Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, waking Ines.
She was in a bed that felt like a cloud. For a second, she forgot where she was. Then the smell of cedar hit her, and it all came rushing back.
She walked out into the living area.
Dorian was sitting at the dining table, reading news on a tablet. A spread of pastries and fruit sat untouched.
"Eat," he said without looking up. "Preston brought clothes. They're on the sofa."
Ines saw the bags. Chanel. Dior. Prada. Thousands of dollars of silk and wool.
She sat at the table and picked up a piece of toast. She felt like an imposter.
Her old, cracked phone buzzed on the table where she'd left it.
It wasn't the new, secure one he'd given her. It was her link to the world he'd just saved her from.
Ines picked it up.
It was an alert from the nursing home's patient portal. An official notification.
Ines dropped her fork. Clatter.
Dorian looked up, his eyebrow raised.
Ines hung up immediately.
A text came through. An image.
It was her grandfather, hooked up to machines in the nursing home. But the oxygen tube was loose.
The message wasn't from Silas. It was an automated payment demand from the facility for a sudden, unscheduled "emergency medication," costing exactly $6,000. The subtext was brutally clear. This was a dead man's switch. A trap Silas had set before he was taken, a network of corrupted staff still loyal to him.
Ines felt the blood drain from her face. Silas was gone, but his poison remained. She thought about her own accounts, the crypto wallets and offshore funds she hadn't touched in three years. A ghost network holding millions. But they were watched. She knew it. The moment she moved a single dollar, alarms would sound in Langley. She would be trading her grandfather's life for her own freedom, and they would find her in hours. She was trapped.
"Who was that?" Dorian asked.
Ines typed on her new phone: Spam call.
Dorian narrowed his eyes. He didn't believe her.
Ines checked the time. 11:00 AM. She had one hour.
She looked at Dorian. He was a billionaire. Six thousand dollars was pocket change to him.
But she had just rejected his money yesterday. She had just refused to tell him the truth.
She swallowed her pride. It tasted like ash.
She typed on the phone and slid it across the table to him.
Lend me $6,000. I will sign an IOU.
Dorian read it. He laughed, a cold, humorless sound.
"Six grand? You tore up a blank check yesterday that could have bought the nursing home."
He stood up and walked around the table. He stood behind her chair, leaning down so his mouth was by her ear.
"Ask me, Ines. Properly."
Ines trembled. She turned in her chair to face him. She grabbed the lapel of his robe. Her eyes pleaded with him.
Please.
"Not with looks," he whispered. "With an action. An act of submission."
Ines froze. She understood.
She stood up on her tiptoes. She placed her hands on his shoulders. She leaned in and pressed her lips to his cheek.
It was soft. Tentative. Humiliating.
Dorian went still. He hadn't expected her to actually do it. He felt the tremor in her lips against his skin.
He pulled back, looking at her. Her eyes were wet.
He felt a sudden, sharp pang of guilt. He felt like a monster.
