don't want to deal with."
She leaned closer. "Keep me alive, and I'll sign whatever contract you want. I'll be your most obedient dog."
Clark stared at her. His long fingers began to tap rhythmically against the armrest of his chair. Tap. Tap. Tap.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
Suddenly, Clark's phone buzzed on the table. It was a text from his grandmother, demanding to know why he was late for his date.
A flash of pure annoyance crossed Clark's face. He flipped the phone face down. The corner of his mouth twitched upward into a cruel smirk.
"One month," Clark said, his voice like cracking ice. "You have a one-month trial. Starting tonight. You will get rid of the woman waiting for me."
Briana's lungs finally expanded. She stood up, grabbed the sides of her filthy jeans, and did a mocking, exaggerated curtsy. "Consider it done."
