Chapter 3

I forced a faint, bloodless smile and slipped the stained handkerchief into my purse.

"So, I'm leaving."

I turned away without looking back.

"Stop right there!" Julian barked from behind me, his tone sharp with disbelief and rage. "Nora, I'm warning you! Don't push my patience. I'm not signing any divorce papers, and you're getting your ass back home tomorrow!"

I didn't stop.

Because I knew that if I turned around, I wouldn't be able to hold back the tears.

I practically broke into a run, bolting out of the ballroom.

The freezing air of the underground parking garage rushed into my damaged lungs, triggering another violent, agonizing coughing fit.

I leaned against the cold metal of my car, my knees buckling. The world began to spin, and a high-pitched ringing filled my ears.

It took ten minutes of shuddering breaths just to slide into the driver's seat.

Inside my purse, my phone buzzed incessantly.

I pulled it out. It wasn't Julian.

It was an encrypted international number.

I hesitated, then swiped to accept.

A crisp, cultured male voice spoke in an impeccable British accent:

"Is this Dr. Nora Miller? My name is Mr. Evans. I'm the chief executive assistant to Damon Thorne."

Damon Thorne.

The head of Thorne Enterprises—and Julian's fiercest corporate rival.

My heart sank. "What do you want?"

"Regarding the acquisition of the SN-01 patent," Evans said evenly. "Mr. Thorne is exceptionally serious about acquiring it. Mr. Hayes bid three hundred million dollars. We are prepared to offer three hundred and fifty million. Furthermore, Mr. Thorne requests an immediate private meeting with you."

I gripped the steering wheel tightly.

So the other anonymous bidder was Damon Thorne.

The ruthless, calculating titan of Wall Street who had been systematically dismantling Julian's business for years.

Suddenly, things became interesting.

"Why does he want to meet me?" I asked.

"Mr. Thorne said he has very little interest in the molecule itself," Evans replied smoothly. "What interests him is acquiring something Julian Hayes desperately wants but can never have. And you, Dr. Miller, happen to hold the keys."

That sentence tore through the fog in my mind like a flash of lightning.

I leaned back against the headrest, looking out at the flashing city lights, and let out a quiet, raspy chuckle.

Julian wanted it.

He wanted to buy it, present it to Mia, play the conquering hero, and build his pharmaceutical empire on my grave.

Well, over my dead body.

"Fine," I said, my voice hoarse. "Tell Mr. Thorne he can have the patent. But I have one condition."

"Name it."

"The purchase price is one dollar."

Dead silence fell over the line. Even the unflappable British assistant was rendered speechless.

After a long pause, Evans asked cautiously, "Dr. Miller, are you certain? This transaction is valued at well over a quarter of a billion dollars."

"One dollar," I enunciated, watching my pale reflection in the rearview mirror. "Sold to Damon Thorne. But in exchange, Thorne Enterprises must enforce a permanent, unconditional, global ban: Hayes Corporation, Julian Hayes, and any of their affiliates or beneficiaries are forever barred from licensing, purchasing, or using any derivative of the SN-01 compound."

I didn't need money.

Money was utterly useless to a woman with weeks left to live.

What I wanted was for Julian and Mia to watch their salvation float right in front of their eyes—and never be able to touch it.

I wanted his grand Clear Skies Foundation to become a laughingstock before it even launched.

Evans put me on hold for two minutes. When he returned, his tone held an edge of genuine respect and electric excitement.

"Dr. Miller, Mr. Thorne has agreed to your terms. He wants to meet immediately. You choose the location."

I turned the key in the ignition.

"Thirty minutes. City Central Hospital, Tower A, rooftop terrace."

I hung up, opened my email, and officially declined the auction inquiry:

[Bid rejected. An exclusive assignment agreement has been finalized with Thorne Enterprises.]