The True Heiress Leaves The Billionaire

Jett sat in the back of the black Lincoln Town Car parked outside the hospital.

He yanked the collar of his shirt open. He grabbed the crystal decanter from the armrest, poured a heavy measure of Scotch, and downed it in one burning swallow.

The ice cubes clinked sharply against the glass.

He pressed the intercom button on the privacy partition.

"Alex," Jett snapped.

His executive assistant, sitting in the front seat, immediately answered. "Yes, Mr. Holder."

"I want a full background check on a doctor at Presbyterian. Finn Sandoval. I want to know everything about him by tomorrow morning," Jett ordered.

There was a brief silence. The sound of rapid typing echoed through the speaker.

"Sir," Alex's voice came back, sounding tense. "I don't need until tomorrow. The name Sandoval is heavily flagged in our database."

Jett crushed the empty glass in his hand. "Explain."

"He's not just a surgeon," Alex said. "He's the third-generation heir to the Sandoval Medical Group in Boston. They control half the private hospitals on the East Coast."

Jett's jaw locked. His eyes turned pitch black.

"No wonder he had the nerve to touch her," Jett muttered to himself.

Before he could give another order, his private phone buzzed sharply. It was Miriam. He swiped to answer. "I saw the hospital logs," his mother's icy voice clipped through the speaker. "A public brawl with the Mckees? Fix this mess, Jett, or I will step in." She hung up before he could respond, leaving the line dead.

He pressed the button again. "Put a tail on Sandoval. If he goes anywhere near Calista again, I want to know instantly."

Back up in the hospital, the door to Calista's private room was suddenly shoved open.

Zara Vance, Calista's college roommate, stormed into the room. She was wearing heavy combat boots and a leather jacket. Gripped tightly in her right hand was a solid aluminum baseball bat.

Zara took one look at Calista-the blood-soaked dress, the thick bandage on her head, the dead look in her eyes-and dropped the bat. It clattered loudly against the floor.

Zara ran to the bed and threw her arms around Calista, pulling her into a fierce, tight hug.

"That blind, arrogant piece of shit!" Zara screamed, tears streaming down her face. "And Bo Mckee! I'm going to cave his skull in!"

Calista buried her face in Zara's shoulder. The dam broke. She sobbed until her ribs ached and she couldn't pull air into her lungs.

Zara rubbed her back, her own jaw set with furious determination.

"You are done," Zara said firmly. "You are not going back to that house."

Zara reached into her leather jacket and pulled out a sleek, black business card. She pressed it firmly into Calista's palm.

"This is the best divorce attorney in Manhattan," Zara said.

Calista looked down at the card. Her fingers started to tremble.

The image of Miriam Holder's cold face flashed in her mind.

"I can't," Calista whispered, panic rising in her throat. "The prenup. If I file, I leave with absolutely nothing. They will blackball me. I won't even be able to rent an apartment."

Zara slammed her hand against the metal bedrail.

"I don't care if we have to waitress in a diner in Brooklyn!" Zara yelled. "It's better than staying here and letting them kill you!"

Zara took a deep breath, calming her voice.

"When I got the call from that doctor-Finn-I thought my heart was going to stop," Zara said. "He told me to give you a message."

Calista looked up, her eyes wide.

"He said if you need legal protection, or a place to hide, he has the resources to make you disappear," Zara said.

Calista stared at the wall. A stranger. A man she had met two hours ago was offering her a lifeline, while her husband had thrown her to the wolves.

Deep in the frozen wasteland of her chest, a tiny, desperate seed of rebellion took root.