Bronson stopped at the bottom of the steps. He turned around and looked up at Kathern as she walked down to meet him.

He reached into his trouser pocket. He pulled out a silver keyring and a white plastic access card. He held them out in the space between them.

"Maplewood Complex," Bronson said, his voice devoid of warmth. "Building B, Apartment 802. It's on the edge of Queens."

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a leather wallet. He extracted a silver credit card and held it out next to the keys.

"This is a secondary card," Bronson stated. "Use it for the household expenses."

Kathern looked at the piece of plastic. Her eyebrows pulled together. She kept her hands firmly at her sides.

"We can split the living expenses fifty-fifty," Kathern said, looking directly into his eyes. "I don't need your card."

Bronson's arm froze in mid-air. A flash of genuine surprise broke through his cold exterior, quickly replaced by a thicker layer of guarded suspicion.

He let out a short, harsh breath through his nose. He pulled the credit card back and shoved it into his wallet.

"Suit yourself," Bronson said. "Just don't cause any trouble."

Kathern reached out and took the keys and the access card from his hand. She unzipped the small front pocket of her backpack and carefully dropped them inside.

Bronson lifted his left arm and stared at his watch.

"I have an important business meeting back at the company," Bronson said, dropping his arm. "Do not tell anyone about this marriage. Especially not anyone from my office."

Kathern rolled her eyes. As if she would ever meet a single person from his boring corporate job. But she nodded her head anyway.

Bronson didn't waste another second. He turned on his heel and walked straight to the rusted Ford van.

Kathern stood on the sidewalk. She watched him pull the heavy door open and slide roughly into the driver's seat.

The van's engine roared to life with a violent shudder. A thick cloud of dark exhaust shot out from the tailpipe as the van sped away from the curb.

The smoke hit Kathern's face. She coughed twice, waving her hand rapidly in front of her nose to clear the foul air.

She walked back to her mint green scooter. She put her helmet on, started the engine, and merged into the traffic.

She followed the street signs, riding across the city until she reached the address Bronson had given her. The Maplewood Complex was a standard, slightly worn residential area.

Kathern parked her scooter in the designated area. She swiped the white card against the scanner at Building B and walked into the elevator.

She pressed the button for the eighth floor. The doors opened. She walked down the hallway and found the door marked 802. She slid the key into the lock and turned it.

The lock clicked loudly. Kathern pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The air inside the apartment was completely dead. It smelled like stale dust and closed windows. Tiny particles of dirt floated visibly in the shafts of sunlight cutting through the blinds.

Kathern looked around. It was a standard two-bedroom apartment. The layout was decent, but the living room was completely barren except for two cheap sofas and a glass coffee table.

She walked into the master bedroom. A massive, unmade bed sat in the center of the room. There was no wardrobe. No nightstands.

She walked back out and pushed the door to the guest room open. It was completely empty. Just bare wooden floorboards.

Kathern walked into the kitchen. She pulled the cabinet doors open one by one. Nothing. Not a single plate, fork, or glass.

Kathern let out a long, heavy sigh. Her shoulders slumped. The man had literally just bought a concrete box to shut his grandmother up.

She dropped her backpack onto the kitchen counter. She rolled up the sleeves of her shirt, walked over to the living room window, and pushed the glass pane up as hard as she could. The fresh breeze rushed in.

She looked down at the layer of grime on the floorboards. She needed to go back to Gussie's house to get her large suitcase and buy a massive amount of cleaning supplies.

Kathern walked into the small bathroom of the new apartment. She turned on the faucet, washed the dust off her hands, and dried them on a paper towel she found in her bag. She walked out the front door and locked it securely behind her.

At that exact moment, in the center of Manhattan, the rusted Ford van rolled slowly down the concrete ramp into the underground VIP parking garage of the Vaughan Group headquarters. It slid into a secluded, oversized parking spot.

Bronson pushed the heavy door open and stepped out onto the concrete. The tension in his jaw remained, but the fake, middle-class posture vanished instantly. He stood tall, radiating the absolute authority of a man who controlled billions.

His personal assistant and head of security, Dwayne, stepped out from the shadows. Dwayne held a perfectly pressed, custom-tailored black suit jacket over his arm.

Bronson ripped the cheap gray suit jacket off his shoulders and handed it to Dwayne with a look of absolute disgust. "Dispose of it," he ordered, refusing to let the cheap fabric touch him a second longer. He then slid his arms into the tailored jacket Dwayne held out for him.

"Madam Eleanor has been waiting in the top-floor office for twenty minutes, sir," Dwayne said quietly.

Bronson's eyebrows pulled together. He reached up and aggressively adjusted his silk tie. He walked past Dwayne, heading straight for the private elevator that required his biometric scan to operate.

The elevator doors slid open on the top floor. Bronson walked down the wide, silent corridor. He pushed the heavy mahogany double doors of the CEO's office open.

Eleanor Vaughan sat on the white leather sofa. She held a delicate porcelain cup of Darjeeling tea. She placed the cup down on the saucer the second he walked in.

"Well?" Eleanor demanded, her eyes bright with expectation. "Did it go smoothly? Is she happy?"

Bronson walked around his massive glass desk and sat down in his leather chair.

"The task is done," Bronson said, his voice flat. "The certificate is signed."

Eleanor narrowed her eyes. She picked up her wooden cane and tapped the metal tip sharply against the floor.

"Do not bully that girl, Bronson," Eleanor warned.

Bronson let out a dark, cynical laugh.

"I will provide the housing as promised," Bronson said. "But she is under a six-month background investigation starting today."

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk.

"Until I confirm that woman isn't a corporate spy or a gold digger aiming for the Vaughan estate, my identity remains completely hidden."

Eleanor pointed a trembling finger at him.

"Your paranoia is a sickness," Eleanor snapped. "You will pay for this arrogance one day, mark my words."

Bronson ignored the threat. He reached out and tapped his mouse, waking up his dual monitors.

"I have a cross-border video conference in two minutes," Bronson said, staring at the stock numbers flashing across the screen.

Eleanor let out a heavy sigh. She stood up, leaning heavily on her cane.

"Have a little patience with her," Eleanor said softly before walking out the door.

The heavy mahogany doors clicked shut. Bronson stared at the financial data, but the image of Kathern's clear, defiant eyes as she refused his credit card flashed violently in his mind.

He ground his teeth together. He lifted his hand and rubbed his temples hard, forcing the woman's face out of his brain.

Miles away, Kathern sat on her scooter outside a rundown convenience store. She held a cold bottle of water against her leg. She pulled out her phone and dialed Eleanor's number.

The line connected quickly.

"Kathern, dear," Eleanor's warm voice came through the speaker. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay," Kathern said, her voice softening with genuine gratitude. "I just wanted to call and say thank you. You really saved me today."

Eleanor sighed loudly into the phone. "I'm the one who should apologize. I know my grandson is as stubborn and cold as a brick wall."

Kathern smiled slightly. "Mr. Bronson seems very distant, but he kept his word. He's a good man."

There was a pause on the line.

"Mr. Bronson?" Eleanor asked, a bitter chuckle escaping her lips. "Please, dear, just call him Bronson."

"Okay, Grandma," Kathern corrected herself smoothly.

They exchanged a few more pleasantries before Kathern ended the call. She stared at the black screen of her phone for a moment. She took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill her lungs.

She shoved the phone into her pocket, pulled her helmet back on, and started the engine. She steered the scooter back toward Gussie's apartment.

The thought of facing Glenwood's smug face again made the muscles in her arms pull tight. Her eyes hardened as she sped down the street.

Kathern parked her scooter on the curb outside Gussie's apartment building. She grabbed the plastic bags filled with heavy bottles of bleach and surface cleaner from the floorboard and marched up the three flights of stairs.

She shoved her key into the lock and pushed the door open. The deafening sound of a reality TV show blasted from the living room.

Glenwood was sprawled across the center of the sofa. One leg was thrown over the armrest. He was aggressively chewing a handful of potato chips, letting the greasy crumbs fall freely onto the carpet.

He turned his head as Kathern walked in. A nasty smirk twisted his lips.

"Look who's back," Glenwood mocked loudly over the TV. "Couldn't find a sucker to take you in, huh?"

Kathern didn't even look at him. She walked straight past the sofa and went into the guest room. She grabbed the handle of her massive, pre-packed suitcase and dragged it out into the hallway.

The hard plastic wheels scraped loudly against the wooden floorboards.

Gussie ran out of the kitchen. Her hands were covered in thick white dish soap bubbles. When she saw the suitcase, her face crumpled. Tears instantly spilled over her eyelashes.

Gussie rushed forward and grabbed the top of the suitcase with her wet hands.

"Kathern, please don't do this," Gussie cried, her voice trembling. "I'll find a night shift. I'll pay your half of the rent. Just don't leave."

Glenwood snorted loudly from the sofa.

"If you take one dime of my money to pay for her," Glenwood threatened, pointing a greasy finger at Gussie, "I'll file for divorce tomorrow."

A surge of pure, hot rage shot through Kathern's veins. She snapped her head toward the sofa and glared at Glenwood with such violent intensity that he physically recoiled, pulling his leg off the armrest.

Kathern turned back to her sister. She reached out and gently wiped the tears off Gussie's cheek with her thumb. She grabbed Gussie's wrist and pulled her toward the small dining table.

Kathern unzipped the front pocket of her backpack. She pulled out the marriage certificate—the thin piece of paper she had picked up at City Hall— and slammed it down onto the wooden table.

Gussie stared at it. Her hands shook as she reached out and picked it up.

Gussie's eyes locked onto the official seal and the two names printed on the marriage certificate. Her breath hitched in her throat. Her eyes widened in absolute horror.

Gussie jumped up from the chair so fast it tipped over and crashed onto the floor.

"What is this?" Gussie gasped, pointing a shaking finger at the paper. "What did you do?"

The crash made Glenwood sit up. He walked over to the table and looked down at the certificate. He threw his head back and let out a loud, barking laugh.

"You actually did it," Glenwood sneered. "You dragged some homeless bum off the street to marry you just so you wouldn't have to pay rent."

Kathern's hand shot out. She grabbed the half-full glass of cold water sitting on the table and threw the liquid directly into Glenwood's face.

Glenwood shrieked. The cold water dripped down his nose and soaked his shirt. His face turned purple with rage. He raised his fist and lunged toward her.

Kathern's hand darted to the heavy ceramic fruit bowl on the table. She gripped its thick rim, her knuckles turning white, and lifted it like a bludgeon. Her eyes were completely dead, devoid of any hesitation.

"Take one more step," Kathern whispered, her voice dangerously low.

Glenwood froze. He stared at the heavy ceramic object poised to smash his skull, then looked at the absolute lack of fear in Kathern's eyes. He cursed under his breath, wiped his wet face with his sleeve, and backed away, retreating into his bedroom.

The living room fell dead silent. Gussie collapsed onto the floor. She buried her face in her hands, trembling not just from the marriage certificate, but from the sheer, terrifying escalation of violence she had just witnessed, and began to wail.

Gussie grabbed the fabric of Kathern's jeans. "It's my fault," she sobbed hysterically. "You sold yourself to some old creep because I'm too weak to protect you. You ruined your life for me."

Hearing the raw agony in her sister's voice made Kathern's throat burn. Her own eyes filled with hot tears.

She dropped the heavy bowl on the table and dropped to her knees. She wrapped her arms tightly around Gussie's shaking shoulders, pressing her face into her sister's hair.

"I didn't sell myself," Kathern said fiercely into Gussie's ear. "He's a good person. I promise you."

Gussie shook her head wildly, refusing to listen, just repeating the word 'sorry' over and over again.

From the bedroom, Cody woke up from the shouting. He started screaming at the top of his lungs. The sound of her baby crying snapped Gussie out of her spiral. She sucked in a ragged breath and stopped crying.

Kathern grabbed Gussie's arms and pulled her up from the floor. She smoothed down Gussie's messy hair, her mind racing to build a story that would stop her sister's heart from breaking.