The Clemons Media Tower was a monolith of glass and steel that pierced the Manhattan sky. To Cinthia, standing at the base looking up, it looked like a giant, glittering cage.

She swiped her badge at the turnstile. Beep. It flashed green. Just like yesterday. The security guard, Ralph, 's eyes flickered up from his newspaper for a fraction of a second, a flicker of recognition-or was it confusion?-before he looked away, pretending he'd seen nothing.

"Morning, Ralph," she whispered. He didn't answer.

Sixty floors up, in the penthouse office, Adrian Clemons stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the ants crawling on the pavement.

"Notify the Board," he said, not turning around. "I'm married. The morality clause in the trust is satisfied. My voting rights need to be reinstated effective immediately."

Miles, who had just walked in, cleared his throat. "Sir, about... the lady..."

"Don't call her 'the lady'," Adrian snapped. "Or 'Mrs. Clemons'. It's a merger, Miles. A hostile takeover of a human asset. Nothing more."

He turned, his face tight with stress. "Darryl is buying up loose shares. If I don't lock this down today, he gets the Media division. I won't let that bastard dismantle my father's legacy."

"Understood," Miles said. He hesitated. "But sir, she-"

"Coffee," Adrian interrupted. "Black. Now."

Down on the 14th floor, Cinthia slid into her cubicle. Her heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

"You're late, Wise."

Giana, the Senior Executive Assistant, dropped a stack of files onto Cinthia's desk. The thud made Cinthia jump.

"Sorry," Cinthia mumbled, keeping her head down. "Traffic."

"Whatever," Giana rolled her eyes. She was wearing a dress that cost three of Cinthia's paychecks. "The big boss is on a warpath today. He's already fired two interns. You better keep your head down."

If only you knew, Cinthia thought. I'm not just an employee anymore. I'm the liability.

The phone on Giana's desk rang. The red line. The one from the penthouse.

Giana answered it, her voice turning sugary sweet. "Yes, Mr. Clemons's office... Oh. Right away."

She hung up and turned to Cinthia, her face twisting into a sneer. "Sarah is in the bathroom and I'm busy with the quarterly reports. You take it."

Cinthia froze. "Take what?"

"The coffee. Top floor. He's screaming for it."

"Me?" Cinthia's voice squeaked. "Can't someone else-"

"Do you want to keep your job?" Giana hissed. "Go!"

Cinthia's hands trembled as she picked up the tray from the breakroom counter. The black coffee sloshed dangerously near the rim.

The elevator ride was agonizing. Every floor number that lit up felt like a countdown to execution. …55… 58… 60…

The doors opened.

Miles was at his desk outside the double oak doors. When he saw Cinthia step out holding the tray, his eyes widened.

"Ms. Wise?" he whispered. "What are you doing?"

"Giana made me," Cinthia whispered back. "She doesn't know."

"Coffee!" Adrian's voice roared from inside the office.

Miles winced. He gave Cinthia a look that was half pity, half good luck. He gestured to the door.

Cinthia took a deep breath. She pushed the door open with her hip.

Adrian was pacing behind his massive desk, phone pressed to his ear. "Tell Darryl if he even looks at the publishing arm, I'll bury him in litigation so deep he'll need a submarine to find a lawyer."

Cinthia walked softly across the plush carpet. She set the cup down on the coaster. Clink.

Adrian slammed the phone down. He spun around.

"Finally. What took you so-"

He stopped.

He stared at her. Then he looked at the door. Then back at her.

"What are you doing on this floor?" he demanded. His voice was low, dangerous.

"I..." Cinthia stammered. "I brought the coffee."

"I'm aware of where you work, Ms. Wise," Adrian said, his voice dripping with contempt as he took a step toward her. "Did you think signing a paper gave you the right to wander my headquarters? To play house? Your place is on the fourteenth floor. You are an employee. Nothing more."

"No! Sir, I-"

"Get out," he snarled. "And don't come back until I send for you. You don't belong on this floor. You don't belong in this world."

He thought she was an opportunist. A schemer who was already testing the boundaries of their arrangement. The fact that she was an employee only made it worse in his eyes-it meant she'd been under his nose the whole time, a snake in the grass.

Cinthia opened her mouth to say, Giana sent me, but the look in his eyes stopped her. It was pure hatred.

"I'm leaving," she whispered. She turned to flee.

"Wait."

Adrian's voice stopped her at the door.

"Miles!" he shouted.

Miles appeared instantly.

"Call Spencer," Adrian said, staring at Cinthia's back. "Get the Prenup over here. Now. She signs it today. Before she gets any more ideas about her 'rights'."

Cinthia sat on the leather sofa in the corner of Adrian's office. It was Italian leather, soft as butter, but to her, it felt like a bed of nails.

She had her phone clutched in her hand under her coat. A text from Carter had come in five minutes ago: Did he transfer the money yet? Don't screw this up.

She felt sick. Physically sick.

Ten minutes later, the door swung open. A man with sandy blonde hair and a grin that looked too relaxed for this room strode in.

"I hear congratulations are in order," the man said. "Or condolences. Depending on who you ask."

Spencer Hayes. The company's chief legal counsel. And, apparently, Adrian's friend.

Adrian didn't smile. He pointed at Cinthia. "Give it to her."

Spencer turned. He saw Cinthia huddled on the couch. He paused, blinking.

"Her?" Spencer looked back at Adrian. "Adrian, is she... legal? Like, voting age legal?"

Cinthia flushed. She knew she looked young without makeup, especially in her oversized thrift-store blazer.

"She's twenty-three," Adrian said impatiently. "Give her the damn papers."

Spencer sat down on the armchair opposite Cinthia. He placed a thick stack of documents on the low coffee table.

"Hi," he said, offering a charming, predatory smile. "I'm Spencer. I'm the guy who makes sure that when this ends-and it will-you leave with exactly what you came in with. Which, judging by the coat, is nothing."

Cinthia didn't respond to the jab. She reached for the documents.

The header read: PRENUPTIAL AGREEMENT.

She flipped the page.

Clause 1: Asset Separation. Total isolation of all assets acquired before and during the marriage.

Clause 4: Confidentiality. Absolute silence regarding the nature of the arrangement.

Clause 7: Behavioral Expectations.

Cinthia read the fine print. The Wife shall not engage in public displays of affection unless initiated by the Husband. The Wife shall attend all mandatory Clemons family functions. The Wife shall not speak to the press.

"What happens if I break a rule?" she asked, her voice small.

Spencer tapped the last page. "Clause 12. Penalty. You become liable for a liquidated damages sum of five million dollars."

Cinthia gasped. "Five million?"

"Plus," Adrian added from his desk, "I reinstate your brother's debt. And I press charges for the incident at The Onyx."

He was leaning against his desk, arms crossed, watching her. "Save it, Spencer," he said, his voice flat. "This is just a signature to appease the trust board, nothing more. What's the matter?" he directed at Cinthia. "Did you think you hit the jackpot? Did you think you could divorce me in a year and take half?"

He thought she was calculating her payout. He didn't know she was calculating her survival probability.

Suddenly, the office door opened.

"Mr. Clemons, I have the-"

It was Giana. She walked in holding a file, not bothering to knock.

She stopped dead.

She saw Spencer. She saw the papers. And then, she saw Cinthia. Sitting on the VIP sofa. In the CEO's office.

Giana's jaw dropped. Her eyes darted from Cinthia to Adrian.

Cinthia instinctively held up the document to cover her face, panic seizing her chest. No. Not now.

Adrian slammed his hand on his desk. "Get out!"

Giana jumped. She scrambled backward, her heels slipping on the floor. "Sorry! So sorry!" She slammed the door shut.

But the damage was done. Cinthia knew that look. By lunch, the entire 14th floor would know Cinthia Wise was in the penthouse. By dinner, the rumors would be mutating into something monstrous.

"Great," Adrian muttered. "Another leak to plug." He looked at Cinthia with renewed irritation. "Sign it. Now."

The pen felt slippery in Cinthia's sweating fingers.

"My patience is finite," Adrian said. He checked his watch again.

"It's a standard contract, Ms. Wise," Spencer said, his tone bored. "Standard for billionaires marrying... well, you."

Cinthia's throat was dry as dust. She reached for the glass of water Miles had placed on the coffee table earlier.

Her hand was shaking.

Her elbow knocked into the coffee cup she had brought up earlier-the one sitting on the edge of the table.

Splash.

The cup tipped. Dark, hot liquid cascaded off the table.

It didn't just hit the rug. It splashed onto the grey wool of Adrian's trousers as he stepped forward to grab the pen.

For a second, there was silence.

Then, Adrian recoiled. It was a violent, jerky movement, like he had been burned by acid. His breath hitched, a sharp, audible gasp that was more shocking than a shout.

"Damn it!"

His face went white. Not angry red-white. A stark, bloodless white that tightened the skin over his cheekbones.

Cinthia scrambled up, horrified. "I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!"

She grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the table. Without thinking, she dropped to her knees and reached out to dab at the stain on his leg.

Her hand brushed his thigh.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!"

The roar was primal. It wasn't just anger; it was the sound of an animal caught in a trap, raw and terrified.

Adrian didn't just step back; he shoved her hand away. The force of his reaction sent Cinthia toppling backward.

She fell hard. Her knee cracked against the sharp corner of the solid oak coffee table.

Pain exploded up her leg. A sharp, blinding spike of agony that made her gasp.

She curled into a ball on the rug, clutching her knee.

The room went deathly still.

Spencer stood up slowly, his playful smile gone. He looked at Adrian.

Adrian was breathing hard. His chest heaved. He was staring at the spot where she had touched him, his eyes dilated with something that looked terrifyingly like panic. He was trembling.

It wasn't just anger. It was something else. Something broken.

"Adrian," Spencer said softly. "Easy."

Adrian squeezed his eyes shut. He took a ragged breath, forcing the monster back into its cage.

"Miles," he rasped.

Miles was already there, helping Cinthia sit up. "Sir?"

"Get her to sign," Adrian said, his voice hollow. "Spencer, get out. Everyone get out."

He turned and walked stiffly toward the private bathroom attached to the office. He slammed the door. The lock clicked.

Cinthia sat on the floor, tears stinging her eyes. Her knee throbbed with a dull, sickening heat.

Spencer looked down at her. He didn't offer to help her up.

"You should sign it," he said. His voice was colder now. "You triggered him. Not a smart move on day one."

Triggered?

Cinthia wiped her eyes. She grabbed the pen. Her hand shook, but she forced the nib onto the paper.

Cinthia Wise.

She signed her life away.

"Done," she whispered.

Miles handed her a tissue. "Come with me, Ma'am."

"Don't call me Ma'am," she sniffled, pulling herself up. Her knee buckled, but she forced it straight.

She limped to the elevator.

When the doors opened on the 14th floor, Giana and three other secretaries were standing near the water cooler. They went silent as Cinthia limped past, her eyes red, her knee throbbing.

They exchanged looks. Excited, malicious looks.

Cinthia kept her head down and walked to her desk. She wanted to disappear. But she knew, with a sinking feeling, that the show was just beginning.