A sharp cramp in Caroline's stomach woke her up.
She groaned, peeling her face off the rough fabric of the sofa. Her entire body felt like it had been hit by a truck.
She dragged herself into the tiny, cramped bathroom. She turned on the faucet and splashed freezing water onto her face, scrubbing her skin until it was raw, trying to wash away the lingering scent of cedar and mint.
When she looked up at the cracked mirror, she froze.
Right on her collarbone, glaring against her pale skin, was a dark purple bruise. A hickey.
Heat exploded in her cheeks. Her stomach twisted with fresh humiliation.
She grabbed her cheap concealer and aggressively dabbed it over the mark, pressing so hard her skin burned. She just wanted to erase it.
She threw on a pair of baggy jeans and an oversized gray hoodie, grabbed her keys and wallet, and headed downstairs.
She pushed open the glass door of the independent corner coffee shop. The familiar, comforting smell of roasted beans and burnt sugar made the tight knot in her shoulders loosen slightly.
She stood in line, mindlessly looking out the large front window at the street.
Her hand reached into her hoodie pocket, her fingers brushing against empty air. A sudden, sickening realization hit her. Last night, she had shoved the coffee shop's distinctive punch card and a recent receipt into her dress pocket-the same dress she had abandoned on his hotel floor. He had her name from the card. He knew exactly where she spent her mornings.
Then, her blood ran cold.
A massive, pitch-black Maybach was parked illegally right in front of the coffee shop, completely blocking the crosswalk.
The rear door swung open.
He stepped out. He was wearing a perfectly tailored, charcoal-gray bespoke suit. He looked like a god stepping onto the dirty Brooklyn pavement.
Caroline gasped, sucking in a sharp breath of air. She immediately dropped into a crouch, trying to make herself as small as possible behind the glass pastry display case.
The bell above the door chimed cheerfully.
He walked in. The sheer, overwhelming power of his presence made the noisy coffee shop fall dead silent for a full second.
His sharp, predatory eyes scanned the room like a radar. They locked onto the small, trembling figure huddled behind the croissants with terrifying precision.
He walked straight toward her. He ignored the stares of the other customers.
He stopped right in front of the display case. The polished tip of his expensive leather shoe was inches from Caroline's knee.
"Do you find this game of hide-and-seek amusing?" his deep, mocking voice floated down to her.
Caroline had nowhere to run. Her lungs burned as she forced herself to stand up. She dusted off her jeans with shaking hands and glared at him.
"How did you find me?" she hissed through gritted teeth, keeping her voice low.
He didn't answer. Instead, a man in a sharp suit-his assistant-stepped up beside him and handed him a thick, heavy black folder.
He slammed the folder down onto the empty table next to them. The sound made Caroline jump.
Printed in bold, black letters across the top page were the words: Lawsuit for Damages.
Caroline frowned. She reached out with trembling fingers and flipped open the cover. Her eyes widened as she read the first paragraph. It made absolutely no sense.
He planted both hands on the table, leaning in close.
"The security cameras in the VIP corridor captured everything last night," he stated, his tone deadpan and completely serious.
Caroline stared at him, her mouth hanging open.
"They recorded you entering my private suite uninvited," he continued smoothly. "Given my position, my security team has already compiled a dossier that frames this as a calculated act of corporate espionage and extortion. And this morning, your actions constituted fleeing the scene of a severe crime."
Caroline let out a loud, incredulous bark of laughter. "Are you insane? That is the most ridiculous, shameless lie I have ever heard in my life!"
He snapped his fingers.
The assistant immediately hauled in a massive stack of legal files and high-resolution surveillance photographs, dropping them onto the table.
He flipped open the top file. It was stamped with the official seals of three different top-tier law firms in Manhattan. The legal jargon was dense, but the threat was clear.
"I have the evidence to bury you," he said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "If you do not marry me today, my legal team will ensure this lawsuit is on the front page of every newspaper in New York by tomorrow morning."
He leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear. "I will bankrupt you. The legal fees alone will destroy the middle-class life your parents spent thirty years building in the suburbs. They will lose their house within a week."
The anger in Caroline's chest evaporated, instantly replaced by a suffocating, icy terror.
She looked into his cold, ruthless eyes. He wasn't bluffing. He had the money to destroy her family just for fun.
She looked out the window at the million-dollar car. She had messed with a man who existed in a stratosphere of power she couldn't even comprehend.
Her psychological defenses shattered.
Her eyes filled with hot, angry tears. Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth so hard.
"Fine," she choked out, her voice breaking. "I'll marry you."
