The door opened inward.

Elodie had prepared a smile. Professional. Polite.

The smile died on her lips.

Standing in the center of the room, phone pressed to her ear, was a woman in a cream-colored Chanel suit. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a severe, perfect chignon. She turned around.

It was Caroline Vanderbilt.

Elodie's blood turned to ice. She stopped breathing. Her feet felt nailed to the floor.

Caroline laughed into the phone. "No, tell the caterer no peanuts. Obviously." She hung up and turned her gaze to Elodie. Her eyes were blue, sharp, and assessing.

The agency representative, a nervous man named Peter, stepped forward from the corner. "Ms. Vanderbilt, this is our top translator, Elodie."

Caroline's eyes widened slightly. A slow, predatory smile spread across her face. She looked Elodie up and down, lingering on the fraying cuff of the Armani jacket, then back up to Elodie's pale face.

"Elodie Sinclair," Caroline said. Her voice was like silk wrapped around a razor blade. "The fallen princess."

Elodie wanted to run. Her fight-or-flight response was screaming flight. But the contract. The penalty clause. The money for her mother.

"Ms. Vanderbilt," Elodie said, forcing her voice to remain steady. "I didn't realize..."

"That you'd be working for me?" Caroline chuckled. She walked closer, invading Elodie's personal space. She smelled of expensive perfume-roses and musk. "The agency said you were the best. And since my fiancé has such extensive business dealings in Europe, I need someone... competent."

She emphasized the word competent as if it were an insult.

Elodie looked at Peter. "I... I think there's a conflict of interest. I should go."

Peter looked panicked. "Ms. Sinclair, the contract. You walk now, you owe the agency five thousand dollars in breach fees."

Five thousand dollars. She didn't have five hundred.

Caroline stepped in. "Oh, don't be silly. It's just business, isn't it, Elodie? Unless... you have a problem working with the future Mrs. Kensington?"

It was a trap. A test.

Elodie dug her fingernails into her palms. "No problem at all, Ms. Vanderbilt."

"Good." Caroline clapped her hands. "We have a meeting with the Spanish investors. Grab your things. We're taking the car."

Ten minutes later, Elodie was sitting in the back of a stretch limousine, facing Caroline. The leather seats were soft, but the air was suffocating.

"So," Caroline said, crossing her legs. "Braxton tells me you two have a history. Something about your father's debt?"

Elodie stared out the tinted window. "Mr. Kensington manages the estate's liquidation."

"Right. He's so charitable." Caroline leaned forward. "He mentioned you're single. Still paying for your mother's care? That must be... draining."

"I manage," Elodie said tightly.

"Do you?" Caroline tilted her head. "You look tired, Elodie. Maybe you should find a rich husband. Oh, wait. That didn't work out for your mother, did it?"

Elodie bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. "Where is the meeting?"

Caroline checked her diamond watch. "Oh, didn't I mention? It's at the tower. Braxton wants to sit in on the negotiations."

Elodie's heart stopped.

"Kensington Tower?"

"Of course." Caroline smiled, innocent and cruel. "He's the CEO, darling. Where else would we go?"

The car slowed. Through the window, the massive glass structure of Kensington Tower loomed over them like a monolith.

Elodie felt a wave of nausea. She had told Braxton she was sick in bed. Now she was about to walk into his office, trailing behind his fiancée.

The driver opened the door.

"Come along, Elodie," Caroline said, linking her arm through Elodie's as if they were old friends. Her grip was tight, pinching the skin. "Don't keep him waiting."

The lobby of Kensington Tower was a cathedral of capitalism. Marble floors, vaulted ceilings, and the hush of serious money. Elodie's heels clicked sharply on the stone as Caroline dragged her toward the private elevator.

The receptionist saw Caroline and immediately buzzed them through. She didn't even look at Elodie. To them, she was just a shadow.

The elevator ride was silent. Elodie watched the floor numbers climb. 20... 30... 50...

The doors opened onto the executive floor. Geoff was standing at the reception desk. He looked up, his professional mask slipping for a fraction of a second when he saw Elodie. His eyes darted from her to Caroline, then down to his tablet.

"Ladies," Geoff said. "They are waiting in Conference Room A."

"Thank you, Geoff." Caroline breezed past him.

Elodie followed, keeping her head down. Geoff didn't say a word, but she felt his gaze burning into her back. He knew. He knew everything.

They entered the conference room. It was a glass box suspended over the city. A long mahogany table dominated the space. Three men in grey suits sat on one side-the Spanish delegation.

Braxton wasn't there yet.

Elodie took her seat next to Caroline. She opened her notebook, her hands trembling slightly.

One of the Spaniards, a younger man with dark eyes named Mateo, leaned forward. "Hola," he said, smiling at Elodie. "You are the translator?"

"Sí," Elodie replied in flawless Spanish. "I am here to assist with the contract details."

Mateo's smile widened. "An unexpected beauty in a room of sharks."

Caroline let out a sharp, fake laugh. "Careful, Mateo. She's paid to talk, not to flirt."

Before Mateo could respond, the heavy double doors swung open.

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

Braxton walked in. He was wearing a navy suit, cut to perfection. He looked powerful, dangerous, and utterly in control. He walked to the head of the table, shaking hands with the investors.

Then he turned.

His eyes landed on Caroline. He gave a curt nod. Then his gaze slid to the person beside her.

Elodie felt the impact of his stare like a physical shove.

Braxton stopped. His hand, reaching for a file, froze in mid-air for a microsecond. His eyes narrowed. The pupils contracted.

He looked at her suit. The suit she was supposed to be wearing while sick in bed. He looked at Caroline, who was beaming with malicious delight.

He didn't say a word. He pulled out his chair and sat down.

"Let's begin," Braxton said. His voice was gravel.

The meeting was a blur of legalese and numbers. Elodie went into autopilot. She translated complex clauses about equity splits and liability caps. Her voice was steady, professional. She was good at this. For a moment, she forgot the fear. She was just Elodie Sinclair, the brilliant linguist.

Mateo noticed. "She is excellent," he said in Spanish to his colleague, looking at Elodie with admiration. "And she has a fire in her eyes."

Elodie translated the business part, ignoring the compliment.

Braxton tapped his pen on the table. Tap. Tap. Tap. A slow, rhythmic sound that grated on Elodie's nerves.

"Ask him," Braxton said, staring directly at Elodie, "if he understands the penalty for breach of contract."

Elodie turned to Mateo. "Mr. Kensington asks if you are clear on the breach penalties."

Mateo laughed. "Tell him I never break a promise to a beautiful woman."

Elodie hesitated.

"Translate it," Braxton ordered.

"He says... he honors his commitments," Elodie said.

Braxton slammed the pen down. The crack echoed in the room. Silence fell.

"That's not what he said," Braxton growled. He stood up. "The meeting is adjourned. Geoff, take the gentlemen to lunch."

The Spaniards looked confused but stood up. Mateo winked at Elodie as he left.

Caroline stood up, smoothing her skirt. "Well, that went well. Lunch, darling?"

Braxton didn't look at her. He was staring at Elodie, who was frantically packing her bag.

"Caroline, go with them," Braxton said. "I need to clarify a few clauses with the translator."

Caroline paused. Her smile faltered. She looked from Braxton to Elodie. "She's just a temp, Brax. I can hire-"

"Go," Braxton said. Soft. menacing.

Caroline's jaw tightened. She shot a venomous look at Elodie, then turned on her heel and walked out.

The door clicked shut.

Elodie was alone with him.

The silence in the room was heavy, suffocating. Elodie clutched her bag to her chest like a shield.

Braxton stood at the head of the table. He slowly unbuttoned his suit jacket.

"Sick," he said. One word. Flat.

Elodie took a step back. "Braxton, I can explain."

"Fever. Chills. Contagious." He walked around the table, moving with the predatory grace of a jungle cat. "You looked remarkably healthy flirting with the Spaniard."

"I wasn't flirting! I was working!" Elodie backed up until her heels hit the base of the floor-to-ceiling window. Behind her, the city dropped away for fifty stories.

"Working," Braxton repeated. He stopped a foot away from her. "For my fiancée."

"I didn't know it was her! It was a blind contract!"

"You lied to me." He stepped closer. He placed his hands on the glass on either side of her head, caging her in. He smelled of coffee and repressed rage. "You lied about where you were. You lied about being sick."

"I needed the money!" Elodie shouted, her voice cracking. "You know why! You control every cent I have!"

"Is that what this is?" He leaned down, his face inches from hers. "You're selling yourself to Caroline for a paycheck?"

"I'm translating! I have a skill set, Braxton. I'm not just your... your whore."

His eyes darkened. "Is that what you think you are?"

"It's what you treat me like."

He grabbed her waist, pulling her flush against him. The contact sent a shockwave through her body. "If you were just a whore, Elodie, I would have fired you months ago."

He buried his hand in her hair, tilting her head back. "You belong to me. Not the agency. Not Caroline. Me."

"Let me go," she whispered, tears pricking her eyes. "Caroline is coming back."

"Let her come."

He crashed his lips onto hers. It wasn't a kiss; it was a claim. It was angry, possessive, and desperate. He bit her lower lip, forcing her mouth open. Elodie tried to push him away, her hands flat against his chest, but he was like a granite wall.

For a second, her body betrayed her. She melted into him, the familiarity of his touch overriding her brain.

Then, the sound of heels clicking in the hallway. Fast. Approaching.

Braxton didn't stop. He deepened the kiss, his hand sliding down to her hip.

The door handle rattled.

Elodie's eyes flew open. Panic exploded in her chest.

"Braxton!" she gasped against his mouth.

The handle turned.