The private investigator's office smelled like coffee and desperation.

Scarlett sat across from a man who introduced himself as Jack Morrison-fifties, weathered face, eyes that had seen too much while Damien stood by the window, arms crossed, radiating controlled impatience.

"Tell me again about the night your father died," Jack said, his voice gravelly from what was probably decades of cigarettes.

"I already told you everything on the phone-"

"Tell me again. Details matter."

Scarlett took a breath, forcing herself back to that night six weeks ago. "I was at dinner with Marcus. My father called around eight PM, said he needed to talk to me about something important. He sounded... worried. Urgent. He asked me to come by the next morning, that it couldn't wait." Her hands clenched in her lap. "By morning, he was dead. Victoria called me at six AM, said he'd fallen down the stairs during the night. Broken neck. The police ruled it accidental."

"But you don't think it was."

"My stepsister basically admitted Victoria pushed him. And my father was careful. He'd lived in that house for fifteen years. He didn't just fall."

Jack made notes in a leather-bound notebook. "The autopsy report says his blood alcohol was point-one-two. Above the legal limit."

"My father didn't drink. He was a recovering alcoholic, sober for twenty years."

"People relapse."

"Not him. Never him." Scarlett leaned forward. "Someone forced alcohol down his throat, or drugged him, or something. He wouldn't have been drinking."

"Did you tell the police this?"

"They said grief makes people see conspiracies where there aren't any. That I needed to accept my father's struggles." Her voice turned bitter. "Victoria played the devastated wife perfectly. Told them he'd been depressed since his company collapsed, drinking in secret, that she'd been worried about him."

Jack glanced at Damien. "And you believe your wife?"

"I believe someone who benefits from a death deserves scrutiny," Damien said. "Victoria Hayes inherited everything,the house, the company assets, the life insurance. That's the motive."

"Motive isn't proof."

"Which is why we're hiring you to find proof."

Jack studied them both, his expression unreadable. "I'll be honest with you. Six weeks is a long time. Evidence disappears. Witnesses forget things or change stories. If this was murder, and if it was planned carefully, proving it will be nearly impossible."

"But not completely impossible," Scarlett said.

"No. Not completely." Jack closed his notebook. "I'll need access to everything,your father's financial records, phone logs, emails, the police report, the autopsy, witness statements. I'll need to interview the staff who were in the house that night. And I'll need you to stay out of my way while I work."

"How long?"

"Could be weeks. Could be months. Depends what I find." He named a price that made Scarlett wince, but Damien just nodded.

"Fine. Start immediately."

"One more thing," Jack said, looking at Scarlett. "If I do find evidence that your stepmother killed your father, what are you planning to do with it?"

"Destroy her," Scarlett said without hesitation.

"Not go to the police?"

"I want justice, not revenge served through bureaucracy. If you find proof, I'll decide the best way to use it."

Jack smiled slightly. "You remind me of someone I used to know. Okay, Mrs. Wolfe. I'll find your proof. Just be ready for what comes with it."

They left the office and climbed into the back of Damien's car. The moment the door closed, Scarlett felt exhaustion crash over her. She'd barely slept, and the weight of everything,the marriage, the threats, the investigation was suddenly overwhelming.

"That went well," Damien said, checking his phone.

"Did it? He basically said it's impossible."

"He said nearly impossible. There's a difference." Damien glanced at her. "You look terrible."

"Thank you. That's exactly what every new bride wants to hear."

"I meant you need rest. You were up all night."

"So were you."

"I'm used to it. You're not." He typed something on his phone. "We have a meeting with my lawyers in an hour to discuss Vivienne's threats, then lunch with a journalist who's writing a profile on us for Vanity Fair. After that, you have a fitting for the society wedding dress, and tonight we're attending the Metropolitan Opera's opening night."

Scarlett stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"Completely. This is your life now. Welcome to it."

"I can't do all that. I need to-I don't know, research Victoria, or plan how to get proof, or-"

"You need to play your part," Damien said, his voice firm. "Jack will investigate your father's death. I'll handle Vivienne. Your job is to be the perfect Mrs. Wolfe so David Chen doesn't get suspicious. We already discussed this."

"You discussed it. I agreed to play your wife, not to abandon everything I care about."

"You're not abandoning anything. You're being strategic." He met her eyes. "If David suspects this marriage is fake, the deal collapses. If the deal collapses, I don't need a wife. If I don't need a wife, our contract ends. Do you understand?"

"I understand that you're incredibly controlling."

"I'm incredibly successful because I'm controlling. There's a reason I rebuilt my father's ruins into an empire." His voice softened slightly. "Look, I know this is overwhelming. But you signed up for this. You proposed to me, remember? You said you could handle uncomfortable situations."

"Uncomfortable is different from impossible."

"Nothing's impossible. It's just exhausting." He went back to his phone. "The car will take you home to change. Maya will have something appropriate laid out for the lawyer meeting. Don't be late."

The car pulled up to the mansion, and Scarlett got out without another word. She was too tired to argue, too overwhelmed to think clearly.

Inside, Maya was indeed waiting with clothing options:a navy suit that screamed "professional wife of a billionaire." Scarlett changed mechanically, let Maya fix her hair and makeup, and stared at her reflection.

She looked polished. Expensive. Nothing like the woman who'd crashed a gala in a wedding dress three days ago.

Three days. Had it really only been three days since she'd discovered Marcus's betrayal? It felt like years.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Oliver: *Lunch tomorrow? Need to catch up. This is INSANE.*

She typed back: Can't tomorrow. Maybe next week? If I survive.

His response was immediate: You're going to survive. You're the strongest person I know. Even if you married a terrifying robot.

That made her smile despite everything.

The lawyer meeting was in Damien's study:three stern men in expensive suits who talked about Vivienne's threats in the clinical language of legal strategy. They could file for harassment, pursue a restraining order, threaten countersuits. But the real question was whether Vivienne actually had documentation that could damage Damien.

"We need to see what she has before we make moves," the lead lawyer, Patterson, said. "Otherwise we're shooting blind."

"So we give her what she wants?" Scarlett asked.

"Absolutely not," Damien said. "We negotiate. Stall. Buy time while we figure out exactly what evidence she has and how to neutralize it."

"And if we can't neutralize it?"

"Then we contain the damage. Make her look unstable, discredit her sources, bury the story in more interesting scandals." Patterson said this like it was routine. "We've handled worse."

"Worse than embezzlement?" Scarlett asked.

The lawyers exchanged glances. Patterson cleared his throat. "Mrs. Wolfe, your husband's reputation is built on transparency and integrity. A few old accusations from a disgruntled ex won't destroy that. We just need to manage the narrative."

After they left, Scarlett turned to Damien. "How often do you have to 'manage narratives'?"

"More often than I'd like." He loosened his tie, looking exhausted. "Being successful makes you a target. People come out of the woodwork with accusations, demands, threats. Most of it is noise. Vivienne is just louder than most."

"Because she has actual ammunition."

"Because she thinks she does. There's a difference."

"Is there?" Scarlett moved closer. "If she has documentation of your father's embezzlement, of the money you used to start your company,that's not just thinking. That's knowing."

"Then we'll figure out what she knows and how to counter it." His jaw tightened. "I'm not losing everything I built because of my father's sins."

The car took them to lunch;a trendy spot in SoHo where the Vanity Fair journalist was already waiting. Sharon Kim, early thirties, sharp eyes that missed nothing, a smile that was professionally friendly.

The next hour was an exercise in performance art. Scarlett and Damien played the besotted newlyweds,finishing each other's sentences, sharing knowing glances, touching constantly in the way new couples do. Scarlett talked about their "whirlwind romance," about how Damien had swept her off her feet, about how she'd never believed in love at first sight until him.

The lies came easily now. Disturbingly easy.

Sharon asked about their plans-children? A real wedding? Where would they honeymoon?

"We haven't had time to plan a honeymoon yet," Damien said, his hand covering Scarlett's on the table. "But I'm thinking somewhere private. Just the two of us."

"The Maldives," Scarlett improvised. "I've always wanted to go."

"Then the Maldives it is." Damien lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, a gesture that looked spontaneous but was clearly calculated for Sharon's benefit.

Except when his lips touched her skin, Scarlett felt that same electric spark from their courthouse kiss. And from the way Damien's eyes darkened slightly, he felt it too.

"You two are adorable," Sharon said, making notes. "Our readers are going to eat this up. The brooding billionaire finding unexpected love. It's a very modern fairy tale."

If only she knew the truth.

After lunch, the dress fitting was at an exclusive boutique where the designer-a tiny French woman named Celeste -- had already prepared sketches based on "Mrs. Wolfe's proportions and coloring."

"We want classic elegance," Celeste said, showing Scarlett designs that ranged from simple to elaborate. "Something that says timeless romance. Your courthouse wedding was rushed,this is your moment to show the world your love story."

Scarlett looked at the sketches, each more beautiful and expensive than the last, and felt like a fraud. This wasn't a love story. This was a business transaction with costume changes.

"What do you think?" Maya asked, appearing beside her. "The one with the lace sleeves would be stunning on you."

"They're all beautiful."

"But which one feels like you?"

None of them felt like her. Scarlett Hayes didn't wear ten-thousand-dollar wedding dresses and marry billionaires. Scarlett Hayes wore thrift store finds and scraped by on grant money while studying art history.

But Scarlett Hayes didn't exist anymore.

"The lace sleeves," she said finally. "That one."

Celeste clapped her hands together. "Perfect! We'll schedule fittings, and the dress will be ready in eight weeks. The wedding is planned for..."

"Ten weeks from now," Maya supplied. "Small ceremony, two hundred guests, reception at the Wolfe mansion."

Two hundred people watching her marry a man she barely knew in a dress that cost more than her education. It should have felt like a dream.

Instead, it felt like a trap closing.

The Metropolitan Opera's opening night was a glittering affair;Manhattan's elite in tuxedos and designer gowns, champagne flowing, everyone performing wealth and culture like it was an Olympic sport.

Scarlett wore emerald silk that Maya had selected, her hair swept up, Damien's grandmother's diamonds at her throat. They were a lie too borrowed from the family vault for authenticity.

Everything about her life now was borrowed or fake.

Damien's hand was at her back as they navigated the crowd, and she'd learned to lean into him slightly, to let her body language sell the story of a couple in love. They'd been doing this for days now,the touches, the glances, the casual intimacy and it was becoming disturbingly natural.

"There's Victoria," Damien murmured in her ear, his breath warm against her skin.

Scarlett's stepmother stood near the bar in severe black, her face a mask of dignified grief. But when she saw Scarlett, something ugly flashed across her expression before she smoothed it away.

"Should I go talk to her?" Scarlett asked.

"No. Let her come to you. You're in the power position now."

But Victoria didn't approach. She just watched, her eyes tracking Scarlett's every move with an intensity that felt predatory.

"She's planning something," Scarlett said.

"Of course she is. So are we." Damien guided her toward their box seats. "Ignore her. Enjoy the opera."

Scarlett had never been to the opera. She'd studied music history at Columbia but had never been able to afford tickets. Now she was sitting in a private box that probably cost more than her rent, surrounded by people who did this casually, like it was Tuesday.

The lights dimmed. The orchestra began. And for three hours, Scarlett let herself get lost in Puccini and forget about contracts and threats and fake marriages.

During intermission, while Damien was networking in the lobby, a woman appeared at Scarlett's elbow.

"You're the new Mrs. Wolfe," the woman said. Fifties, impeccably dressed, eyes like a hawk. "I'm Catherine Ashford. I knew your father."

Scarlett's attention sharpened. "You did?"

"Twenty years ago, before he married Victoria. We worked together briefly." Catherine's voice dropped. "I wanted to tell you,he was a good man. Whatever rumors Victoria is spreading about depression and drinking, they're lies. William Hayes was sober, dedicated, and deeply proud of you."

Tears pricked Scarlett's eyes. "Thank you. That means more than you know."

"There's something else." Catherine glanced around to make sure they were alone. "The night he died, he called me. Around seven PM. He said he'd discovered something about Victoria's finances, something illegal, and he was going to confront her. I told him to go to the police instead, but he said he needed to give her a chance to explain first. That was the last time I spoke to him."

Scarlett's heart was pounding. "Did you tell the police this?"

"I tried. They said it was irrelevant to his accidental death. But it wasn't accidental, was it?"

"No. It wasn't."

Catherine pulled out a card. "This is my personal number. If you need anything:evidence, testimony, connections call me. Your father was my friend. I owe him justice."

She disappeared back into the crowd before Scarlett could respond.

Damien returned moments later, champagne in hand. "What was that about?"

Scarlett showed him the card. "A lead. My father called her the night he died. He'd discovered something about Victoria's finances."

"That's motive and opportunity." Damien's eyes sharpened. "We need to tell Jack."

"We will. But first-" Scarlett looked toward where Victoria was holding court with a group of society women. "First, I want to rattle her. Let her know I'm not going away quietly."

"Scarlett-"

"She killed my father. She stole my inheritance. She thinks she's won." Scarlett set down her champagne. "It's time to remind her she hasn't."

Before Damien could stop her, she walked across the lobby toward Victoria.

The crowd parted slightly, sensing drama. Conversations quieted. This was society at its finest-everyone loved a show.

"Victoria," Scarlett said pleasantly. "I haven't had a chance to say hello."

Her stepmother's smile was glacial. "Scarlett. What a surprise to see you here. I didn't realize the opera was... accessible to everyone these days."

"Oh, I'm not here as everyone. I'm here as Mrs. Damien Wolfe." She gestured to the diamonds at her throat. "These belonged to Damien's grandmother. Apparently, I'm family now."

"How fortunate for you. Marrying money is certainly easier than earning it."

"Is that what you did? Because from what I understand, you married my father for love." Scarlett's voice was sweet poison. "At least, that's what you told everyone. That you loved him. That you'd care for him. That you'd protect him."

Victoria's composure cracked slightly. "How dare you-"

"How dare I what? Speak at my father's funeral? Oh wait, I wasn't invited to that, was I? You had him cremated before I could even say goodbye."

People were definitely listening now. The society matrons had gone silent, fascinated.

"Your father's wishes-"

"My father's wishes were to be buried next to his first wife. My mother. You know, the woman he actually loved." Scarlett stepped closer. "But cremation is convenient when you don't want an autopsy to find evidence of murder."

The lobby went dead silent.

Victoria's face turned white, then red. "You're insane. Grief has made you delusional-"

"Has it? Because I have witnesses who say Dad called them the night he died. He'd discovered something about your finances. Something illegal. He was going to confront you." Scarlett smiled. "And then he fell down the stairs. What a coincidence."

"Security," Victoria called, her voice shaking. "This woman is harassing me-"

"This woman is my wife," Damien said, appearing at Scarlett's side. His voice was ice-cold. "And if you call security on her, Mrs. Hayes, I'll have my lawyers file harassment charges against you for the threatening texts you've been sending. Shall we compare phone records?"

Victoria looked between them, trapped. The crowd was watching. Phones were probably recording. This would be tomorrow's gossip,the new Mrs. Wolfe publicly accusing her stepmother of murder at the opera.

"You'll regret this," Victoria said quietly.

"That's a threat," Damien said. "In front of witnesses. I hope you have a good lawyer, Mrs. Hayes. You're going to need one."

He guided Scarlett away, his hand firm on her back. The crowd parted, and Scarlett could hear the whispers starting;scandal, murder, police, investigation.

Good. Let them talk. Let Victoria feel what it was like to be the subject of gossip and speculation.

They didn't return to their box. Damien led her straight to the car, and the moment the door closed, he turned to her.

"What the hell was that?"

"That was me taking back power."

"That was you painting a target on your back!" His voice was sharp with fury. "Do you have any idea what you just did? You publicly accused her of murder. She can sue you for defamation. She can claim you're mentally unstable. She can-"

"She can be afraid," Scarlett interrupted. "For the first time since my father died, Victoria is afraid. Because I'm not a powerless girl anymore. I'm your wife. I have resources, protection, and a voice she can't silence. Let her sue me. Let her try to prove I'm unstable. I have Catherine Ashford willing to testify that my father called her about Victoria's illegal finances the night he died. I have evidence coming. And I have you."

"You have me," Damien repeated slowly.

"Don't I? Or was all that talk about protection and resources just performance?"

He stared at her, something complicated crossing his face. Then, without warning, he pulled her toward him and kissed her.

This wasn't like the courthouse kiss,brief and controlled. This was fierce, almost angry, his hand fisting in her hair as his mouth claimed hers. Scarlett gasped, and he took advantage, deepening the kiss until she couldn't think, couldn't breathe, could only feel.

When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard.

"What was that?" she managed.

"That," he said roughly, "was me remembering why I married you. You're not some meek society wife who'll sit quietly while people attack you. You're a fighter. I forgot that for a moment."

"So you kiss me?"

"Apparently." He released her, running a hand through his hair. "That was inappropriate. It won't happen again."

But the air between them was still charged, electric with possibility.

"Damien-"

"We're here," he said as the car pulled up to the mansion. He was out before she could finish her sentence, putting distance between them like she was dangerous.

Maybe she was.

Inside, Scarlett went straight to her room, her lips still tingling, her heart still racing. That kiss had been real. Too real. The kind of kiss that led to complications they'd specifically contracted away.

She needed to focus. She'd rattled Victoria tonight, but that meant Victoria would escalate. And Damien was right-she'd painted a target on herself.

But she'd also shown Victoria she wasn't afraid.

Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: Clever girl, making a scene at the opera. But you should know your husband's ex-fiancée isn't his only secret. Ask him about the Shanghai incident. Ask him about the bodies. - V

Scarlett stared at the message, ice flooding her veins.

Bodies?

She crossed to the connecting door between her room and Damien's, then hesitated. He'd said the kiss wouldn't happen again. He'd put distance between them. Maybe she should respect that.

But she needed answers more than she needed respect.

She knocked.

"Come in," his voice called.

She opened the door to find him sitting at his desk, tie discarded, shirt partially unbuttoned, looking exhausted.

"I got another text from Victoria," she said, holding out her phone.

He read it, his expression darkening. "The Shanghai incident is nothing. A business competitor made accusations that were thoroughly investigated and dismissed."

"And the bodies?"

"There are no bodies. She's trying to scare you with conspiracy theories."

"Are you sure?"

"Scarlett." He stood, moving toward her. "Yes, I'm sure. Five years ago, a Chinese factory that was producing counterfeit Wolfe Industries goods burned down. Thirty-seven people died. A competitor tried to claim I'd ordered the fire. The investigation proved it was faulty wiring. No arson, no conspiracy, just tragedy. Victoria is weaponizing a tragedy to make you doubt me."

"Why would she do that?"

"Because if you doubt me, you might break the contract. If you break the contract, you lose your protection. If you lose your protection, she can destroy you without worrying about legal repercussions." He was close now, close enough that she could smell his cologne. "Don't let her manipulate you."

"I'm not. I just needed to hear it from you."

"Now you have." But he didn't move away. "The kiss earlier-"

"Was nothing," she said quickly. "Just adrenaline. The stress of the evening."

"Right. Stress."

But they were still standing too close, and the air between them felt heavy with possibility.

"I should go," Scarlett said.

"You should."

Neither of them moved.

"Damien-"

"Don't." His voice was rough. "Don't say whatever you're about to say. Because I'm very close to making another inappropriate decision, and I need you to go back to your room before I do."

Her breath caught. "What if I don't want to?"

"Scarlett." Her name was almost a groan. "This is a business arrangement. Getting involved complicates everything."

"Maybe I want something complicated."

"No, you don't. You want revenge and justice and your father's legacy restored. You don't want me." He stepped back, creating distance. "Go to bed. We both need sleep."

"This isn't over."

"Yes, it is."

But the way he was looking at her like she was something he wanted but couldn't let himself have.

Scarlett went back to her room and closed the connecting door, but she didn't lock it.

Maybe that was a mistake. Maybe it was an invitation.

Either way, she lay in bed listening for movement next door, wondering if he was lying awake too, wondering the same things.

They'd been married for forty-eight hours.

And already, the contract they'd signed was starting to feel like the least important thing between them.

Tomorrow, she'd call Jack Morrison and tell him about Catherine Ashford's testimony. Tomorrow, she'd figure out how to protect herself from Victoria's escalating threats. Tomorrow, she'd be sensible and strategic and professional.

But tonight, she let herself remember the feeling of Damien's mouth on hers and wonder what would happen if they stopped pretending this was purely business.

Nothing good, probably.

But possibly something unforgettable.

She fell asleep with that thought, and dreamed of winter-ice eyes and kisses that tasted like danger.

The pregnancy test was supposed to be negative.

Scarlett stared at the two pink lines, her hands shaking so badly she almost dropped the stick. This wasn't possible. She was on birth control. They'd used protection. The one time they'd-

No. They hadn't.

The night after the opera, after the confrontation with Victoria, after that kiss in the car. She'd woken at two AM to find Damien in her room, standing by her bed like a ghost. "I can't stop thinking about you," he'd said. And she'd pulled him down to her, and they'd broken every rule in the contract.

That was three weeks ago. Three weeks of pretending it hadn't happened. Three weeks of careful distance and professional politeness.

Three weeks, and now this.

"No, no, no," she whispered, taking another test. Then another. All positive.

She was pregnant with Damien Wolfe's baby.

The contract flashed through her mind: *If pregnancy occurs, the contract extends automatically and the settlement increases to fifty million dollars.*

Fifty million. Enough to reclaim her father's legacy ten times over. Enough to destroy Victoria completely. Enough to never worry about money again.

But it also meant being tied to Damien forever. Not twelve months,potentially eighteen years. Co-parenting with a man who'd made it very clear that night three weeks ago was a mistake they'd never repeat.

She sat on the bathroom floor, tests scattered around her, and tried to figure out how to breathe.

A knock on her bedroom door. "Scarlett? We need to leave in ten minutes."

Damien. Of course. They had a charity luncheon, because her life was now an endless performance of public appearances.

"I'll be ready," she called, her voice surprisingly steady.

She shoved the tests into her purse,she'd need to dispose of them carefully, couldn't risk the staff finding them and composed herself. She could do this. She could get through one luncheon without falling apart.

She could tell Damien later. Tonight. After she'd figured out what she wanted to do.

Except "what she wanted" wasn't clear. Part of her was terrified. Part of her was strangely thrilled. And part of her was already calculating how this changed her leverage with Victoria.

She emerged from her room to find Damien waiting in the hallway, looking devastating in a charcoal suit. Their eyes met, and something sparked between them,the same electricity that had been crackling since that night, the tension neither of them acknowledged.

"You look pale," he said. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Fine. Just tired."

"You've been tired a lot lately."

Because she'd been exhausted, nauseous every morning, her breasts tender. All the signs she'd been ignoring, telling herself it was stress.

"I haven't been sleeping well," she said, which wasn't a lie.

His expression softened slightly. "The nightmares again?"

She'd confessed one morning, after he'd found her awake at dawn, that she'd been having dreams about her father's death. He'd been surprisingly gentle about it, even offering to have his doctor prescribe something to help her sleep.

"Yes," she lied. "The nightmares."

They rode to the luncheon in careful silence. Over the past three weeks, they'd perfected the art of being together without really being together. Polite conversation, professional distance, no mention of the night they'd crossed every line they'd drawn.

The charity luncheon was for pediatric cancer research, held at the Plaza. Scarlett smiled and made small talk and tried not to think about the fact that in roughly eight months, she'd have a baby.

Damien's baby.

"You're distracted," he murmured during the speeches, his mouth close to her ear.

"I'm fine."

"You're not. You've barely eaten, you've been staring at nothing for the past ten minutes, and you flinched when someone mentioned babies."

Because a woman at their table had been showing photos of her newborn, cooing about how motherhood was the greatest joy, and Scarlett had felt panic claw up her throat.

"I told you, I'm tired-"

"Scarlett." His hand found hers under the table. "What's wrong?"

Everything. Nothing. The fact that I'm carrying your child and have no idea how to tell you.

"We'll talk later," she said quietly. "Not here."

His jaw tightened, but he nodded.

They made it through the luncheon, through the photo opportunities and the networking and the performance. But the moment they were back in the car, Damien turned to her.

"Tell me what's going on."

"Can it wait until we're home?"

"No. Because you look like you're about to shatter, and I need to know why."

Scarlett looked at him-this man she'd married five weeks ago, this stranger who'd become something more complicated than she'd ever intended. He deserved to know. Even if it changed everything.

"I'm pregnant," she said.

The silence was deafening.

Damien stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned forward and told the driver to raise the privacy screen and circle the block.

"You're sure?" His voice was carefully controlled.

"Three tests. All positive." She pulled one from her purse and showed him. "I know we were careful. I know this wasn't supposed to happen. But that night-"

"We didn't use protection."

"No."

He ran his hands through his hair, a gesture she'd learned meant he was processing something overwhelming. "How far along?"

"Three weeks, I think. I need to see a doctor to confirm."

"I'll arrange it. Today." He was already pulling out his phone. "Private clinic, complete confidentiality. We need to know for certain before we decide-" He stopped. "Before we decide anything."

Before we decide if you want to keep it. The unspoken words hung between them.

"I haven't decided what I want yet," Scarlett said. "I just found out an hour ago. But I needed to tell you before I made any choices."

"The contract," Damien said. "If you're pregnant, it changes everything."

"Fifty million dollars. I know."

"That's not what I meant." He looked at her, and his expression was complicated. "I meant we're talking about a child. My child. Our child. Money is the least important consideration."

"Is it? Because money is the only reason we're married."

"Money was the reason we got married. This is different."

"How?"

"Because a baby isn't a transaction. It's-" He stopped, jaw tightening. "It's a person. A life. Something neither of us planned but both of us would be responsible for."

Scarlett felt tears prick her eyes. Stupid hormones. "I don't know if I can do this. Be a mother. Raise a child in this complicated, messed-up situation we've created."

"You don't have to decide right now."

"Don't I? Every day I wait, it becomes more real. More complicated."

Damien was quiet for a long moment. Then he shifted closer, his hand cupping her face with surprising gentleness. "Whatever you decide, I'll support you. If you want to end the pregnancy, I'll arrange everything and make sure you have the best care. If you want to keep the baby, I'll-" He took a breath. "I'll be there. Not because of the contract. Because it's the right thing to do."

"You don't want children."

"I never said that."

"You did. When we discussed the contract. You said pregnancy would complicate things."

"It does complicate things. That doesn't mean I don't want-" He stopped, seeming to struggle with words. "My father was a terrible parent. Absent, manipulative, more concerned with money than family. I swore I'd never have children because I was terrified of becoming him. But that was before."

"Before what?"

"Before I met someone who might make me want to try." His thumb stroked her cheekbone. "You're not what I expected, Scarlett Wolfe."

Her heart was hammering. "What did you expect?"

"Someone simpler. Someone I could keep at arm's length. Someone who wouldn't make me question every decision I've made for the past decade." His voice dropped. "Someone I wouldn't want to kiss every time I see them."

"Damien-"

"I know. The contract. The rules. The fact that this is supposed to be business." He leaned his forehead against hers. "But that night three weeks ago wasn't business. And whatever happens with this pregnancy, we need to acknowledge that we've already crossed lines we can't uncross."

Scarlett closed her eyes, breathing him in cedar and danger and something that was uniquely him. "What do we do?"

"First, we confirm the pregnancy. Then we figure out what you want. What we both want." He pulled back slightly. "But Scarlett, I need you to know-whatever choice you make, it's yours. I won't pressure you. I won't manipulate you. This is your body, your life, your decision."

The fact that he was giving her complete autonomy made her want to cry harder. She'd expected control, demands, contracts about custody and settlements. Instead, he was offering choice.

"I need time to think," she said.

"Take all the time you need."

"What about the contract? Do we tell the lawyers?"

"Not yet. Not until you decide what you want. If you choose to end the pregnancy, no one ever needs to know. If you choose to keep it, we'll handle the legal implications then." He checked his watch. "I can get you a doctor's appointment for four PM. Will that work?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

They spent the next two hours in careful silence;Damien making calls, arranging the appointment, handling logistics with the efficiency that had built his empire. Scarlett stared out the window and tried to process the fact that her life had just gotten exponentially more complicated.

The clinic was in a discrete building in the West Village. No signs, no public entrance, just a unmarked door that required a code. Inside was luxurious and private,more like a spa than a medical facility.

Dr. Sarah Chen:no relation to David, apparently it was just a common surname,he was fortyish, professional, and completely unflappable. She confirmed the pregnancy with blood tests and an ultrasound.

"You're about four weeks along," she said, showing them a screen with what looked like a tiny blob. "It's very early, but everything looks healthy. Based on your hormone levels, I'd estimate you conceived around three and a half weeks ago."

Four weeks. A month. Scarlett stared at the blob that was apparently going to become a person and felt surreal.

"What are the options?" Damien asked, his hand finding Scarlett's.

Dr. Chen walked them through everything,continuing the pregnancy, medication abortion, surgical abortion. She was factual and non-judgmental, presenting information without pushing any particular choice.

"You don't need to decide today," she said. "But if you're considering termination, sooner is medically easier than later. If you'd like, I can schedule a follow-up appointment for next week and we can discuss it further."

They left with pamphlets and information and a prescription for prenatal vitamins that Scarlett wasn't sure she'd fill.

In the car, Damien said, "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that a month ago, I was planning my wedding to Marcus. Now I'm married to you and pregnant with your baby. My life is unrecognizable."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"I don't know." She looked at him. "What do you want? Really?"

He was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn't answer. Then: "I want you to be happy. Whatever that looks like."

"That's a non-answer."

"It's the truth. I can't tell you what to do with your body. I won't manipulate you into a choice that serves my interests." He met her eyes. "But if you're asking what I hope you'll choose? I hope you'll keep the baby. Not because of the contract or the money. Because I think you'd be an incredible mother. And because-" He stopped.

"Because what?"

"Because I think I might want this. A family. With you." The admission seemed to cost him something. "Which is insane, since we barely know each other. But there it is."

Scarlett's breath caught. This was real. He was being honest in a way that felt vulnerable and raw.

"I'm scared," she admitted. "Of being a mother. Of being tied to you forever. Of making the wrong choice."

"Fear is reasonable. This is terrifying." He took her hand. "But you're not alone in it. Whatever you decide, I'm here."

The car pulled up to the mansion, and they sat in silence for a moment.

"I need a few days," Scarlett said. "To think. To process. To figure out what I actually want beyond the panic and the fear."

"Take as much time as you need."

She started to get out, then turned back. "Damien? Thank you. For not making this harder than it already is."

"Scarlett." He caught her hand. "I'm not my father. I won't abandon you or manipulate you or make you feel alone. You have my word."

That night, Scarlett lay in bed staring at the ceiling, one hand on her still-flat stomach, trying to imagine a future where she was someone's mother.

Damien's baby. Their baby.

The thought should have terrified her. And it did. But it also made her feel something unexpected.

Hope.

Not for love or romance or fairy tale endings. But for something real. Something that wasn't built on contracts and lies.

Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: *I know about the pregnancy. Interesting development. Does your husband know his heir is a bastard child from a contract marriage? The media would love this story. - V*

Victoria. How did she know? Had someone at the clinic leaked information? Had she been watching the mansion?

Scarlett's blood ran cold. If Victoria knew, she would use it. Blackmail, exposure, whatever would hurt the most.

She crossed to the connecting door and knocked. Damien answered immediately, like he'd been awake too.

"Victoria knows," Scarlett said, showing him the text.

His expression went dark. "How?"

"I don't know. But she's threatening to expose everything to the media."

"Let her." Damien took her phone and typed something. "She has no proof the marriage is contractual. And pregnancy isn't scandalous. If anything, it makes us look more legitimate."

"Unless she spins it as I don't know, me trapping you. Gold digger gets pregnant to secure her fortune."

"Then we control the narrative first." He handed back her phone. "Tomorrow, we announce the pregnancy ourselves. On our terms. Happy couple expecting their first child. Victoria can't weaponize what's already public."

"That's fast."

"She's backing us into a corner. We either move first or let her control the story." He studied her face. "Unless you've decided you don't want to keep the pregnancy? In which case, we handle Victoria differently."

Scarlett looked at him,this complicated, dangerous man who'd somehow become her partner in all of this. And she realized she'd already made her decision, probably the moment she saw those two pink lines.

"I want to keep the baby," she said quietly. "I'm terrified and unprepared and have no idea what I'm doing. But I want this."

Something shifted in Damien's expression. Relief, joy, fear,all of it crossing his face in rapid succession.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"No. But I'm doing it anyway." She took a breath. "So yes. Let's announce it tomorrow. Control the narrative. Make Victoria irrelevant."

Damien pulled her into his arms, and for a moment they just stood there, two people who'd started as strangers and were now bound together by something far more permanent than a contract.

"We're going to be parents," he murmured against her hair.

"That's terrifying."

"Completely terrifying." But he was smiling. She could hear it in his voice.

They stood like that for a long time, and Scarlett let herself feel safe. Protected. Part of something bigger than revenge or money or contracts.

Tomorrow, they'd face Victoria's threats and media scrutiny and all the complications of announcing a pregnancy that would make their fake marriage look suddenly very real.

But tonight, she let herself imagine a future where the baby growing inside her wasn't a complication.

It was the beginning.

The announcement went live at nine AM.

Patricia, Damien's publicist, had worked through the night crafting the perfect statement: *Damien and Scarlett Wolfe are thrilled to announce they're expecting their first child. "We're overwhelmed with joy and gratitude," says the couple. "Starting our family together is the greatest adventure we could imagine."*

Accompanying the statement was a photo:Scarlett and Damien in the mansion's garden, his hand on her stomach, both of them smiling like this was the happiest moment of their lives.

It was a beautiful lie. Or maybe it was becoming the truth. Scarlett was no longer sure where the performance ended and reality began.

The response was immediate and overwhelming. Congratulations poured in from business associates, society figures, and total strangers. The media went into a frenzy-articles about the "whirlwind romance that led to marriage and now a baby," speculation about due dates and baby names, think pieces about modern love.

Victoria's attempt to weaponize the pregnancy had backfired spectacularly. She couldn't expose what they'd already celebrated publicly.

But she wasn't done.

At eleven AM, while Scarlett was reading through messages of congratulations, her phone rang. Unknown number.

She answered. "Hello?"

"You think you've won." Victoria's voice was poison. "You think marrying a billionaire and getting pregnant makes you untouchable. But I know things about Damien Wolfe that would destroy him. And if you don't back off your investigation into your father's death, I'll make sure everyone knows exactly what kind of man you've tied yourself to."

"What are you talking about?"

"The Shanghai factory fire. The one he claims was an accident? I have evidence it wasn't. I have documentation that Damien Wolfe ordered that fire to eliminate competition. Thirty-seven people died because your husband wanted market dominance." Victoria's voice was triumphant. "Still think you married a good man?"

The line went dead.

Scarlett sat frozen, Victoria's words echoing in her head. Damien had said the Shanghai fire was investigated and dismissed. But what if Victoria had found something the investigators missed?

What if she'd married a murderer?

No. That was exactly what Victoria wanted her to think. This was manipulation, psychological warfare designed to make Scarlett doubt everything.

But what if it wasn't?

She found Damien in his study, on a video call with what looked like the entire Wolfe Industries board. He held up one finger, give him a minute and she nodded, waiting.

When the call ended, he turned to her with a smile. "The board is thrilled about the baby. David Chen sent a personal message of congratulations. We did it, Scarlett. We controlled the narrative."

"Victoria called me."

His smile faded. "What did she say?"

"That she has evidence you ordered the Shanghai factory fire. That thirty-seven people died because of you." Scarlett watched his face carefully. "Tell me it's not true."

"It's not true."

"Tell me how you know. Tell me what really happened."

Damien's jaw tightened. "Five years ago, a factory in Shanghai was producing counterfeit Wolfe Industries goods. High-quality fakes that were damaging our brand. I sent my legal team to shut them down through proper channels. We filed complaints, worked with Chinese authorities, and did everything by the book. Three weeks before the case was set to go to court, the factory burned down. Faulty wiring, according to the investigation. Thirty-seven workers died."

"And you had nothing to do with the fire?"

"I had everything to do with it, in the sense that if I hadn't pursued legal action, those workers might not have been at that factory. But did I order the fire? Absolutely not. Did I pay someone to commit arson? No. Did I celebrate when my competition burned? No. I was horrified." His voice was rough. "Those were people. Workers are just trying to make a living. Their deaths haunt me, Scarlett. I set up a fund for their families. I donated millions to improve factory safety in China. But I can't bring them back."

She studied his face, looking for deception. But all she saw was genuine grief.

"Victoria claims she has evidence," Scarlett said.

"She's lying. The Chinese government investigated thoroughly. Interpol investigated. Independent safety inspectors investigated. Everyone concluded the same thing:accidental fire caused by negligent wiring. If Victoria had real evidence, she would have sold it to my competitors years ago." He crossed to where she stood. "She's trying to drive a wedge between us. Don't let her."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Because I'm giving you access to everything. All the investigation reports, all the documentation, all the witness statements. You can read every word yourself and decide." He pulled out his phone and started typing. "I'm sending you encrypted files right now. No redactions, no hiding. Complete transparency."

Scarlett's phone buzzed with incoming messages,dozens of files, thousands of pages of documents.

"Read it all," Damien said. "Take as long as you need. If you find anything that makes you doubt me, we'll deal with it. But I won't have Victoria poisoning you against me with lies."

The fact that he was giving her complete access, no hesitation, no conditions that meant something.

"I believe you," she said.

"You should verify before you believe. Trust, but verify. That's good business practice."

"This isn't business anymore. We're having a baby together. At some point, I have to trust you."

"Maybe.

Jack Morrison's office looked worse in daylight than it had the first time:stained carpet, flickering fluorescent lights, a filing system that appeared to be "organized chaos" at best.

But the man himself looked energized, spread across his desk were photographs, documents, and what appeared to be surveillance footage on a laptop.

"Mrs. Wolfe," he said, standing when they entered. "Congratulations on the baby. I saw the announcement."

"Thank you." Scarlett took a seat, Damien close beside her. "What did you find?"

Jack pulled out a thick folder. "Your stepmother is dirty. Very dirty. But proving she killed your father is going to be harder than I thought."

"Explain," Damien said.

"Victoria Hayes has been embezzling from your father's company for three years. Small amounts at first,five thousand here, ten thousand there but by the time your father died, she was siphoning off roughly fifty thousand a month." Jack showed them bank statements with highlighted transactions. "She was moving money through shell corporations, offshore accounts, the works. Very sophisticated for someone who supposedly had no business experience."

"That's what my father discovered," Scarlett said. "Catherine Ashford told me he called her the night he died, said he'd found something illegal in Victoria's finances."

"Exactly. I interviewed Mrs. Ashford yesterday. She's willing to testify that your father told her he was going to confront Victoria about the embezzlement." Jack pulled out another document. "Here's where it gets interesting. The night your father died, Victoria called someone at 9:47 PM. The call lasted twelve minutes. Phone records show it went to a burner phone-untraceable."

"Who was she calling?" Scarlett asked.

"My guess? Someone she hired to help her. The timing is too convenient. Your father confronts her about the embezzlement around nine-thirty-the housekeeper heard raised voices. Less than twenty minutes later, Victoria makes a call. An hour after that, your father falls down the stairs."

"You think she called someone to help her stage it?" Damien's voice was cold.

"I think she panicked when your father threatened to expose her, made a call, and then someone helped her make it look like an accident. Whether she physically pushed him herself or had help, I don't know yet. But that phone call is key."

Scarlett felt sick. Her father had been murdered, and Victoria had been calm enough to make a twelve-minute phone call afterward. "Can we trace the burner phone?"

"I'm working on it. But even if I find out who she called, proving they helped her commit murder is another story. We need physical evidence. Witnesses. Something concrete." Jack leaned back. "The good news is, the embezzlement alone is enough to get her arrested and put away for years. The bad news is, embezzlement doesn't feel like justice for murder."

"It's a start," Scarlett said. "How do we proceed?"

"I take this to the DA. They reopen the investigation into your father's death. With the embezzlement evidence and Mrs. Ashford's testimony, they'll have enough to justify a second look. But Scarlett-" He met her eyes. "This is going to get ugly. Victoria will fight back. She'll attack your credibility, your marriage, your motives. Are you ready for that?"

"I've been ready since she killed my father."

Jack nodded approvingly. "Then I'll set up a meeting with the DA for next week. In the meantime, you two need to be careful. Victoria knows you're closing in. Cornered animals are dangerous."

They left the office with copies of everything Jack had compiled. In the car, Scarlett stared at the bank statements showing her stepmother's systematic theft.

"Three years," she said quietly. "She was stealing from him for three years, and he didn't know until it was too late."

"He trusted her," Damien said. "That was his mistake."

"Is that what you think? That trust is always a mistake?"

"Trust without verification is a mistake. Trust earned over time is smart." He looked at her. "Did you read the Shanghai files?"

She had. All of them. Hundreds of pages of investigation reports, witness statements, and independent analyses. Every single one concluded the same thing: accidental fire, no evidence of arson, Damien Wolfe cleared of any wrongdoing.

"I read them. Victoria was lying."

"You sound surprised."

"I'm not. I just-" She struggled to articulate. "I wanted to doubt you. It would make things simpler if you were the villain she claims. But you're not. You're just a man trying to outrun his father's sins."

"We're both trying to outrun dead fathers," Damien said. "Maybe that's why this works."

The car pulled up to the mansion, and Scarlett noticed immediately that something was wrong. The front door was open, and Mrs. Chen was standing outside looking distressed.

"What happened?" Damien asked, already moving.

"Sir, I'm so sorry. Someone broke in. We've called the police, but-" Mrs. Chen's hands were shaking. "They destroyed Mrs. Wolfe's room."

Scarlett's stomach dropped. She ran inside and up the stairs, Damien close behind her.

Her bedroom looked like a tornado had hit it. Drawers pulled out, contents scattered, clothes ripped from hangers, mattress slashed open. Every surface was chaos.

But it was the mirror that made her blood run cold.

Written in red lipstick: GOLD DIGGER WHORE. And below that: YOUR BASTARD WILL PAY.

"Don't touch anything," Damien said, his voice deadly calm. "The police will need to process the scene."

Scarlett couldn't move. She stood in the doorway staring at the violation of her space, the threat against her unborn child, and felt rage burn through the shock.

"It was Victoria," she said.

"We don't know that-"

"Who else would threaten my baby? Who else would call me a gold digger?" She turned to face him. "She did this. Or paid someone to do it."

"Then we'll prove it. Security cameras, forensics, something." Damien pulled out his phone. "Brooks? I need you to pull all security footage from the past six hours. Someone broke into the mansion and vandalized my wife's room."

The police arrived twenty minutes later:two detectives who took statements, photographed everything, and dusted for prints. They were professional but skeptical, especially when Scarlett suggested Victoria might be responsible.

"Do you have any evidence your stepmother would do this?" the older detective, Harris, asked.

"She's been threatening me. Sending texts, making accusations-"

"Have you saved these texts?"

Scarlett pulled out her phone and showed them Victoria's messages. The detectives exchanged glances.

"These are definitely threatening," Harris admitted. "But they don't prove she broke into your home. We'll interview her, but unless we find physical evidence connecting her to the scene-"

"What about the security cameras?" Damien asked.

"We'll review the footage. But Mr. Wolfe, a mansion this size, with this many staff members coming and going,it's possible someone slipped through without being caught on camera."

They promised to investigate thoroughly, but Scarlett could hear the subtext: Don't get your hopes up.

After they left, Damien had the staff clean and restore Scarlett's room, but she couldn't bring herself to sleep there. The memory of that message-YOUR BASTARD WILL PAY-felt like a stain she couldn't wash away.

"Stay in my room tonight," Damien said. "Tomorrow we'll figure out something more permanent."

His room was larger than hers, decorated in dark wood and deep blues. Masculine and controlled, like him. There was a sitting area with a leather couch, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the garden, and a bed that looked like it could sleep four people.

"I'll take the couch," Scarlett said.

"Don't be ridiculous. Take the bed. I have a late call with Shanghai anyway,I won't sleep for hours."

But when she emerged from his bathroom after showering,wearing one of his shirts because she couldn't bear to touch her own clothes,he was still there, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking exhausted.

"You should sleep," she said.

"So should you. But neither of us will."

He was right. Scarlett climbed into the bed, and Damien lay down beside her, both of them on top of the covers, a careful distance between them.

"I'm going to destroy her," Scarlett said into the darkness. "For my father. For me. For our baby. Victoria doesn't get to threaten my child and walk away."

"We'll destroy her together." Damien's hand found hers. "But carefully. Legally. We're not going to give her ammunition to paint us as the villains."

"I don't want careful. I want her to suffer."

"Suffering isn't the same as justice. And right now, you need justice more than revenge." He squeezed her hand. "Trust me on this. I've spent years wanting revenge on everyone who hurt my family. It doesn't satisfy the way you think it will."

"What does satisfy?"

"Building something better than what they destroyed. Proving them wrong through success rather than their failure." He turned to look at her. "You want to honor your father? Reclaim his company, restore his reputation, raise our child to know their grandfather was a good man. That matters more than making Victoria suffer."

"Can't I do both?"

"Probably. But priorities matter."

Scarlett rolled onto her side to face him. "How are you so calm about this? Someone broke into your house and threatened your child."

"I'm not calm. I'm controlled. There's a difference." His eyes were hard. "Inside, I want to find whoever wrote that message and make them regret being born. But acting on that impulse helps no one. So I control it, channel it into something useful, and trust that justice will come."

"You sound like you've had practice."

"Years of it. My father destroyed a lot of people on his way down. When he died, they came for me. Threats, vandalism, lawsuits, smear campaigns. I learned early that reacting emotionally just gave them power. Responding strategically was the only way to win."

"Is that what I am? A strategic response?"

"You started as one." His thumb stroked across her knuckles. "But you're not anymore."

"What am I now?"

"I don't know. Something more complicated." He pulled her closer, eliminating the careful distance between them. "Something that's making it very hard to maintain professional boundaries."

Scarlett's breath caught. "The contract says no emotional involvement."

"The contract says a lot of things we've already violated." His hand moved to her face, tilting her chin up. "We're having a baby together, Scarlett. I think we're past the point of pretending this is purely business."

"So what is it?"

"I don't know. But I'd like to find out." He leaned in, his mouth hovering just above hers. "If you want to."

She should say no. This was already complicated enough without adding feelings into the mix. But his lips were so close, and she was so tired of pretending she didn't want him.

"Yes," she whispered.

He kissed her, soft and careful, like she was something precious. Not the fierce, desperate kiss from the car, but something slower. Deeper. More dangerous because it felt like more than desire.

It felt like the beginning of something real.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, Damien rested his forehead against hers.

"This changes everything," he said.

"I know."

"The contract-"

"Can be renegotiated. Or burned. I don't care anymore." She met his eyes. "I want you, Damien. Not your money or your protection or your business deal. Just you."

Something shifted in his expression;vulnerability and want and fear all mixed together. "I'm not good at this. Relationships. Emotions. Letting people in."

"Neither am I. We'll figure it out together."

"What if we can't? What if I hurt you?"

"What if I hurt you?" She cupped his face. "We're both damaged, Damien. Both scared. But maybe that means we understand each other better than people who've never been broken."

He pulled her against his chest, and they lay there in the dark, holding each other like anchors in a storm.

"Tell me about your father," Scarlett said quietly. "The real story. Not the sanitized version for the media."

Damien was silent for so long she thought he wouldn't answer. Then: "My father, Richard Wolfe, was charming. Brilliant. Charismatic. He could convince anyone of anything. He built a real estate empire through force of personality and creative financing."

"Creative financing meaning fraud?"

"Eventually. At first, it was just aggressive tactics. Leveraging properties he didn't fully own, using money from one project to fund another, staying one step ahead of creditors. It worked until it didn't." His voice was flat, emotionless. "When I was twenty, he borrowed heavily from the wrong people. Not banks-investors who didn't appreciate being lied to. When the properties underperformed and he couldn't pay them back, they demanded their money."

"But he'd already spent it."

"He'd already spent it on luxury cars, expensive art, a mistress in the Hamptons. My mother knew about the mistress but stayed because she loved him. Or because she was addicted to the lifestyle. I'm still not sure which."

Scarlett held him tighter.

"The investors gave him ninety days to return their money or they'd go to the authorities. He couldn't get it legally, so he started embezzling from his own company. Falsifying documents, inflating property values, moving money through shell corporations. He stole from his partners, his employees' pensions, even my college fund." Damien's voice cracked slightly. "My sister Claire was seventeen. She had a full scholarship to Princeton. He stole it to pay off his debts."

"Damien-"

"Claire never forgave him. When the scandal broke and Dad killed himself, she blamed me for not stopping him sooner. Said I must have known what he was doing, that I was complicit through silence. She cut me off completely. I haven't spoken to her in ten years."

"Where is she now?"

"Teaching literature at a small college in Vermont. Married to a good man, two kids, a simple life as far from me and Dad's legacy as possible." He took a shaky breath. "I send her money every year. Anonymous deposits into her account. She probably knows it's from me, but she's never acknowledged it. Never reached out."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. She was right. I did know something was wrong. I saw the signs:Dad's stress, the late-night calls, the way he'd snap when questioned about finances. But I was twenty and stupid and convinced my father was invincible. By the time I realized the truth, it was too late to stop anything."

"You were a kid. It wasn't your responsibility."

"I was old enough to know better. Old enough to ask questions, demand transparency, protect my family." His arms tightened around her. "That's why I'm so controlling now. Why I need complete transparency in everything. I won't be blind again. I won't let people I care about get hurt because I missed the warning signs."

Scarlett understood then. His need for control wasn't about power,it was about protection. He'd failed to protect his family once, and he was terrified of failing again.

"You won't miss the signs with me," she said. "I'm too stubborn to let you."

That earned her a small laugh. "True. You're possibly the most stubborn person I've ever met."

"Takes one to know one."

They fell asleep like that, tangled together in his bed, two broken people finding something like comfort in each other.

The next morning, Scarlett woke to find Damien already up, standing by the windows with his phone to his ear, speaking in rapid Mandarin. He was shirtless, wearing only sleep pants, and the morning light caught the lines of muscle across his back.

She let herself look, appreciating the view, feeling pleasantly sore from their activities after talking-activities that had involved breaking several more contract clauses.

He turned and caught her staring. A slow smile spread across his face.

"I'll call you back," he said into the phone, then crossed to the bed. "Good morning."

"Morning." She stretched, and his eyes tracked the movement with clear appreciation. "What time is it?"

"Eight. You slept late. I didn't want to wake you."

"We were up pretty late."

"We were." He sat on the edge of the bed, his hand moving to her stomach. "How are you feeling?"

The gesture was becoming familiar,his hand on her still-flat abdomen, like he was trying to connect with the baby growing there. It made her heart ache in the best way.

"Tired. Nauseous. But okay." She covered his hand with hers. "What were you talking about?"

"The Chen deal. David wants to move up the timeline-signature next month instead of three months from now." Damien's expression was complicated. "With the baby announcement, he's convinced we're stable and committed. Ironically, the pregnancy we didn't plan is making our fake marriage look more legitimate than anything we could have orchestrated."

"So we're succeeding accidentally."

"Story of my life lately." He leaned down and kissed her softly. "I have meetings all day, but tonight we have dinner with my grandmother. She wants to meet you."

Scarlett's stomach dropped. "Your grandmother. The one who's sick and was supposedly the reason we rushed into marriage?"

"Except she's not actually sick. That was a lie for David Chen's benefit. Grandmother Margaret is eighty-seven and healthy as a horse." He grimaced. "Also terrifying. She'll see through every lie we try to tell her, so we might as well be honest."

"How honest?"

"Enough. She knows the marriage started as a business arrangement. But she'll want to know if it's becoming something more." He met Scarlett's eyes. "What should I tell her?"

"The truth. That we don't know what this is yet, but we're figuring it out."

"She'll like you. You're direct. She appreciates direct."

Scarlett spent the day reading through more of Jack's investigation files and starting to plan her attack on Victoria. With the embezzlement evidence, they could destroy her stepmother financially and possibly get her arrested. But Scarlett wanted more. She wanted Victoria to admit what she'd done. To confess to murder.

She was deep in bank statements when her phone rang. Elena.

She almost didn't answer, but curiosity won out.

"What do you want?"

"Scarlett." Elena's voice was strained, nothing like her usual smug superiority. "We need to talk. In person. It's about Mother."

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Mother's planning something. Something bad. She's been meeting with lawyers, moving money, talking about teaching you a lesson." Elena sounded genuinely frightened. "I think she's going to try to hurt you. Or the baby."

"Why would you warn me? You hate me."

"I don't-" Elena took a breath. "I don't hate you. I was jealous of you. Dad loved you more than he ever loved me, and I resented it. But that doesn't mean I want Mother to hurt you. She's become unstable, Scarlett. Paranoid and dangerous. Please, just meet with me. Let me tell you what I know."

It was probably a trap. Elena had never done anything that wasn't self-serving.

But what if it wasn't?

"Fine. Where?"

"The coffee shop on Fifth and 63rd. One hour. Come alone."

The line went dead.

Scarlett stared at her phone, weighing options. She should tell Damien. She should bring security. She should probably ignore Elena completely.

But if her stepsister actually had information about Victoria's plans, Scarlett needed to hear it.

She left a note for Damien: "Meeting Elena at Fifth and 63rd. Back in two hours. and slipped out before anyone could stop her."

The coffee shop was busy with the lunch crowd. Elena was already there, sitting in a back corner, looking nothing like the polished socialite who'd been sleeping with Marcus. She wore jeans and a simple sweater, no makeup, her hair pulled back. She looked young and scared.

"You came," Elena said, relief evident.

"You have ten minutes. Talk."

Elena glanced around nervously. "Mother's been having meetings with a man named Viktor Kozlov. Russian, ex-military, the kind of person you hire when you need things done quietly."

"What kind of things?"

"I don't know exactly. But I overheard her on the phone yesterday. She was saying something about 'removing obstacles' and 'making it look natural.' Then she said your name."

Ice flooded Scarlett's veins. "You think she hired someone to kill me."

"I think she's desperate enough to consider it. The embezzlement investigation, the pregnancy announcement, your marriage to Damien,you've taken away all her power. She's cornered, and cornered animals do desperate things."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Elena's eyes filled with tears. "Because I'm not a monster. I slept with Marcus because I was jealous and petty and wanted to hurt you. But I don't want you dead. I don't want your baby hurt. And I don't want to be complicit in whatever Mother's planning."

"You could go to the police."

"With what? Overheard phone calls and suspicions? They'd laugh me out of the station. But you have resources now. Protection. You can do something about this."

Scarlett studied her stepsister, looking for deception. But Elena seemed genuinely terrified.

"Why now? Why warn me now?"

"Because yesterday, Mother asked me where you'd be today. What your schedule was, whether you'd have security with you. She was gathering information, Scarlett. And when I asked why she needed to know, she said-" Elena's voice broke. "She said some problems solve themselves if you're patient. But some problems need help disappearing."

This was real. Victoria was actually planning to have her killed.

"I need a name," Scarlett said. "This Viktor Kozlov. Where does he work? How do I find him?"

"I don't know. But I can try to get information. Mother keeps files in her study maybe there's something there about him."

"Can you access the study?"

"I still have a key to the house. I could-" Elena stopped. "You want me to spy on Mother?"

"I want you to help me stop her before she kills someone else. She murdered my father, Elena. She pushed him down those stairs, and she's going to get away with it unless we find proof."

Elena went pale. "I knew she was stealing from him. I didn't know she-"

"She killed him. And if you help me prove it, maybe you get to salvage some piece of your soul."

For a long moment, Elena just sat there, tears streaming down her face. Then she nodded.

"Okay. I'll help. I'll get you what I can find." She pulled out her phone. "Give me your number. I'll contact you when I have something."

They exchanged information, and Elena stood to leave. At the door, she turned back.

"Scarlett? I'm sorry. For everything. I know it doesn't fix anything, but I'm sorry."

Then she was gone, leaving Scarlett alone with coffee she hadn't touched and the knowledge that her stepmother had escalated from threats to murder plots.

She needed to get back to the mansion. She needed to tell Damien.

Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: "Cozy chat with the step-sister.Think she's really on your side? Or is this another trap? Either way, you walked right into it alone. Not very smart, Mrs. Wolfe. - V"

Scarlett looked around the coffee shop, her heart pounding. Victoria was watching her. Or had someone watching her.

She was being followed.

She stood quickly and headed for the door, pulling out her phone to call Damien. But before she could dial, someone grabbed her arm.

"Mrs. Wolfe. We need you to come with us."

Two men in suits, earpieces visible. Not Damien's security. Not anyone she recognized.

"Who are you?"

"NYPD. You're wanted for questioning regarding the murder of William Hayes."

No. This was Victoria's doing. She'd somehow convinced the police that Scarlett was responsible for her own father's death.

"I didn't kill my father-"

"You can explain that at the station. Please come quietly, or we'll be forced to use restraints."

Around them, people were staring. Phones were out, recording. This would be all over social media in minutes;Damien Wolfe's pregnant wife arrested for murder.

Exactly what Victoria wanted.

Scarlett let them lead her out to an unmarked car, her mind racing. She needed a lawyer. She needed Damien. She needed to not panic.

But as the car pulled away from the curb, she saw a familiar figure standing across the street, watching with a smile.

Victoria.

And beside her, a man who must be Viktor Kozlov-tall, broad-shouldered, eyes like a shark.

The man Victoria had hired to make Scarlett disappear.

This wasn't just an arrest.

This was an elimination.