Chapter 2

My suitcase hit the marble with a crack like a gunshot.

Ethan spun around, his shirt open and his golden hair a mess. For one second, he looked scared.

"Ivy? What the hell are you doing here?"

The woman sat up slowly. She had glossy black hair and red lips, and she didn't even bother to cover herself. She slid into a silk robe and looked me over like I was something stuck to her shoe.

"Who's this?" she asked.

Then she spotted the letter in my hand and laughed.

"Oh my God. You're the farm girl. The little fiancée from Montana." She lifted her left hand. A diamond the size of a grape caught the light. "Sorry, sweetie. You're a little late."

My voice came out broken. "You're married?"

Ethan tucked in his shirt and hooked an arm around her waist. Just like that, his fear was gone.

"Chloe Whitmore," he said. "My wife. Her father is Police Commissioner Whitmore."

"No." I shoved the letter at him. "You wrote this. You promised. I sold Dad's ranch for you, Ethan. The land, the house, his truck, all of it. Every cent went into your company."

He took the letter, glanced at it, and let it drop to the floor.

"It's just paper, Ivy."

"Yeah," Chloe purred, waving her ring. "This is what counts."

I remembered the bus station five years ago. I'd handed him a shoebox full of everything my father had left me.

"Is it enough?"

"Babe, I'll build an empire with this. Then I'm marrying you."

Something inside me went cold and very quiet.

"I want it back," I said. "All of it. The money, the condo, the company shares. Everything you bought with my father's life."

Ethan actually laughed. "You gave it to me. There's no loan agreement and no contract. Good luck proving anything."

"Then I'll go to the press. I'll tell everyone how the great Ethan Brooks built his company by robbing his fiancée."

Crack.

Chloe's palm hit my cheek so hard I went down. I tasted blood.

"Try it," she hissed. "My father owns every cop in this city. You'll be in a cell before your story hits a blog."

Ethan crouched beside me. His voice was soft and cruel. "You've got nothing, Ivy. No family, no money, no witnesses. One phone call and you'll never work as a nurse in Illinois again."

Chloe dug into her purse, pulled out a fistful of crumpled bills, and threw them in my face.

"Here's a tip. Take the bus back to your cows."

The bills fluttered down around me.

I stood up, picked up the letter, and tore it in half, then into quarters, then into confetti. I let it rain over their perfect shoes.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said. "You owe me. And I'm going to collect every last cent."

Ethan's face turned purple. He grabbed my wrist, dragged me across the foyer, and threw me out the front doors of his building.

"Then beg on the street!"

I tumbled down the steps into a downpour. My suitcase burst open. My things scattered into the gutter: my scrubs, my mother's photo, and the last twenty dollars I owned, floating in a puddle.

The doors locked behind me.

I knelt in the rain and reached for the soggy bill with shaking fingers, and I finally let myself cry.

Then the rain stopped.

Not everywhere. Just over me.

A black umbrella hovered above my head. Behind it, a black Rolls-Royce idled at the curb, and somewhere down the block, a line of dark SUVs was pulling away into the night.

I looked up.

Blue eyes. A sharp jaw. A familiar, lazy smile.

"Well," the stranger said softly. "Looks like my nurse's fiancé threw her out with the trash."