The black Bentley Mulsanne skidded to a halt on the wet asphalt.
The rear window lowered silently, revealing a face carved from stone. Dominic Knight's gray eyes, cold as the winter sea, surveyed the scene without a flicker of emotion.
"Handle it," he said to his driver, his voice flat.
The driver immediately got out, opened a large black umbrella, and hurried to Chloe's side.
"Sir, it's a young woman. She's still breathing."
Dominic's gaze fell upon the girl on the ground. She was soaked, her brown hair plastered to a face that was pale as death.
Then his eyes locked onto something familiar.
The engagement ring on her left hand. It was a custom Knight family design, one he had commissioned himself for his feckless nephew, Branden.
So, this was her. Chloe Hayes.
A barely perceptible arch of his eyebrow was his only reaction.
"Get Julian," he said. The order was quiet, but it changed everything. Julian Sullivan was his personal physician.
The driver hesitated for a fraction of a second. The usual protocol was an ambulance, a police report. But an order from Dominic Knight was absolute. He immediately made the call.
Dominic opened his own door and stepped out into the rain. The driver rushed to hold the umbrella over his head.
He walked to where Chloe lay and looked down at her. Raindrops clung to her eyelashes like tiny, broken diamonds.
He bent down and lifted her into his arms.
She was light, her body cold from the rain. A faint scent of vanilla and something floral rose from her skin.
The driver watched, his face a mask of shock. In all his years of service, he had never seen his boss touch a woman, let alone with such care.
"Head over to my apartment.," Dominic said, settling into the backseat with Chloe in his arms.
The Bentley pulled away from the curb, melting back into the New York night. Inside, Dominic looked down at the unconscious girl, his gray eyes unreadable.
The car descended into the secure garage of a private skyscraper, Dominic's fortress in the city. He carried Chloe through a private elevator that opened directly into his home.
The penthouse was a study in black, white, and gray. It was vast, minimalist, and as cold as its owner.
He laid her gently on the enormous black bed in the master suite. Her wet clothes left a dark stain on the thousand-thread-count sheets. He didn't seem to notice.
Moments later, Julian Sullivan arrived, medical bag in hand.
"Dominic, a late-night call? I thought you'd finally worked yourself into a heart attack," Julian said, then whistled softly as he saw the girl on the bed. "Or did you finally decide to acquire a new, more interesting asset?"
Dominic ignored the jibe. "My car struck her. Check her thoroughly–no shortcuts."
Julian's playful demeanor vanished. He set down his bag and began a meticulous assessment. First, he took her blood pressure and pulse, noting the rhythm and strength. Then he shone a penlight into each eye, checking pupillary response to light and accommodation.
All the while, he asked the driver for the exact impact speed and angle. After nearly twenty minutes of systematic evaluation, he finally straightened up.
"She'll be fine," he announced. "Some soft-tissue contusions and a superficial gash, no skull fracture, no internal bleeding, and her vitals are stable. But I want to monitor her for the next few hours for any delayed complications. Let her rest."
Dominic's gaze lingered on Chloe's pale lips and the slight frown creasing her brow. She seemed troubled, even in sleep.
"So, who is she?" Julian asked, packing his bag. "Not your usual type."
"My nephew's fiancée," Dominic replied, pouring himself a whiskey at the bar.
Julian's eyebrows shot up. "Branden's? I heard his fiancée was some prim and proper society girl. What was she doing playing chicken in traffic in the middle of the night?"
Dominic didn't answer. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, thinking of the rumors he'd heard about Branden wanting to break the engagement for another woman.
An idea began to form in his mind, sharp and clear.
This discarded fiancée... she could be a useful piece on the board.
Or, at the very least, an interesting diversion.
Just then, Chloe stirred on the bed. A soft moan escaped her lips, her eyelashes fluttering.
"I'll see myself out," Julian said, taking the hint. "Call me if anything changes."
The door clicked shut, leaving Dominic and Chloe alone in the cavernous suite. He walked to the bedside and watched her.
Slowly, her eyes opened.
The first thing she saw was an unfamiliar ceiling. The second was the tall, imposing figure of a man standing over her, silhouetted against the dim light like a king of the shadows.
