Gracelyn walked down the grand staircase, flanked by two of Constantine's security team. The foyer was a wreck.
Richard was dragged in from the outside and thrown onto the rug. His nose was bleeding. He looked up at Gracelyn with pure venom.
Constantine sat in Richard's favorite armchair. He looked entirely at ease, as if he were sitting in a hotel lobby. He was holding the letter opener Gracelyn had dropped.
Gracelyn stopped in front of him. Her hands were shaking, the adrenaline crash hitting her hard.
"Thank you," she signed. "For the... assistance."
Constantine stood up. He didn't look at Richard. He took off his suit jacket, revealing the crisp black shirt underneath, and then picked up his trench coat from the banister where he'd tossed it. He draped it over Gracelyn's shoulders. It was heavy, warm, and smelled like him.
"You were late," he said.
Elena was cowering in the corner. She tried to step forward, putting on a brave face. "Mr. Durham, this is a family misunderstanding. We were just-"
"She is Mrs. Durham," Constantine cut her off. His voice was ice. "Her business is Durham Global business. And you just attempted to assault a primary shareholder."
He turned to Richard. "My legal team has the files your daughter sent. The fraud. The embezzlement. You'll be lucky if you only get twenty years."
Richard made a choking sound. "She's lying! She hacked the-"
"I know," Constantine said. "She's very talented."
He put a hand on Gracelyn's back, guiding her toward the door.
Gracelyn stopped. "Wait."
She walked over to Elena. Elena flinched.
Gracelyn reached out and grabbed the diamond pendant around Elena's neck. She yanked it. The chain snapped.
"My mother's," Gracelyn whispered.
Elena didn't dare move.
Gracelyn turned back to Constantine. He was watching her, his eyes dark and unreadable. He nodded once.
They walked out into the night. The helicopter was already lifting off. Gracelyn climbed into the back of the SUV.
As the car pulled away, leaving the ruins of her former life behind, Gracelyn started to shake. Violent, uncontrollable tremors. She wrapped her arms around herself, burying her face in the oversized coat.
The partition rose.
Constantine didn't try to hug her. He didn't offer platitudes. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pristine white handkerchief. He held it out.
"Dry your face," he said. "I don't like water spots on the leather."
Gracelyn took it. She wiped her eyes. The harshness of his words grounded her. He wasn't pitying her. He was managing her.
Gracelyn typed on her phone. Where are we going?
"To a place they can't reach you," he said. "And where you can fulfill your end of the bargain."
Gracelyn frowned. What bargain?
"To be the perfect wife," he said. "Starting tonight, you live at The Summit."
Gracelyn's eyes widened. We are living together?
"Clause 12," he said, not looking at her. "Cohabitation is required for public image stability."
Gracelyn bit her lip. She hadn't read Clause 12.
The car wound through the city, eventually pulling into the underground garage of the tallest residential tower in Manhattan. They took a private elevator to the penthouse.
The doors opened into a space that was vast, cold, and beautiful. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the entire city. Everything was grey, black, or white. It felt less like a home and more like a museum.
An older woman in a crisp uniform was waiting. "Good evening, sir. Madam. The guest suite is prepared."
Constantine looked at Gracelyn. He gestured to the sprawling apartment.
"Welcome to your new cage, Gracelyn."
