Chapter 358

A shrill cry pierced the air.

"Someone's collapsed!"

Nathan Prescott had just slid into his car. He had no intention of involving himself with a woman who meant nothing to him. But the crowd thickened, and among them lurked men with dark intentions.

His jaw tightened. Against his better judgment, he strode forward.

"Move!"

His commanding voice cut through the chaos. The crowd parted instantly—his presence screamed wealth and power.

Except for one man.

A scarred brute sneered, hoisting the unconscious woman over his shoulder. "Back off. I found her first."

Nathan's eyes turned to ice. "Put. Her. Down."

The man scoffed. "Or what? She's fair game here."

Harbor Market had its own twisted rules. An unconscious woman was considered public property—first come, first served.

Nathan's hand shot out, gripping the man's wrist. "She's mine."

He yanked out the crumpled contract from his pocket. "Victor Holloway just handed this to me. Want to explain to him why you're stealing his property?"

The name hit like a hammer.

Victor wasn't a man you crossed.

The brute paled, shoving the woman into Nathan's arms. "Take her! Skinny thing anyway—not worth the trouble."

Nathan cradled her carefully. She was alarmingly light—barely ninety pounds, her frame drowning in worn clothes.

Her face, though…

It stopped him cold.

Delicate features, porcelain skin, lashes casting shadows on hollow cheeks. A near mirror of Vivian Lockhart—but softer, frailer.

A pained whimper escaped her lips.

Without thinking, he brushed his thumb between her furrowed brows.

Her eyes fluttered open.

Weak but aware, she smiled up at him—a ghost of warmth in her exhaustion.

Nathan stiffened. "There was a... bug. On your face."

Lame.

He'd charmed heiresses and socialites without breaking a sweat. Yet here he was, fumbling like a teenager.

Her whisper was barely audible. "I heard you... earlier."