Cold water splashed against Eveline's face, shocking her skin but doing little to settle the turmoil in her gut.

She gripped the edges of the marble sink, her knuckles white. The woman in the mirror looked like a ghost. Pale skin, wide, terrified eyes, and lips that were too red, too swollen.

Pull it together, Eveline.

She dabbed her mouth with a paper towel, reapplying a layer of nude lipstick to hide the evidence of Fulton's teeth. She couldn't stay in here forever. Absence was just as suspicious as presence in the Horn manor.

Taking a shaky breath, she smoothed the silk of her dress. The sterile quiet of the bathroom felt like a bunker, a temporary reprieve from the war zone of the party. She knew what waited for her on the other side of the door. The walk back through the hushed, wood-paneled corridor would feel like a mile, every step taking her from the private shame of the library to the public performance required in the ballroom. She steeled herself, her reflection offering no comfort, and pushed open the bathroom door.

The ballroom was an assault on the senses. The crystal chandeliers were too bright, the laughter too shrill, the scent of expensive perfume and roasted meat too cloying. Eveline kept her head down, trying to weave through the crowd toward the periphery.

She just needed to survive the next hour. Then she could claim a headache and leave.

But the crowd parted like the Red Sea.

A hush fell over the room, followed by a ripple of whispers. Eveline looked up, and her heart stopped.

Fulton stood at the top of the grand staircase. Janiya Tanner was on his arm.

Janiya was perfection manufactured in a lab. Blonde hair cascading in carefully curated waves, a smile that showed exactly the right amount of teeth, and a diamond on her finger that caught the light and threw it back with blinding arrogance. But up close, Eveline saw the faintest tremor in her manicured hand, the slight, unnatural dilation of her pupils that even the ballroom's light couldn't shrink. Her perfection was a veneer, stretched taut over something brittle.

Fulton's face was a mask of indifference. He looked bored. He looked like a king surveying his subjects. His eyes scanned the room and, for a fraction of a second, landed on Eveline.

There was nothing in that look. No heat. No recognition. It was as if the scene in the library had happened in another lifetime.

Eveline felt a phantom pain in her chest. Two years, she thought. Two years of my life, and I'm still just the dirty little secret.

"Look who it is."

The voice was sickly sweet. Eveline froze as Janiya steered Fulton directly toward her. The crowd formed a circle around them, eager for blood.

"Eveline," Janiya cooed, stopping two feet away. "You look... tired. Is the air in here a bit too rich for you?"

A few people chuckled. Eveline forced a smile. It felt like her face might crack.

"Congratulations on the engagement, Miss Tanner," Eveline said, her voice steady despite the trembling in her knees. She tried to step back.

Janiya didn't let her go. "Thank you. It's a shame your mother couldn't be here. I heard she's having trouble with her... finances. Again." Janiya tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Fulton is a saint for putting up with you two. Most men would have evicted the parasites by now."

Eveline's gaze flicked to Fulton.

He stood with one hand in his pocket, watching the exchange with cold detachment. He didn't step in. He didn't defend her. He let his fiancée carve Eveline open in front of New York's elite.

The nausea returned, stronger this time.

A waiter passed by with a silver tray. Raw oysters.

The smell hit Eveline like a physical blow. The brine, the metallic tang of the sea, the raw flesh.

Her stomach convulsed.

She didn't even have time to cover her mouth.

Eveline doubled over, a wet, retching sound tearing through the polite conversation. Bile splashed onto the polished parquet floor, just inches from Janiya's custom Louboutins.

The silence that followed was absolute.

"Oh my god!" Janiya shrieked, jumping back. "Disgusting!"

"Is she drunk?" someone whispered.

"Maybe she's on something," another voice muttered.

Eveline gasped for air, tears streaming down her face. The humiliation burned hotter than the acid in her throat. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, unable to look up.

Fulton's mask cracked.

His pupils constricted. His hand twitched at his side, as if he were about to reach out. But he stopped himself. The muscles in his jaw worked furiously.

He turned his head slightly. "Vance."

His personal assistant materialized from the shadows, a man in a black suit who looked more like a hitman than a secretary.

"Get her out of here," Fulton said. His voice was ice. "Take her to the hospital."

"No," Eveline croaked, backing away. "I'm fine. I just... I ate something bad."

"The hospital," Fulton repeated, his eyes boring into hers. There was a warning there. Do not disobey me.

Vance gripped Eveline's elbow. His fingers were like steel clamps. "This way, Miss Delacruz."

"Fulton, please," she whispered, looking at him one last time.

He had already turned back to Janiya, placing a hand on the small of her back, murmuring something to calm her down.

Eveline's heart shattered.

Vance dragged her toward the exit. The whispers followed her like a swarm of bees.

"Is she pregnant?"

The question floated in the air, loud and clear.

Eveline stumbled as Vance shoved her through the double doors and into the cool night air. A black sedan was waiting, engine running.

"Get in," Vance said, opening the rear door.

"I don't want to go to the hospital," Eveline pleaded, gripping the door frame. "Vance, please. Take me home."

Vance looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Mr. Horn gave an order. We need to know what's wrong with you."

He pushed her inside and slammed the door. The lock engaged with a heavy thud.

Eveline sank into the leather seat, wrapping her arms around her stomach. The secret she hadn't even dared to admit to herself was suddenly very, very real.

The sedan purred down the long, winding driveway of the estate, gravel crunching under the tires. Rain had started to fall, fat drops smearing the lights of the manor into blurry streaks of gold.

Suddenly, a figure darted out from the shadows of the hedges.

The driver slammed on the brakes. Eveline was thrown forward, the seatbelt digging into her chest.

"What the hell?" Vance muttered from the passenger seat.

Hessie Miles was standing in the middle of the road, her expensive gown soaked, banging her fist against the hood of the car.

Vance rolled down the window. "Mrs. Miles, get out of the way. Mr. Horn-"

Hessie ignored him. She yanked open the back door and threw herself inside, bringing the smell of rain and desperation with her.

"You stupid girl!" Hessie hissed, grabbing Eveline's arm. Her nails dug into the flesh. "What did you do in there? They're saying you vomited on Janiya's shoes!"

Eveline shrank into the corner. Her stomach was still doing somersaults. "Mom, I'm sick..."

"Sick?" Hessie grabbed Eveline's clutch from the seat and dumped the contents onto her lap. Lipstick, tissues, phone.

She snatched up the phone. "Unlock it."

"Mom, no-"

Hessie slapped her hand away and forced the phone in front of Eveline's face for the FaceID. It unlocked. Hessie's fingers flew across the screen, opening the health tracking app Eveline used.

"Last period..." Hessie read, her eyes widening. "Ten days late."

The air in the car went still.

Hessie looked at her daughter, her face twisting from anger to horror, and then, slowly, into calculation.

"You're pregnant." It wasn't a question.

"I don't know," Eveline whispered, tears leaking from her eyes. "I don't know."

"Who is it?" Hessie demanded, shaking her. "Is it that bartender? Some boy from college?"

Eveline bit her lip so hard she tasted copper. She couldn't say his name. If Hessie knew it was Fulton, she would try to blackmail him. And Fulton would destroy them both.

"It doesn't matter," Eveline sobbed.

"Of course it matters!" Hessie shrieked. "If the trust finds out you have a bastard child, we lose everything! The morality clause, Eveline! We'll be destitute!"

Vance watched them through the rearview mirror. His face was impassive, but Eveline knew he was listening to every word.

Hessie seemed to realize Vance was there. She composed herself, smoothing her wet hair. A fake, brittle smile plastered onto her face.

"Vance, darling," she said, her voice dripping with artificial charm. "There's no need for the hospital. Eveline just had too much champagne. I'll take her back to the guest house and sober her up."

Vance hesitated. He touched his earpiece. Eveline saw him nod slightly.

"Very well," Vance said. "But Mr. Horn expects a report in the morning."

"Of course, of course."

The car made a U-turn, heading away from the main gate and toward the smaller, darker guest house on the edge of the property.

As soon as they were inside Eveline's bedroom, Hessie locked the door.

"Get rid of it," Hessie said, pacing the floor. "Tomorrow. We find a clinic in Jersey. No one knows."

Eveline's hand went instinctively to her flat stomach. A strange, fierce protectiveness surged in her chest. A part of Fulton. A part of her.

"No," she said softly.

Hessie stopped pacing. She stared at Eveline as if she had grown a second head. "What did you say?"

"I said no."

Hessie narrowed her eyes. "Fine. Keep it. But you need a husband. Fast."

She grabbed her iPad from the nightstand and tapped furiously. She shoved the screen at Eveline.

"Bryson Montgomery."

Eveline blinked, looking at the photo of the smiling, blonde-haired man holding a fencing foil. "Bryson? He's... he's Fulton's friend."

"He's rich," Hessie corrected. "He's an Olympic champion. And he's stupid enough to believe in love at first sight. I saw how he looked at you last summer."

"Mom, you can't be serious."

"I've already arranged for you to sit next to him at the charity gala next week," Hessie said, her eyes gleaming with greed. "You marry him. We tell everyone the baby was premature. Fulton will have to give you a dowry to save face."

Eveline felt sick again. "Fulton will never allow it."

"Fulton doesn't care about you!" Hessie snapped. "He's marrying Janiya! You are nothing to him but a burden!"

Eveline's phone buzzed in her hand.

She looked down. A text from Fulton.

Fulton: Vance says you refused the hospital.

She didn't reply. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling.

Another text came through a second later.

Fulton: Breakfast. Main house. 8:00 AM sharp. Be late, and I cancel Hessie's credit cards.

Hessie read the message over her shoulder and let out a small shriek. "See! He's furious! You have to go. You have to be perfect. And for God's sake, don't let him know about the baby until you have a ring on your finger from Bryson."

Eveline curled up on the bed, pulling her knees to her chest. Outside, thunder rumbled, shaking the windowpanes.

She was trapped. Between a mother who wanted to sell her and a man who wanted to own her.

But as she looked out into the dark, stormy night, a dangerous thought took root.

If she married Bryson... if she really did it... she would be a Montgomery. Fulton wouldn't be her trustee anymore. He wouldn't be her legal guardian.

She would be free.

The dining room in the main house was a mausoleum of cold marble and silence.

Morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but it offered no warmth. Eveline sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, her hands folded in her lap to hide their shaking. She wore a high-collared silk blouse, the fabric a soft cage against her skin, deliberately chosen to cover the faint, blossoming bruise Fulton had left on her neck.

Alistair Horn sat at the head of the table. The patriarch. He didn't look up from his Wall Street Journal. The snap of the pages turning was the only sound in the room.

"The roses are lovely, Alistair," Hessie chirped from across the table. Her voice was too high, too desperate.

Alistair didn't blink. "They are for Janiya. Only the lady of the house deserves the best blooms."

Hessie's smile faltered. Eveline stared at her empty plate.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Fulton walked in. He wore a charcoal three-piece suit that fit him like armor. Janiya was right behind him, looking fresh and rested, her hand tucked possessively into the crook of his elbow.

Eveline's breath hitched.

Fulton didn't look at her. He pulled out a chair for Janiya, then took his seat on Alistair's right. Vance appeared from nowhere, pouring black coffee into Fulton's cup.

"I heard you made a scene last night," Alistair said, finally lowering the newspaper. His eyes were hard, like flint. "Disgraceful."

"I apologize, Sir," Eveline said quietly. "I wasn't feeling well."

"Weak constitution," Alistair sneered. "Just like your father. You're a stain on this family's reputation."

"Actually," Hessie interrupted, her voice trembling slightly. "We were thinking... perhaps it's time Eveline settled down. With someone respectable."

Fulton's knife scraped against his china plate. It was a harsh, screeching sound that made everyone wince.

He continued cutting his bacon, his face impassive.

"Oh?" Janiya laughed, reaching for a strawberry. "Who would take her? The pool boy?"

"Bryson Montgomery," Hessie said.

The silence that followed was heavy.

Fulton stopped eating. He didn't look up, but the air around him seemed to thicken.

" Montgomery?" Alistair mused. "Old money. Good stock. If you can offload her to the Montgomerys, Hessie, I might actually be impressed."

He turned to Fulton. "You're the executor, Fulton. What do you think? Should we approve a courtship?"

Eveline held her breath. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Say no, she thought. Please, say no. And then, a split second later: Say yes. Let me go.

Fulton wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. He placed it on the table, deliberate and slow.

He finally looked at Eveline. His grey eyes were unreadable, devoid of any emotion save for a cold, clinical assessment.

"Bryson is of age," Fulton said smoothly. "And he is looking for a wife."

Eveline felt the blood drain from her face. He was agreeing? He was actually going to let her go?

"However," Fulton continued, his voice dropping an octave. "The Montgomerys are notoriously particular about... health. And lineage."

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

"If we are to present Eveline as a viable candidate, we need to ensure the merchandise is sound."

Merchandise.

The word hung in the air, ugly and dehumanizing.

"A full medical examination," Fulton declared. "Today."

Hessie dropped her fork. It clattered loudly against her plate. "A... medical exam?"

"Everything," Fulton said, his eyes locking onto Eveline's. He knew. She could see it in the depths of his gaze. He smelled the secret on her. "Blood work. Scans. We need to make sure she is... fit for breeding."

Janiya giggled. "God, Fulton, you make it sound like you're selling a horse."

"It's due diligence," Fulton said simply.

Eveline stood up so abruptly her chair screeched backward.

"I'm not a horse," she said, her voice shaking with rage and humiliation. "And I'm not merchandise."

"Sit down," Alistair barked.

"I'm done eating." Eveline turned and fled the room.

She heard Alistair muttering about her lack of manners, but she didn't stop until she reached the front door.

She pushed it open, gasping for fresh air.

But escape wasn't an option.

Vance was standing by the black SUV at the bottom of the steps. He opened the rear door as she appeared.

"Miss Delacruz," he said, his tone devoid of pity. "The appointment is set. Dr. Aris is waiting."

Eveline looked back at the house. Through the window, she could see Fulton sipping his coffee, watching her.

He hadn't agreed to the marriage. He had just found a legal way to force her into a clinic.