The Coldhearted Surgeon's Billionaire Revenge

The driveway to the guest estate was overgrown. Hydrangeas spilled onto the gravel, their heavy heads brushing against the sides of the Audi.

The house was a modest colonial, dark and smelling of damp wood and neglect. It was perfect.

Anya killed the engine. The silence of the woods rushed in to fill the void.

She sat for a moment, waiting for the beta-blocker to take the edge off her tremors.

She grabbed her bag and stepped out. The gravel crunched loudly under her heels.

VROOM.

A low, guttural roar tore through the silence. It sounded like a beast waking up.

Anya jumped, dropping her keys. They landed with a metallic jingle in the dirt.

She spun around.

Through the thin line of hedge that separated the property from the neighbor's lot, she saw light.

The neighboring house wasn't a colonial. It was a fortress of concrete and glass, a brutalist masterpiece perched on the edge of the cliff.

A car was idling in the driveway.

It was silver. Low to the ground. Aerodynamic. A McLaren P1.

The driver's side door scissor-lifted up, looking like the wing of a predatory bird.

A long leg clad in dark trousers stepped out.

Anya squinted against the glare of the security lights.

The man stood up. He stretched, rolling his shoulders.

It was Julian.

Anya's breath hitched. She scrambled for her keys in the dirt, her fingers fumbling.

Julian turned. He looked across the hedge. The distance was less than thirty yards.

He didn't look surprised. He looked like he was expecting her.

He leaned against the low roof of the supercar, crossing his arms. A slow, lazy smile spread across his face.

He didn't speak. He simply watched her scramble, his amusement a palpable force even across the distance.

Anya finally grasped her own keys. She stood up, brushing the dirt from her dress. She felt exposed. Ridiculous.

"Running from the fallout, Doctor?" Julian called out. His voice carried easily in the night air. "Or running towards the war?"

"Stalking is a crime, Vance," she shouted back, her voice lacking the authority she wanted.

"I bought this place a year ago," Julian said, gesturing to the glass fortress. "The cliffside offers an excellent vantage point on the Everett estate. Call it due diligence. You're the one trespassing on my view."

Anya turned and jammed the key into the lock of the front door. It stuck. She jiggled it frantically.

"Need a locksmith?" Julian asked. "I have a multi-tool."

"Go to hell," Anya muttered.

The lock finally clicked. She threw the door open and practically fell inside.

She slammed the door and threw the deadbolt. Then the chain.

She leaned her back against the wood, sliding down until she hit the floor.

Her heart was hammering again.

It wasn't a coincidence. It couldn't be. Julian Vance, the man who held her leash, the man who terrified Bentley, had been waiting for her.

She crawled to the window and peeked through the dusty blinds.

Julian was still standing there. He had walked to the edge of his property and was now leaning against the hedge, looking directly at her house. He lit a cigarette, the cherry glowing bright red in the darkness.

He knew she was watching.