Chapter 2Tethered to His Heartbeat

Franklin, Wyatt’s chief of staff, burst into the room, drenched in sweat, his tie completely askew.

The moment his eyes found the tear track on my cheek, his face drained of all color.

In his trembling hand, his phone screen flashed with real-time biometric data streamed from overseas.

Wyatt’s heart rate had plunged to forty-two beats per minute.

"Miss—Miss Caldwell, you can't touch Nora. I beg of you," Franklin panted, practically gasping for air. "If she’s unhappy... Mr. Landry... he really will..."

"He'll what? Fly back across the ocean to strike me?" Isabel raised an eyebrow, amused. "He barely even looks at you people. You think you can use his name to scare me?"

"No, you don't understand—"

Franklin's face flushed a deep, terrified purple. His lips trembled, but the words died in his throat. He couldn't break the non-disclosure agreement.

"I’m begging you."

With a dull thud, Franklin dropped to his knees, his forehead hitting the marble floor.

"Just let Miss Webb watch a funny video. Ten minutes. That's all she needs to reset. Please, Miss Caldwell, this is a matter of life and death."

Isabel looked down at him, a slow, cruel smirk spreading across her lips.

"An employee, kneeling on the floor, begging me to let some mistress watch comedy videos? What exactly is the relationship between the two of you?"

"Are you sleeping together? Huh? Shacking up in Wyatt's mansion behind his back?"

"No! That's not true! Don't say such things—"

"I'm lying?" Isabel kicked Franklin away. "Wyatt goes out of town and you show up. She cries and you're on your knees. Who would believe you're innocent?"

She nodded toward her bodyguards.

"Break his leg. Use that golf club over there."

One of the guards reached into the umbrella stand and pulled out a carbon-fiber driver.

Franklin didn't run. He couldn't.

The club swung down, connecting with his shin with a sickening crack.

He collapsed, letting out a guttural scream of pure agony.

"Stop! Please, stop!"

I lunged forward to intervene, but a bodyguard shoved me back. My head struck the sharp corner of the wardrobe.

The pain was instant. Fresh tears welled up in my eyes.

Franklin lay on the floor, his face covered in blood, panting heavily. He didn't beg for himself. Instead, he threw his arms around the bodyguard's leg to hold him back, turned his swollen, bloodshot eyes toward me, and gasped out:

"Nora! Think of something happy! I beg you! Anything! Just smile!"

Isabel frowned. "Psycho," she muttered.

She knelt down, tapping Franklin’s bloody cheek with two fingers. "Since you're so eager to protect this trash, you can join her."

She stood up and smoothed her cuffs.

"Drag them both down to the basement storage room. Lock them in."

"Not a drop of water, not a scrap of food, until I say so."