"Finally, I've got her sorted out."
Preston loosened his tie and plopped down into a leather armchair in the private lounge next to the ballroom. Annelise immediately came to his side, her small hands gently massaging his shoulders.
“You’ve suffered so much,” she said softly, her voice full of sympathy, “to have been humiliated like that. She’s so shameless.”
Preston leaned back and closed his eyes. He felt nothing for Chloe. No pity, no anger, only a profound sense of relief. He was free.
The lounge door flung open, and Arthur Miller, the Carlisle family's security chief, rushed in, pale and sweating profusely. "Mr. Carlisle," he gasped, his voice strained with panic.
“What’s wrong, Arthur?” Preston asked, annoyed at being interrupted.
"It's Miss Chloe."
Annalise's hand froze on Preston's shoulder.
Arthur swallowed hard. “Someone saw her leave the women’s restroom with two men. They forced her into a service elevator. We have reason to believe she was taken away.” He lowered his voice. “It was Orion’s men.”
The name echoed in the room like a heavy blow. Preston jumped to his feet. Orion. The name was the subject of ghost stories in New York's boardrooms and back alleys.
An invisible and untouchable king controls the city's underworld with absolute authority. Even powerful families like the Carlisle know not to provoke him.
“What’s going on? What does he want?” Preston asked, his voice trembling slightly.
“He sent a message,” Arthur said, glancing at Annalise, who was beginning to tremble. “He wants,” he paused, taking a deep breath, “Miss Chloe Jennings.”
Preston stared at him, his face turning deathly pale. For a moment, the room fell silent.
He recalled Chloe's disfigured face flashing through his mind, and felt a surge of intense disgust.
The hesitation lasted only three seconds.
He couldn't possibly offend the king for the sake of a woman.
“Do as he says,” Preston said, his voice flat and cold. “Give him what he wants.”
“Sir,” Arthur protested, his professional duty clashing with shock, “Miss Chloe is still your fiancée in name only. To just hand her over like this… this scandal…”
"The engagement is over!" Preston snapped, his patience completely gone. "She's a shameful, degenerate woman. She's not worth the risk."
Meanwhile, Chloe was being escorted out of the hotel by two uniformed security guards. They didn't touch her, but their very presence was a clear, humiliating message. They opened the grand doors, and she stumbled up the cold marble steps like a piece of trash tossed out for recycling.
The night air was icy cold, seeping through her thin, tattered dress. Several passersby stared at her, their curiosity quickly turning into judgment. She took out her phone, her fingers trembling from the cold screen. She tried to call her father. Blocked. Her mother. Blocked. Preston. Blocked.
A pure, unreserved cry of despair escaped her lips.
She slumped onto the steps, hugging her knees, trying to shrink herself down. The aftereffects of the medication still churned in her stomach, and a chill ran deep into her bones.
Three black Cadillac Escalades were parked on the side of the road, their engines unusually quiet. The doors opened simultaneously, and several tall men in dark suits stepped out. The man in the lead was tall and imposing, his face seemingly sculpted from granite.
“Miss Jennings,” he said, his voice devoid of any emotion, “my employer wants to speak with you.” His name was Rhys Knight, though she wouldn’t know that for a long time.
Chloe scrambled backward on all fours, crawling up the steps like a crab. "Who are you? Don't touch me!"
Just then, the hotel doors opened again. Preston and Arthur Miller walked up to her.
“Preston!” Chloe cried, a desperate hope welling up inside her. He was her fiancé. He had loved her. He wouldn't let this happen. “Preston, save me! These people—”
Preston's gaze met hers for a fleeting moment, then quickly averted. He couldn't bear to look at her. He spoke to the sidewalk, his voice cold and distant. "Chloe, this is your trouble. You need to sort it out yourself."
The hope in her heart turned to ice. "What...what are you saying?"
He finally looked at her, his expression hard and cruel—a performance for the men in black suits. "You were too reckless. You messed with the wrong people. Now they're here to collect." He took a step back, creating distance between them.
"You brought this on yourself."
These words weren't just hurtful. They utterly destroyed her. They burned away all their memories of the past years, every shared laugh, every whispered promise.
Rhys Knight's men didn't say another word. They stepped forward and grabbed Chloe's arms with an iron grip. She screamed, kicked, and fought back with a wild and desperate force.
"Preston, no! Please!"
Her struggles were futile. They dragged her toward the open door of the middle Cadillac Escalade.
Annalise gave her a smug look, then threw herself into Preston's outstretched arms as if she were startled by the sight.
He hugged her tightly, stroking her hair and whispering words of comfort. He held her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.
And he never looked back at Chloe.
The heavy car door slammed shut, plunging her into darkness and silence. Her will to resist vanished. She slumped against the leather seat, powerless and empty. Love, hope, and her belief that she was important to everyone in the world—all of it had vanished in that one, final, cruel moment.
