Betrayal to Business Win

I felt weightless for a moment, suspended in disbelief as Marcus's hand left my back. Then gravity claimed me.

The marble stairs of the Sterling mansion rushed up to meet me, each edge striking my body like the keys of a piano playing a violent sonata. One, two, three—I lost count as I tumbled down, my world spinning in a blur of crystal chandeliers and polished banisters.

The final impact came with a sound I'll never forget: the sickening crack of my knee against the Italian marble of the foyer floor.

Pain exploded through my leg, white-hot and all-consuming. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but lie there, gasping like a fish out of water as agony radiated from my shattered knee.

'You should have known better than to compete against Isabella for that contract.' Marcus's voice floated down from above, as cold and hard as the marble beneath me. I forced my eyes open to see him standing at the top of the staircase, his silhouette backlit by the grand chandelier, turning him into a dark shadow against the light. His perfect suit hadn't even wrinkled. 'The Hayes Group account was meant for her boutique firm. Not for you.'

I wanted to explain that I hadn't known Isabella was bidding on the same consulting contract. I wanted to tell him that I'd spent weeks preparing that proposal, that it might finally give me some financial independence from my adoptive family. But all that came out was a whimper as I clutched my knee, feeling the warm wetness of blood seeping through my fingers.

'Marcus, please...' I whispered.

He checked his Patek Philippe watch with casual indifference. 'I have a board meeting. Someone will be along eventually.'

Then he was gone, leaving me alone in the vast, empty foyer, my broken body a stain on the perfect symmetry of his mansion.

I don't remember how long I lay there before the housekeeper found me. I don't remember the ambulance ride. The next clear memory I have is of bright lights and the antiseptic smell of a hospital room.

'Victoria? Can you hear me?'

The voice was gentle, familiar in a way I couldn't immediately place. I blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights of Mount Sinai Hospital, trying to focus on the face hovering above mine.

A pair of kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses came into view. There was something about them—something that pulled at a memory from before everything in my life had fallen apart.

'Ethan?' My voice was raspy, my throat dry. 'Dr. Cross?'

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. 'It's been a long time since Columbia. I was hoping we'd reconnect under better circumstances.'

Ethan Cross. My senior from medical school, before the DNA test had revealed I wasn't a Hayes, before I'd been forced to drop out when the family cut my tuition. Before Marcus had entered my life and consumed it entirely.

'My knee,' I whispered, suddenly remembering why I was here.