Emaline took the stairs two at a time. The flickering fluorescent light on the third floor buzzed like an angry hornet. Her lungs burned by the time she shoved her key into the lock and threw the door open.

The apartment was dark. A single lamp glowed weakly in the cramped kitchen.

Leo was pacing the worn living room rug. When he saw her, he rushed forward. His hands flew in a frantic sequence of signs.

Dad is in the bedroom. He will not take his pills. He says the hospital is a waste of money.

Emaline dropped her purse on the sofa. The heavy thud of the cash hidden inside it made her stomach clench.

She walked straight to the bedroom.

The door was cracked open. She pushed it wide.

Walter Finley lay flat on his back on the narrow bed. His skin was the color of old ash. His chest rose and fell in shallow, rattling gasps. On the nightstand, a plastic cup of water and a row of orange pill bottles sat untouched.

Walter opened his eyes. He saw Emaline standing in the doorway. Guilt flashed in his sunken eyes, but his jaw set in a stubborn line. He turned his head away, staring at the peeling wallpaper.

Emaline walked to the edge of the bed. She dropped to her knees on the hardwood floor.

She reached out and took his hand. His skin was freezing.

"Dad," Emaline said, her voice cracking. "Why did you leave?"

Walter coughed. The sound was wet and weak. "I am fine here," he rasped. "The hospital is too expensive, Emmy. We cannot afford it."

"I will find the money," Emaline pleaded, squeezing his cold fingers. "You cannot just give up!"

Walter pulled his hand out of her grip. The rejection felt like a knife to her chest.

"I will not let you and Leo drown in debt for a dying man," Walter said firmly. "If I am going to go, I am going to do it here."

Emaline's throat closed up. Swallowing felt like swallowing glass. She knew that stubborn tone. He had made up his mind to die so they could live.

Her mind raced. She thought of the thick stack of cash sitting in her purse in the other room. But she could not tell him she took money from a stranger in a hired sedan. He would never accept it.

"Dad," Emaline started, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I went on a date tonight. I met someone. He... he wants to help us."

Walter turned his head back to look at her. His gray eyebrows pulled together in suspicion.

"Help us?" Walter asked. "Who is he? Why would a stranger pay my bills?"

Emaline opened her mouth to lie, but her phone buzzed in her back pocket.

She pulled it out. A text message lit up the screen from the number on the business card Cullen had given her.

I am sending a doctor to your apartment tomorrow morning. Do not worry about the cost. - Cullen

Emaline stared at the screen. Her blood ran cold. How did he know her apartment number? How could he arrange a doctor so fast?

She looked back at her father.

"It is a charity program," Emaline lied smoothly, the words tasting like ash on her tongue. "He works for a foundation. They fund medical treatments for low-income families."

Walter stared at her, searching her face for the truth. "There is no such thing as free money, Emmy."

"Just let the doctor look at you tomorrow," Emaline begged. "Please, Dad. Just try."

Walter looked at her desperate, tear-stained face. His shoulders sagged into the mattress. He gave a single, exhausted nod.

Emaline let out a shaky breath. She stood up, kissed his forehead, and walked out of the room.

She gestured for Leo to go in and make sure Walter drank some water.

Emaline walked out onto the tiny, rusted fire escape balcony. The freezing wind whipped her hair across her face.

She dialed the number from the text message.

Cullen answered on the first ring. His voice was wide awake.

"How did you know my exact address?" Emaline demanded, keeping her voice to a harsh whisper.

"You got in my car," Cullen said calmly. "The car service driver put it in the GPS when you told him the cross streets."

The explanation made perfect sense, but it did not settle the twisting in her gut.

"About your proposal," Emaline said, gripping the cold iron railing. "I need to know the details. And... thank you for the doctor."

"We will talk after the doctor sees him," Cullen replied. "Get some sleep, Emaline."

The line went dead.

Emaline lowered the phone. She reached into her pocket and touched the outline of the thick wad of cash through the fabric of her purse. For the first time in months, she felt a terrifying spark of hope.

She had to do this. Whatever Cullen Preston wanted, she was going to give it to him.

The doorbell rang at exactly eight in the morning.

Emaline jerked awake on the sofa. She rubbed her gritty eyes, smoothed down her wrinkled shirt, and hurried to the door.

She pulled it open.

A middle-aged man in a pristine white coat stood in the hallway. A younger nurse stood behind him, carrying a heavy silver medical case.

"Ms. Finley?" the man asked. "I am Dr. Miles Ramsey from New York-Presbyterian. I was asked to come evaluate your father."

Emaline's jaw dropped. New York-Presbyterian was one of the top hospitals in the country. They did not do house calls in rundown Brooklyn apartments.

"Please, come in," Emaline said, stepping aside.

Dr. Ramsey walked into the cramped bedroom. He spent forty-five minutes examining Walter, listening to his lungs, and drawing blood. When he finally stepped back into the living room, his face was grim.

"His lungs are failing rapidly," Dr. Ramsey told Emaline in a low voice. "He needs to be admitted immediately for aggressive intravenous therapy. If he stays here, he will not survive the week."

Emaline felt the floor drop out from under her. "How much will the admission cost?"

Dr. Ramsey opened his briefcase and pulled out a clipboard. He handed it to her.

"The initial costs have been covered," Dr. Ramsey said. "He has been enrolled in a specialized clinical trial program. It covers full hospitalization."

Emaline stared at the paperwork. The words 'Fully Funded' were stamped across the top. Her hands began to shake.

She knew there was no clinical trial. This was Cullen.

After Dr. Ramsey and the nurse left to arrange the transport, Emaline pulled out her phone and dialed Cullen's number.

"Who exactly are you?" Emaline demanded the second he answered. "How did you get a doctor from Presbyterian to lie to my face?"

"I told you I have resources," Cullen's voice was smooth, unbothered. "The only thing that matters is whether you are going to accept the help."

Emaline looked through the bedroom door. Walter was sleeping peacefully, the pain lines on his face smoothed out by the medication Dr. Ramsey had given him.

She swallowed her pride. It tasted bitter.

"I need thirty thousand dollars," Emaline said, her voice trembling. "To cover his past debts at the other hospital so they will release his records to Presbyterian."

Silence stretched over the line.

"Done," Cullen said. "But it is a loan. You will sign a promissory note."

Emaline blinked. The demand for an IOU shocked her, but it also grounded her. It made this a transaction. It made it real.

"Fine," Emaline said.

"I am transferring the funds now," Cullen said. "My car is downstairs. Come down. We are going to the hospital."

Emaline pulled the phone away from her ear. A notification popped up on her screen.

Incoming wire transfer: $30,000.00.

Her breath hitched. She walked to the window and looked down at the street.

The dark sedan was parked illegally by the fire hydrant. Cullen was leaning against the rear door, wearing a charcoal gray overcoat. He looked up, his dark eyes locking onto her window. He gave a single nod.

Emaline grabbed her coat. She told Leo to pack a bag for Walter and ran downstairs.

When she pushed through the front doors of the building, Cullen opened the car door for her. He held out his hand.

Emaline hesitated. She looked at his large, clean hand, then placed her fingers in his palm. His grip was warm and firm. A jolt of electricity shot up her arm.

She slid into the leather seat. Cullen got in beside her. The scent of cedarwood and expensive cologne filled the small space.

Emaline pulled a folded piece of notebook paper from her pocket. She handed it to him.

"The IOU," she said. "I signed it."

Cullen took the paper. He did not unfold it. He did not even look at it. He just slid it into the inside pocket of his coat.

"I trust you," Cullen said softly.

The car pulled away from the curb. Emaline stared at his sharp profile.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked. "You could buy a wife. Why me?"

Cullen turned his head. His dark eyes swept over her face, lingering on her bitten lip.

"Because I want to see what a woman with a spine does when she is finally given a sword," Cullen said.

Emaline's heart slammed against her ribs. She looked away, staring out the window, unable to handle the heat in his gaze.

The fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor buzzed with a sickening hum.

Emaline stood outside the examination room, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. Walter had been wheeled inside twenty minutes ago.

Cullen stood two feet away from her. He was leaning against the sterile white wall, his hands in his pockets. He did not hover, but his presence was a heavy, solid weight in the chaotic hallway. It made her feel anchored.

A nurse walked out of the room holding a stack of clipboards.

"Ms. Finley? I need your signature on the admission forms," the nurse said.

Emaline reached for the pen, but her hands were shaking so badly she dropped it.

Cullen stepped forward instantly. He picked up the pen, handed it to her, and placed his large hand flat over the top of the clipboard to steady it.

His knuckles brushed against hers. Emaline sucked in a sharp breath, her skin burning at the contact. Cullen did not pull away. He just watched her sign her name.

Before she could finish the last page, her cell phone shrieked from her pocket.

Emaline pulled it out. The name flashing on the screen made the blood freeze in her veins.

Kitty Hawkins.

Her former best friend. The woman who was now sleeping with her ex-boyfriend, Kendall.

Emaline's thumb hovered over the red reject button, but a sick sense of dread forced her to answer. She pressed the phone to her ear.

"What do you want?" Emaline asked, her voice dropping to a block of ice.

"Emaline! I heard your dad is back in the hospital," Kitty's voice dripped with fake sympathy. "It is just so tragic."

Emaline's fingers dug into the plastic casing of her phone. "Do not talk about my father."

Kitty let out a high, tinkling laugh. "I am just checking in. You know, I felt so bad when I ran into him at the clinic last week. I saw his chart sitting on the desk. I just had to tell him the truth."

The air vanished from the hallway. Emaline stopped breathing.

"What did you tell him?" Emaline whispered.

"I told him he was dying," Kitty said cheerfully. "I told him the treatments were a waste of your money and that he was bleeding you dry. And look! He checked himself out the very next day. I did you a favor, Emmy."

A wave of nausea hit Emaline so hard her knees buckled.

Kitty was the reason Walter gave up. Kitty had murdered his hope just to spite her.

"Are you insane?" Emaline screamed into the phone. People in the hallway turned to stare, but she did not care. "Why would you do that?!"

"Because you are pathetic," Kitty snarled, dropping the sweet act. "You are a poor, miserable loser. Kendall and I are getting engaged next month. You have nothing. Go watch your father die."

The line clicked dead.

Emaline stood frozen. The phone slipped from her hand and clattered onto the linoleum floor.

Her chest heaved. A violent tremor started in her hands and violently spread to her entire body. The walls of the hospital spun.

Cullen moved before she hit the floor.

He closed the distance between them in one stride. He grabbed her arms, pulling her flush against his chest.

"I am here," Cullen said, his voice a fierce rumble against her ear. "Let it out."

Emaline broke.

She buried her face in his expensive wool coat and sobbed. It was an ugly, agonizing sound. She gripped the lapels of his coat, twisting the fabric in her fists as if she were trying to tear it apart.

Cullen's arms wrapped around her, locking her in a cage of warmth and cedarwood. He rested his chin on the top of her head. He did not tell her to calm down. He just held her tighter.

"She told him," Emaline choked out between sobs, her tears soaking through his shirt. "Kitty told my dad he was dying. She made him give up."

She felt the muscles in Cullen's chest turn to stone.

His hand moved up to cup the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair.

"I will handle it," Cullen said. The words were quiet, but they carried a terrifying weight.

Emaline pulled back slightly, looking up at his face. His jaw was clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. His eyes were completely black with rage.

"Handle it?" Emaline sniffled. "She is Kendall Britt's fiancée. You cannot touch her."

Cullen reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

"I do not care whose fiancée she is," Cullen said softly. "She hurt you. She will pay for it."

Emaline stared at him. Her heart gave a violent, painful thump in her chest. No one had ever defended her like this. No one had ever looked at her like she was something worth protecting.

She looked into Cullen's eyes, and for the first time, she realized she was falling.