Bridget unlocked the door to the Upper East Side penthouse she shared with her mother. She kicked off her heels, her feet aching. She just wanted to pour a glass of wine and sleep for twelve hours.
The motion-sensor lights in the living room flicked on. Bridget stopped dead in her tracks.
Sitting on the white leather sofa was a man in a sharp gray suit. He turned his head. His face shared the same sharp jawline as hers, but his eyes were entirely cold. It was Hall Vincent. Her biological father.
Bridget's body went completely rigid.
"How did you get past the security downstairs?"
Hall picked up a crystal whiskey glass from the coffee table. He swirled the amber liquid slowly.
"With enough money, there isn't a door in New York that stays closed to me."
Bridget dropped her bag and walked toward the intercom on the wall.
"I am calling building security."
"Save your breath," Hall said sharply. "The property manager works for me now. I am here to tell you something that affects the survival of this family."
Bridget stopped, her hand hovering over the button. She turned to face him, her nails digging into her palms.
"Get out of my house. You have no right to be here."
Hall stood up. He placed the crystal glass down with a heavy thud. He walked toward her, his face twisted in anger.
"I heard what you did at the restaurant today. Throwing water on David? Canceling the engagement? You are acting like a stupid child."
Bridget's eyes widened. "You had me followed?"
"I have to protect the Vincent interests. I need David's family to secure the key technology licensing from Jiawei Bio in the upcoming merger. You will go to him tomorrow, apologize, and put that ring back on your finger."
Bile rose in Bridget's throat. She looked at the man who had abandoned her and her mother twenty years ago.
"You threw us away like garbage. You don't get to walk in here and sell me to fix your business mistakes."
Hall's face turned purple. He raised his hand high, ready to strike her across the face.
Bridget did not blink. She lifted her chin, staring right into his eyes.
"Hit me. The photos of my bruised face will be on the front page of the Wall Street Journal tomorrow morning."
Hall's hand froze in the air. His jaw twitched. He slowly lowered his arm, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.
"If you do as you are told, I might consider officially acknowledging you during the winter social season. You won't be a bastard anymore."
"Keep your dirty last name. I don't want it."
Hall lost the last bit of his patience. He stepped directly into her personal space.
"If you don't fix this with David, I will launch a hostile takeover of your mother's company by Friday. I will strip her of everything she has built."
Bridget's pupils contracted violently. Her hands curled into tight fists. Her mother's company was Cherrie's entire life.
Before Bridget could speak, a terrible, tearing sound echoed from the dark hallway. It was a violent, wet cough.
The master bedroom door opened. Cherrie Rostova walked out. She wore a silk robe. Her face was as pale as paper, but her eyes were sharp like broken glass. She walked straight past Hall and stood in front of Bridget, shielding her daughter with her thin body.
Cherrie looked at her ex-husband. Her hands smoothed down the front of her robe, a gesture she always made when she was in pain. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small black panic button.
"I pressed this three minutes ago, Hall."
Hall frowned, his arrogant posture slipping slightly. "Cherrie, I am doing this for her own good."
"You are doing this because you are short fifty million dollars for your buyout," Cherrie said coldly.
The front door of the penthouse burst open. Two massive private security guards rushed into the living room.
Cherrie pointed a shaking finger at Hall.
"Throw this trespasser out."
Hall adjusted his suit jacket. He glared at Cherrie, then at Bridget.
"You will both regret this."
He turned and walked out, followed closely by the guards. The heavy door slammed shut. The apartment fell into a dead silence.
Bridget let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She turned to her mother.
"Mom, what did he mean about the hostile takeover? Is the company-"
Cherrie's knees suddenly buckled. She collapsed forward, her hands flying to her mouth. A horrific coughing fit ripped through her chest.
Bridget rushed forward, catching her mother's shoulders. Cherrie pulled her hands away from her mouth, gasping for air.
Bridget looked down. Smeared across Cherrie's pale fingers was thick, bright red blood.
