The rain lashed against Eleanor's face, mixing with the heat of her anger to create a strange, feverish sensation. She was walking on the shoulder of the road, her expensive heels sinking into the mud.
The Phantom pulled up beside her, moving at a walking pace. The window hummed down.
A man's voice, deep and resonant, cut through the noise of the storm.
"You look like you just set a fire, Ms. Vance."
Eleanor squinted against the glare of the headlights. She recognized the face instantly. It was on the cover of Forbes and Time regularly. Julian Sterling. The heir to the Sterling Empire. The man who controlled half the city's real estate and a significant portion of its shadows.
"Mr. Sterling," Eleanor shouted over the wind. "Enjoying the weather?"
"I was just passing by," Julian said. His face was in shadow, but she could feel the amusement. "I heard shouting from the driveway. It sounded... definitive."
Eleanor hesitated. Her pride screamed at her to keep walking. But her logic-the cold, calculating part of her brain that ran her secret operations-did the math. Hypothermia vs. A ride with a billionaire.
She opened the door and slid into the back seat.
The warmth hit her like a physical blow. The interior smelled of sandalwood and leather.
Julian sat on the other side. His legs were covered by a thick wool blanket.
Eleanor didn't pity him. She assessed him. He was handsome, in a sharp, predatory way. Dark eyes, high cheekbones, a mouth that looked like it rarely smiled but often smirked.
"News travels fast," Eleanor retorted, taking the towel he offered from a compartment. She dried her face, not caring that her mascara was likely running.
"I didn't hear the news," Julian said, watching her. "I just saw a woman storming out of a mansion in a thunderstorm. Deductive reasoning does the rest."
"I burned the bridge," Eleanor admitted. "And the boat. And the map."
Julian watched her. His gaze was intense, dissecting. "You're homeless now. Cut off."
"I'm fluid," Eleanor corrected.
"I have a proposition," Julian said. He didn't waste time.
"I'm not looking for charity," Eleanor snapped.
"I'm looking for a wife," Julian stated bluntly.
Eleanor paused, the towel halfway to her hair. She looked at him. "And I need a lawyer?"
"I need a shield," Julian said. He tapped his fingers on the armrest. "My family is... persistent. They want me married to solidify a merger. They think because I'm..." He gestured to his legs. "...physically compromised, that I am weak. That I can be controlled by a wife of their choosing."
"And you want a wife they can't control," Eleanor deduced.
"I want a wife who is so unacceptable to them, so scandalous, that it distracts them while I finish my work," Julian said. "You. The outcast. The woman who apparently just declared war on her own dynasty."
"And what do I get?" Eleanor asked. She looked at his legs. "Besides money?"
"I know you don't care about money as much as you pretend," Julian said softly. That made Eleanor freeze. "You get access. The Sterling network. Information. And... protection from the Vances."
Eleanor narrowed her eyes. He was smart. Dangerous.
"Why me?" she asked.
"Because I saw the look in your eyes when you got in the car," Julian said. "You're not a victim. You're a weapon waiting to be aimed."
Eleanor smiled. It was a small, dangerous curve of her lips.
"A contract," she said. "One year."
"One year," Julian agreed. "Financial independence. No interference in each other's private business. And... separate bedrooms."
"Deal," Eleanor said.
She extended her hand.
Julian took it. His hand was large, his grip firm. His skin was warm.
"Draw up the papers, Mr. Sterling."
The car glided through the city, eventually pulling into the private underground garage of the Sterling Tower.
The driver opened the door. Julian's personal assistant, a stoic man named Ken, hurried over. Eleanor watched as Ken retrieved a wheelchair from the trunk and brought it to the door.
She watched Julian transfer. He used his arms to lift his weight, his legs dragging like dead weight. It looked painful. It looked real.
But as his feet settled onto the footrests, Eleanor noticed something. The soles of his dress shoes.
They were scuffed. Specifically, the heel of the right shoe had a wear pattern consistent with pivoting.
A man who hadn't walked in five years should have pristine soles.
Eleanor's eyes widened slightly. She looked at Julian's face. He was adjusting his cufflinks, looking perfectly composed.
He was hiding something.
She decided to file that information away. Knowledge was power. She wouldn't ask. Not yet.
"Welcome home, Mrs. Sterling," Julian mocked gently as they entered the private elevator.
"Don't get used to the title," Eleanor replied.
The elevator doors closed, sealing them in together. Two liars. One contract. Infinite possibilities.