The heavy thud of a leather-bound folder hitting the floor beside her head makes Katerina flinch.

"Sign the divorce papers," Cayden says, his voice echoing from somewhere above her. "You have one hour to get your things and get out."

He turns on his heel. The heavy oak doors slam shut. The electronic lock clicks, sealing her inside the tomb of their marriage.

Katerina lies on the carpet, her chest heaving. The bitter taste of the pill coats the back of her throat.

A primal, violent instinct overrides the shock.

She scrambles to her feet, her knees scraping against the broken glass of the vase. She doesn't feel the cuts. She stumbles down the hallway, her hands clutching the walls for balance, and throws herself into the master bathroom.

She drops to her knees in front of the porcelain toilet. Without a second of hesitation, she shoves two fingers deep down her throat.

She gags. Her eyes water, stinging with broken blood vessels.

She pushes her fingers deeper, scraping the back of her tongue. Her stomach convulses violently.

Acid burns her esophagus. She vomits, a harsh, tearing sound echoing in the tiled room. She gasps for air, then does it again. And again.

Finally, amidst the bile and water, she sees the half-dissolved white chalkiness of the pill.

She slumps against the edge of the cold bathtub, her entire body shaking uncontrollably. She presses both hands to her belly. A soft, fluttery kick answers her touch.

A sob rips from her throat. He is alive.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. The Katerina who loved Cayden Merritt died on that living room floor. The woman sitting by the bathtub is just a mother. And she has to run.

She drags herself back to the living room. She picks up the pen lying next to the divorce papers. Her hand is steady as she scrawls her signature across the bottom line.

The electronic lock on the front door beeps.

Cayden walks back in, Simon trailing him. He stops when he sees her standing there, the signed papers in her hand. His brow furrows in deep irritation.

"Why are you still here?" he snaps.

Katerina looks at him. The amber eyes she used to get lost in now just look like dirty glass.

"I'm leaving," she says, her voice raspy from the stomach acid. "But before I go, you need to know something. Since you care so much about the truth."

Cayden crosses his arms, looking at his watch. "Make it fast."

"Three years ago, when your kidneys failed, you didn't get a transplant from an anonymous donor." Katerina stares dead into his eyes. "It was me. I gave you my kidney."

Cayden freezes. His posture stiffens, his eyes narrowing as he searches her face. For a fraction of a second, the ice in his eyes cracks.

Then, a soft ping comes from his pocket.

Cayden pulls out his phone. The screen lights up with a text from Carmella. Katerina can see the little heart emoji next to her name.

Cayden reads the text. A lie. It had to be. And yet... the sheer conviction in her dead eyes sent a sudden sliver of ice through his chest. He tightened his grip on the phone, violently crushing the thought before it could take root. Carmella was the victim here. This was just another one of Katerina's desperate manipulations. The crack in the ice seals over, thicker than before. He lets out a harsh, barking laugh.

"You are truly pathetic," he sneers, slipping the phone back into his pocket. "You'll say anything to stay in this penthouse. Carmella donated that kidney. I have the medical records. I saw the scar on her body."

Katerina's breath hitches. Carmella had stolen everything. Even her flesh and blood.

"Get her out of here," Cayden orders the bodyguards. "Throw her on the street."

The two massive men grab Katerina by the arms. They drag her toward the elevator. She doesn't fight them. She just turns her head, locking her dead, empty eyes on Cayden one last time.

They drag her through the lobby and shove her through the revolving doors.

Katerina stumbles and falls hard onto the wet concrete.

The Manhattan sky has broken open. Freezing, torrential rain pounds against the pavement, instantly soaking through her thin maternity dress. The cold bites into her bones. Pedestrians hurry past under black umbrellas, no one sparing a glance for the pregnant woman shivering on the ground.

She forces herself to stand, wrapping her arms around her belly. She starts walking, her bare feet numb against the flooded asphalt.

A sleek, black, bulletproof Maybach glides through the rain and stops right beside her.

The tinted rear window rolls down. Elie Mcdonald sits in the shadows, his sharp features illuminated by the streetlights. He extends a heavy black umbrella out the window.

"Are you ready to let Katerina Herman die?" Elie's voice is a low rumble over the sound of the rain.

Katerina reaches out. Her cold fingers wrap tightly around the handle of the umbrella.

"Yes," she says.

Five years later.

The tires of the Gulfstream private jet screech against the tarmac of JFK International Airport.

Katerina steps down the stairs, the sharp click of her black stilettos echoing in the crisp morning air. She wears a tailored black suit that hugs her slender frame. Her hair is pulled back into a severe, flawless bun.

She is no longer the pathetic, discarded wife. She is Astrid. The ghost. The medical fixer for the global elite.

Elie Mcdonald stands by a waiting armored SUV. He hands her an encrypted tablet as she slides into the leather backseat.

"Your VIP patient," Elie says, closing the door.

Katerina swipes through the medical file. The name is redacted. The symptoms are severe: chronic migraines, insomnia, violent mood swings. The patient has fired-and physically thrown out-five neurologists in the past month.

The SUV pulls into the underground garage of a highly discreet private clinic on the Upper East Side.

Alistair Crombie, the clinic director, is sweating through his suit as he waits by the private elevator.

Katerina steps out. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a sleek, silver half-mask. She secures it over her face, leaving only her eyes and lips exposed.

"Dr. Astrid," Alistair stammers, pressing the button for the penthouse floor. "Please be careful. He is in a terrible mood today."

The elevator doors open. The hallway is lined with men in dark suits.

Katerina's eyes narrow behind the mask. The cut of the suits, the specific way the men stand with their hands clasped in front of them-it tugs at a dark corner of her memory.

She ignores the rising dread in her stomach and walks to the heavy mahogany double doors at the end of the hall. Alistair pushes them open for her and quickly steps back.

The VIP suite is suffocatingly dark. Heavy blackout curtains block out the Manhattan skyline.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stands by the window, his back to the door. Smoke from a cigar curls around his dark hair.

Katerina steps onto the thick carpet, her medical case heavy in her hand.

Hearing her heels, the man turns around.

The dim light from a wall sconce catches the sharp angles of his jaw, the straight line of his nose, and those amber eyes.

Katerina's lungs seize. Her heart slams against her ribs so hard she feels it in her throat.

Cayden Merritt.

He looks older. Harsher. The lines around his mouth are carved deeper, and there is a dark, dangerous exhaustion in his eyes.

Cayden crushes the cigar into an ashtray. His gaze sweeps over her, sharp as a scalpel.

"You're the miracle worker everyone is terrified of?" His voice is a low, gravelly rasp.

Katerina grips the handle of her medical case until her knuckles turn white. The leather digs into her palm. She forces her breathing to slow. She cannot panic.

"Yes," she says. She alters the placement of her tongue, producing a clipped, cold, faintly European accent.

Cayden takes a step toward her. Then another. The sheer physical dominance of the man fills the room, pressing down on her chest.

He stops less than two feet away. He looks down at her, his eyes locking onto hers through the eyeholes of the silver mask.

A slight frown creases his forehead. His amber eyes darken with a sudden, restless confusion. Something in her gaze is scratching at his subconscious.

Without a word of warning, Cayden raises his hand, his long fingers reaching straight for the edge of her silver mask.

Katerina snaps her head back, dodging his fingers by a millimeter.

She takes a swift step backward, putting distance between them. Her heart is a frantic bird trapped in her ribcage, but her eyes remain dead and professional.

"Do not touch my equipment, Mr. Merritt," she snaps, her European accent thick with icy authority. "That is a boundary you will not cross."

Cayden's hand hovers in the air for a second. He stares at her, slightly taken aback by the sheer venom in her tone.

The Katerina he knew-the woman whose ghost haunts his migraines-would have flinched and apologized. This woman is pure, arrogant steel. The fleeting sense of familiarity vanishes, replaced by irritation.

He drops his hand and sneers. "Just do your job."

He walks over to the leather recliner and sits down, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

Katerina forces her shaking hands to open the medical case. She pulls out a set of neuro-sensor patches. The smell of his cedar cologne hits her, thick and suffocating. Her stomach rolls with a phantom wave of nausea.

She steps close to him. She reaches out to place the first patch on his temple.

Her bare fingertip accidentally brushes the skin of his forehead.

Cayden's entire body goes rigid. A violent jolt of electricity shoots through his veins. His eyes snap open.

Before Katerina can pull back, his hand shoots out. His fingers wrap around her wrist like a steel vice. His grip is bruising, desperate.

"Who are you?" he breathes, his voice tight, his amber eyes wide with a sudden, raw confusion. A flash of something wild and unfamiliar-a memory he couldn't quite grasp-crossed his face.

Katerina tries to yank her arm away, but he holds fast. "Let go of me."

Cayden opens his mouth to speak, but a piercing, high-pitched alarm shatters the silence.

It's coming from the pager in Katerina's lab coat. The emergency extraction signal from Elie.

Katerina uses Cayden's momentary distraction to violently twist her wrist out of his grip. She takes two steps back, pulling the pager from her pocket.

"My critical patient in Geneva just went into cardiac arrest," she lies smoothly, her voice urgent. She throws the sensors back into the case and snaps it shut. "I have to go."

Cayden stands up, his massive frame blocking her path to the door. "You aren't leaving until I get answers."

His bodyguards step into the doorway, blocking the exit.

Katerina glares up at him. "If that patient dies because you delayed me, the International Medical Consortium will ensure you never receive medical treatment anywhere on this planet again. Move."

Cayden's jaw ticks. He is about to order his men to grab her when his private cell phone vibrates violently in his pocket.

He pulls it out. It's Simon. He answers it, his eyes never leaving Katerina's mask. "What?"

"Boss," Simon's voice is shrill, bordering on hysterical, bleeding through the phone speaker. "Julian is gone. He disappeared from the lobby."

The blood drains from Cayden's face. The mystery of the doctor evaporates instantly.

"Lock down the entire block!" Cayden roars. He shoves past Katerina, sprinting out the door, his bodyguards swarming after him.

Katerina exhales a shaky breath, sweat beading on her forehead. She doesn't waste a second.

She slips out the door and heads for the internal staff stairwell. She strips off the white lab coat, shoving it into a trash can. She pulls off the silver mask and slides a pair of oversized black sunglasses onto her face.

She takes the stairs two at a time, heading straight for the underground VIP parking garage. She needs to get to her car. She needs to get back to Leo.