The pencil stilled between my fingers as my phone vibrated against the desk. I recognized the number immediately—Sullivan never used my ringtone, always letting it buzz until I answered. My stomach clenched as I set down my sketchbook and flipped it open.

"Eden." His voice was clipped, businesslike. "I need you to deliver something."

I glanced at my watch—3:42 PM. My small home studio was bathed in afternoon light, the kind that made my jewelry designs sparkle on paper. For a moment, I pretended I had somewhere important to be.

"Now?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Yes, now." Sullivan didn't bother hiding his impatience. "There's a package on our bed. Take it to Valery at the Belmont Hotel."

The familiar shame burned through me as I stood, my feet heavy. "What kind of package?"

"Don't play dumb, Eden. You know exactly what it is." His voice dropped lower. "After everything I've done for you, this is the least you can do."

The reminder of his sacrifice—my grandmother's kidney—hung between us like a chain. I swallowed hard and ended the call without responding.

Before leaving, I carefully gathered my sketches and slid them beneath a loose floorboard under my desk. Sullivan had never shown interest in my designs, but I couldn't risk him discovering this small piece of myself I'd managed to keep separate from our marriage.

The package on our bed—our bed, though he rarely slept there anymore—was wrapped in black tissue paper. Through it, I could make out the shapes of lace and silk. Intimate apparel. Toys. My cheeks burned as I tucked it into my bag.

The drive to the Belmont Hotel took twenty minutes, each minute stretching like an hour. I parked in the underground garage and rode the elevator to the penthouse suite, my reflection in the polished doors showing a woman I barely recognized—hollow-eyed, shoulders curved inward.

Valery opened the door wearing nothing but a silk robe, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders. Her hand rested protectively over the pronounced swell of her belly.

"You're here," she said, her lips curving into a smile that never reached her eyes. "Sullivan said you'd be stopping by."

I stepped inside, clutching my bag like a shield. "Where would you like this?"

"On the bed is fine." She gestured toward the massive king-sized bed where they'd undoubtedly spent countless nights together.

As I placed the bag on the pristine white duvet, Valery sauntered to the window, her robe parting slightly to reveal more of her pregnant silhouette.

"Sullivan has excellent taste," she remarked, pulling out a delicate lace negligee. "Though I suppose he'd have to, given how... lacking his wife's figure is."

I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, counting the patterns in the carpet to distract myself from her words.

"It must be difficult," Valery continued, slipping the negligee over her head, "knowing your husband prefers someone who can actually give him children."

My throat tightened. Five years of marriage, and despite our efforts early on, I'd never conceived.

"Sullivan tells me everything," she said, adjusting the straps. "How you try so hard to please him, but never quite measure up."

I finally looked up, meeting her triumphant gaze. "Is there anything else you need?"

"Just enjoy the show, Eden. I want you to see what a real woman looks like in these." She twirled slowly, the lace catching the light. "Sullivan says I'm everything he's ever wanted. Passionate. Fertile. Willing."

Two days later, Sullivan cornered me in our kitchen as I prepared dinner.

"Valery's sick," he announced, loosening his tie. "Morning sickness. She can't make the dinner with Franklin Barnes tomorrow night."

I set down my knife carefully. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"You'll go instead."

The knife trembled slightly in my hand. "Sullivan, Franklin Barnes has a reputation—"

"I don't care about his reputation." Sullivan's eyes hardened. "This is important for the company. He's our best chance at saving the quarter."

"I'm not comfortable serving drinks to a man who—"

"This is the first of three favors, Eden." His voice turned ice-cold. "Remember our agreement? The debt you owe me for your grandmother?"

The knife stilled in my hand as memories of my grandmother flooded back—her smile, her gentle hands, the way she'd held mine as she thanked Sullivan for saving her life.

"Of course I remember," I whispered.

"Good." He straightened his tie, already moving toward the door. "You'll wear something appropriate. Franklin likes beautiful women serving him."

As the door closed behind him, I pressed my palm against the cool counter, steadying myself. Three favors. This was just the beginning.

The private dining room at Le Ciel was bathed in amber light, casting long shadows across the white tablecloth. I stood beside the wine cart, my fingers trembling slightly as I uncorked a bottle of Château Margaux 2009. The rich aroma filled the air, but all I could smell was Franklin Barnes' cologne—too strong, too sweet, like rotting flowers.

"Careful with that pour, sweetheart," Franklin said, his eyes fixed on my hands rather than the wine. "I'd hate to see you spill anything... valuable."

I kept my gaze lowered as I filled his glass, then moved to Sullivan's. My husband didn't look at me once as I served him, his attention entirely focused on the contract documents spread between them.

"The quarterly projections are quite impressive," Sullivan said, sliding a folder toward Franklin. "Especially considering our recent... restructuring."

"Numbers look good," Franklin agreed, taking a sip of wine. His hand brushed mine deliberately. "But I'm more interested in the... amenities of our partnership."

I stepped back, positioning myself against the wall as I'd been instructed. The black dress Sullivan had selected felt too tight, too exposed. It wasn't my clothing—it belonged to Valery.

"That dress looks better on you than it ever did on Valery," Franklin remarked, his eyes traveling slowly down my body. "Sullivan has excellent taste in... accessories."

Sullivan cleared his throat. "Eden is here to ensure your comfort, Franklin. Whatever you need."

Whatever you need. The words echoed in my mind as Franklin's hand found my arm, his fingers tracing small circles on my skin.

"Perhaps you could come sit beside me, Eden," he suggested, patting the chair next to him. "I find business discussions flow more smoothly with beautiful company."

I glanced at Sullivan, searching for any sign of protest or protection. His eyes met mine briefly before returning to the contract.

"Of course," I heard myself say, moving to the chair.

Throughout the meal, Franklin's hand remained on my arm, occasionally drifting to my shoulder or back. Each touch sent ice through my veins, but I maintained a neutral expression, refilling his wine glass whenever it emptied.

"You know," Franklin leaned close, his breath hot against my ear, "I've always wondered what it would be like to have a woman like you... personally serving me."

I felt Sullivan watching us, but his expression remained impassive. The deal was worth millions—enough to save his failing company. Enough to justify anything.

---

Later, as I slipped into the kitchen to retrieve more wine, Franklin followed me. The staff had been instructed to stay out of the private area, leaving us alone among the gleaming stainless steel appliances and prep counters.

"Finally," he murmured, backing me against the counter. "I've been waiting all night to have you to myself."

"Mr. Barnes, I should get back—"

"Franklin," he corrected, placing his hands on either side of me, trapping me against the counter. "We're beyond formalities now."

His cologne suffocated me as he leaned closer, his mouth aiming for mine. I turned my head away, but he caught my chin, forcing me to face him.

"Sullivan mentioned you might be... accommodating," he whispered.

Panic surged through me. I pushed against his chest, but he was heavier than I expected. His lips brushed my cheek as I twisted away.

"Please," I whispered. "Not here."

Something in my voice must have registered because he stepped back slightly, though his smile remained predatory.

"Another time, then," he said, straightening his tie. "But soon."

I escaped back to the dining room, my heart hammering against my ribs. Sullivan looked up as I entered, his expression cold and assessing.

"Everything proceeding smoothly?" he asked, not bothering to lower his voice.

"Yes," I managed, though my voice shook slightly.

Franklin returned moments later, adjusting his belt as he sat down. "Where were we?"

---

The next morning, sunlight streamed through our bedroom windows as Sullivan's phone rang. I lay still, pretending to sleep, as he answered.

"Franklin," he said, his voice alert instantly. "Good morning."

I watched through half-closed eyes as Sullivan's expression shifted from cautious to pleased.

"I see," he said after a long pause. "And you're certain that's your... preference?"

Another pause.

"Of course. I understand completely." Sullivan's eyes flicked to me, calculating. "Yes, she'll be available."

He ended the call and turned to me, his smile predatory.

"Good news, Eden," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Franklin is enthusiastic about moving forward."

I sat up slowly, dread pooling in my stomach.

"He has one condition," Sullivan continued, his voice casual. "He wants you to serve as his personal hostess for future meetings."

"What does that mean?" I asked, though I already knew.

"It means whatever he wants it to mean." Sullivan's hand found my shoulder, squeezing tightly. "This is the second favor, Eden. Remember our agreement?"

The debt I could never repay. The kidney that had chained me to this man forever.

"Of course," I whispered, looking away from his triumphant gaze.

As he left the room, I caught sight of something in his expression I'd never seen before—not love or even desire, but something colder and more calculating. In that moment, I realized there was nothing Sullivan wouldn't sell to save his company.

Even me.

I couldn't sleep that night. Franklin's hands, his breath, his words—they followed me into darkness. By morning, my fear had crystallized into something harder, sharper.

I found Sullivan in his home office, reviewing contracts with the same detached efficiency he brought to everything except our marriage.

"We need to talk about last night," I said, closing the door behind me.

He didn't look up. "What about it?"

"Franklin was inappropriate. He cornered me in the kitchen." My voice trembled slightly. "You knew what he wanted when you sent me there."

Sullivan's pen stilled. "He's our best chance at saving the company."

"At what cost?" I stepped closer, my hands clenched at my sides. "You heard how he spoke to me. You saw how he touched me."

Finally, he looked up, his eyes cold. "And?"

"And you did nothing." The words hung between us, dangerous and irretrievable.

Something shifted in Sullivan's expression—a crack in his carefully maintained control. He stood slowly, his chair rolling backward.

"What exactly should I have done, Eden?" His voice was dangerously quiet. "Lost the deal? Let my company fail? All because you're too sensitive for a little harmless flirting?"

"It wasn't harmless." I took a step back as he moved toward me. "It was humiliating."

"Humiliating?" Sullivan's laugh was sharp, cutting. "Let me tell you what's humiliating. Watching my wife act like a prude when I've given her everything."

He backed me against the wall, his hands slamming against the plaster on either side of my head. I flinched at the impact.

"Do you have any idea what I've sacrificed for you?" His face was inches from mine, his breath hot against my skin. "I gave you my kidney. My kidney, Eden. And this is how you repay me? By being ungrateful and dramatic?"

"I'm not being dramatic—"

"Every expense I've covered!" He was shouting now, spittle flying from his lips. "Every bill I've paid! Every time I've bailed you out! And now you can't handle one business dinner?"

His words pounded against me like physical blows. I pressed myself against the wall, wishing I could disappear into it.

"You owe me," he snarled, his finger jabbing at my chest. "You owe me everything."

---

Valery's first visit came three days later.

I heard the key in the lock—Sullivan's key, the one he'd given her—and froze in the middle of preparing lunch. She swept in like she owned the place, her pregnant belly leading the way.

"Sullivan's at work," I said, setting down my knife.

"I know." She smiled, running her fingers along our kitchen counter. "I just thought I'd stop by to... freshen things up."

I watched helplessly as she moved through our home, rearranging my carefully placed objects. She paused at the living room mantel, studying the framed photos.

"These are so outdated," she murmured, removing a picture of Sullivan and me on our wedding day. She replaced it with one of herself and Sullivan at a gala, her hand resting possessively on her belly.

"Valery, please—"

"What?" She turned, one eyebrow arched. "Sullivan said I could make myself at home."

Over the next week, she returned again and again. Each time, something new had changed. My books were rearranged. My clothes were moved to different hangers. Small things went missing—only to reappear in different rooms.

One morning, I woke to find my grandmother's silver bracelet on my pillow. The delicate chain had been broken, the clasp bent beyond repair.

"Oh, sorry about that," Valery said when she called later. "I was just admiring it and it slipped."

That afternoon, I found a pregnancy test on my pillow—positive, with Valery's handwriting across it: "He's so excited to meet his son."

---

Whiskers was the only pure thing left in my life.

My cat had been with me since before Sullivan, a small ball of gray fur that had grown into a dignified companion. He slept in sunny spots, purred against my neck when I cried, and never asked for anything but food and affection.

I was in the kitchen when Valery's key turned in the lock again.

"Eden?" she called, her voice sharp. "Are you home?"

"In here," I answered, wiping my hands on a dish towel.

She appeared in the doorway, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the room. Then she froze, staring at the living room window where Whiskers lay stretched out in a patch of sunlight.

"What is that?" Her voice had gone cold.

"My cat, Whiskers." I moved protectively toward him. "He won't bother you."

Valery's face contorted with sudden rage. "A cat? In this house? With my baby?"

"Whiskers is perfectly clean—"

"Cat hair everywhere!" She gestured wildly. "Dander! Litter boxes! Do you have any idea what that could do to my pregnancy?"

I reached for Whiskers, lifting him into my arms. "He stays in my part of the house mostly."

"Well, he needs to go." Valery's eyes narrowed to slits. "Get rid of that filthy animal, Eden. Today."

I clutched Whiskers tighter. "No."

Valery stepped closer, her pregnant belly brushing against me. "Then there will be consequences," she whispered. "For both of you."