James Moran entered Duke's office the next morning and found his boss already there, staring out the window. There were dark circles under his eyes, and a tension in his jaw that hadn't been there the day before.
"Cancel all my meetings before noon," Duke said, repeating the order Alex had relayed the night before. "We are picking up Miss Sutton at ten."
James, ever the professional, tried to hide his surprise. "Of course, sir. And the destination? Shall I prepare a list of the top bridal couturiers?"
"That won't be necessary. She will tell us where she wants to go." Duke's voice was flat, certain. He turned from the window and added, "And I'll be driving."
This time, James couldn't hide his shock. Duke Blake had not driven himself in over a decade. His time was measured in millions of dollars per minute.
Duke offered no explanation, simply waving a hand in dismissal.
After James left, Duke walked to a concealed safe behind a painting. He opened it and took out a small, sterile box. Inside was a syringe filled with a clear liquid. His custom-formulated suppressant.
He had barely slept. Her voice had replayed in his mind all night, a siren's call. He'd been forced to take a half-dose of the medication just to get through the morning.
He had to drive himself. He needed to see her, to be near her. He had to understand the power she held over him. It was a date, yes, but it was also a stress test. A dangerous experiment to see how close he could get to the fire without being burned.
At Sutton Manor, Elsie woke with a nervous energy buzzing under her skin.
A text from James Moran was waiting on her phone: Mr. Blake will be arriving personally to collect you at 10 a.m. Please provide the destination to allow for route planning.
The word personally made her heart skip a beat.
She quickly typed her reply: Greta Novak Atelier, SoHo.
The choice was strategic. It was her territory, a place where she felt comfortable and confident. It was a genuine need. And most importantly, it was a chance to show Duke a part of her world, the part where she was not a patient, but a creator.
She carefully chose her outfit. Not the virginal white her mother preferred, but a pale blue sundress that was soft and feminine, yet held a hint of cool distance.
At 9:55 a.m., a sleek, black Bentley Flying Spur glided to a silent stop in front of the manor.
Elsie walked out, Niam by her side. She saw Duke in the driver's seat.
He was dressed more casually today in a dark grey cashmere sweater that stretched across his broad shoulders and chest. He looked less like a CEO and more like a predator at rest.
He didn't get out to open her door. He simply lowered the passenger-side window, his eyes beckoning her.
Her heart did a little flip. She took a breath, smoothed her dress, and slid into the passenger seat.
The car was spacious, but his presence filled every inch of it, making the air feel thick and charged. She could smell that same clean, woodsy scent from the restaurant, but today there was something else underneath it. A faint, almost imperceptible chemical smell, like antiseptic.
She dismissed it as a trick of her imagination.
He didn't speak. He just put the car in gear and pulled away from the manor, the gates closing behind them with a soft, final thud. As they turned onto the main drive, Elsie caught a glimpse in the side mirror of a black Cadillac Escalade pulling out from a service road, falling in line a discreet distance behind them.
Elsie watched the familiar, suffocating scenery of her home disappear. As they turned onto the main road, a genuine, unbidden smile touched her lips. It was the first time in months she had left the grounds in the daylight.
It felt like freedom.
From the corner of his eye, Duke saw her smile. He saw the light that entered her eyes as the cage grew smaller in the rearview mirror.
He knew his trap was working perfectly. He had given the prey the illusion of escape.
