Chapter Twelve

They wanted to break me.

It didn't take a genius to figure out the brothers' strategy. If they couldn't legally fight the Board of Directors, they would simply make my life such a living hell that I would hand back the "Social Liaison" clipboards, pack my bags, and beg to be sent back to the slums.

The retaliation started at 8:00 AM sharp. As the newly appointed image manager, my first task was simple on paper: collect their schedules and wardrobe preferences for Friday’s Founders Gala.

In reality, it was like walking into a minefield with a target painted on my back.

I started with Kai. His domain was the sub-basement of the penthouse, a high-tech cavern of server racks, glowing blue LED lights, and a hum so loud it vibrated in my teeth. When I stepped inside, the temperature plummeted. It felt like walking into a meat locker.

"Kai?" I called out, shivering instantly in my blazer. "I need your itinerary for Friday."

Kai didn't look up from his multi-monitor setup. He was typing with a furious, rhythmic speed, his sharp profile illuminated by the harsh glow of the screens. "The itinerary is locked on the secure server. If you want it, d******d it yourself."

I stepped closer, my breath forming a faint mist in the air. "You know I don't have the access codes."

"Then I guess you fail your first day," he hissed, finally stopping his typing to look at me. His cold, dark eyes held a wicked glint of amusement. "Unless, of course, you want to earn it. There are three hundred hard-drive logs from last quarter's security sweep in those boxes by the door. Manually file them by serial number, and maybe I’ll give you the password."

"It's freezing in here, Kai. Are you insane?"

"It keeps the servers from overheating," he said, leaning back in his ergonomic chair and crossing his arms. He looked devastatingly handsome, like a rogue hacker from a movie, but his arrogance was suffocating. "And it keeps unwanted guests from staying too long. Start sorting, Variable. Or go tell Lucien you're too fragile for the job."

"Stop using the stupid nickname on me"

"You're a Variable until you fit, which I doubt you ever will."

My jaw clenched. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of running. For two grueling hours, my fingers turned numb and blue as I dragged heavy, frozen metal cases across the concrete floor, meticulously organizing his data logs while he watched me like a scientist observing a lab rat. When I finally finished, his lips thinned into an annoyed line. He spat out a ten-digit alphanumeric code without a single word of thanks.

But the hazing wasn't over.

By noon, Theo had summoned me to a private, high-end boutique downtown for his fitting. He was waiting for me in a velvet armchair, sipping champagne while a team of nervous tailors fussed over his silk suit.

"Ah, the manager arrives!" Theo chirped, his smile bright and blinding. But the warmth didn't reach his eyes. "You look terrible, Scarlett. Did Kai leave you in the freezer?"

"I'm fine," I said through chattering teeth. "I need you to sign off on the color palette for the family block."

"Of course, of course. But first you need to look the part," Theo said, waving a hand dramatically toward a dressing room. "If you're going to be walking on my arm, you can't wear that tragic department-store blazer. I had the designer pull something special for you. Go on. Put it on."

I should have known it was a trap.

The dress was a monstrosity. It was a heavy, suffocatingly tight, neon-pink tulle gown that looked like a Victorian ballgown met a rave. It was impossible to breathe in, let alone walk, and the bright, garish color practically screamed for negative attention.

When I stumbled out of the dressing room, fighting the heavy layers of fabric, the boutique was completely empty.

The tailors were gone. Theo was gone.

And so was my purse, my phone, and my coat.

A sleek piece of stationery was left on the velvet armchair. In Theo’s elegant, looping handwriting, it read: A little lesson in high fashion, little bird. Let's see if your image can survive a six-block walk back to the penthouse in the rain.

Outside, the sky had broken. A cold, relentless downpour was slamming into the pavement.

I stood under the boutique’s awning, my hands shaking with a volatile mixture of rage and humiliation. The heavy tulle was already soaking up the moisture from the air, dragging me down. I had no money for a cab, no phone to call for help, and six long, miserable blocks of public embarrassment ahead of me.

They think they can break me, I thought, a hot tear of anger slipping down my cheek, immediately washed away by the mist. They think I'm just a weak girl from the Eclipse.

I took a deep breath, stepping out into the pouring rain, the heavy neon pink fabric trailing in the puddles as pedestrians stared and whispered. My feet burned in my heels, the cold water soaking into my skin. I made it exactly two blocks before my heel snapped on a cracked sidewalk, sending me splashing into the wet asphalt.

I sat there in the dirt, ruined, freezing, and utterly defeated.

The splash of tires cutting through a deep puddle sounded to my left. A sleek, armored black SUV pulled up to the curb, its tinted windows rolling down with a smooth, mechanical hiss.

Damon.

He sat in the plush leather interior, completely dry, a cigarette resting between his lips. He looked out at my pathetic, rain-drenched form, his gaze raking over the ridiculous pink tulle and the mud staining my knees. A slow, dark smirk pulled at the corner of his lips.

He didn't look pitying. He looked amused.

"The others play childish games, Scarlett," Damon said, his deep, gravelly voice cutting through the sound of the rain. He leaned over, opening the passenger door from the inside, revealing the inviting, heated interior of the vehicle. "I don't. Get in the car, or let the city swallow you whole."

I looked at his outstretched hand, covered in the dark ink of his tattoos, and then back down at the muddy street. I knew entering his car meant stepping directly into the predator's jaws. But right now, the cold was biting deeper than his threats.