Midnight.

Thunder rattled the windowpanes, masking the hum of the surveillance cameras. She waited for the lightning. Flash. One, two, three. Darkness.

She slipped out of her room. She was barefoot, wearing the silk pajamas the staff had provided. They were navy blue, blending into the shadows.

She moved down the corridor, counting the steps. The patrol passed the intersection at 12:05. She had a three-minute window.

She reached the study door. She swiped Ivy's stolen card. The light turned green.

She pushed inside. The room was massive, smelling of old paper and expensive scotch. She went straight for the desk, reaching for the hardline phone.

Suddenly, the lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then dead.

Total darkness. The storm had knocked out the main grid.

She froze. The backup generators would take ten seconds to kick in.

She heard a sound. A glass clinking against wood. The soft sigh of an exhale.

She turned to run, but she slammed into something solid. A wall of heat.

A hand clamped around her waist, burning through the silk. She was yanked backward, dragged into the center of the room.

She opened her mouth to scream, but a large, hot hand covered it.

"Looking for something?" a voice growled. Adrien.

He sounded sober. In control.

"Adrien," she muffled against his hand. "Let me go."

"In my private study," he muttered, his forehead dropping to rest against her shoulder. He smelled of whiskey and rage. "After I explicitly forbade it. You're not just unstable, you're defiant."

He spun her around and pinned her against the heavy oak desk. His lips crashed onto hers.

It wasn't a kiss. It was a collision. He tasted of whiskey and desperation.

She struggled, her nails digging into his back, scratching skin.

"Stop!" she cried out as his hand moved from her mouth to tear at the buttons of her top.

"Quiet," he growled. "If you're going to act like a thief, I'll treat you like one."

Lightning flashed, illuminating the room for a split second. His eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated, not with confusion, but with a cold, possessive fury. He saw Clarice Howe. He saw his property, misbehaving.

The pain of his betrayal was driving her mad, and he was using her fear to ground himself.

They fell onto the thick Persian rug. She fought him, but he was too strong, and the heat radiating from him was confusing her own senses. Fear mixed with a dark, twisted arousal.

He bit her neck, hard. She gasped, arching her back.

It was chaotic. Fast. A blur of thunder and friction.

When it was over, he collapsed on top of her, his breathing slowing as the adrenaline left him.

The emergency lights buzzed to life, casting a dim orange glow.

She pushed him off, scrambling backward. She was shaking. Her clothes were torn. Her neck throbbed.

She looked at him. He was watching her, his expression unreadable.

Panic seized her. If Victoria found her...

She grabbed her shirt, clutching it to her chest, and ran.

She didn't notice the small pearl button that had popped off her collar. It rolled under the edge of the desk, a silent witness in the shadows.

She made it back to her room and locked the door. She ran to the bathroom, turning on the water to drown out her sobbing.

She looked in the mirror. A purple bruise was already forming on the side of her neck. A bite mark.

She touched it, wincing.

She had to hide this. She had to hide everything.

Adrien woke up with a headache that felt like a drill boring into his temples.

He sat up, the room spinning. He touched the sheets beside him. They were cold.

But there was a scent. Vanilla. And something metallic. Blood?

He reached up to rub his shoulder and hissed. He walked to the mirror. There were scratch marks down his back. Deep ones.

It hadn't been a dream.

He stood still, a strange sensation washing over him. The constant, dull ache of pressure in his chest-the symptom of his impending corporate war-was gone. For the first time in weeks, he felt... in control.

"Cole!" he roared.

The security chief burst in. "Sir?"

"The cameras. Last night. Between midnight and 1:00 AM."

"The storm, sir. The system rebooted. We lost about fifteen minutes of footage in the West Wing."

Adrien cursed. "Find out who was in this room. Check the guest list. Check the staff."

She sat in the breakfast nook, wearing a high-collared cashmere sweater. It was stiflingly hot, but she couldn't risk exposing her neck.

She stared at her black coffee, her hands shaking slightly.

"Good morning!"

Ivy Bates breezed into the room. She looked radiant. Too radiant.

She poured herself a cup of tea and leaned against the counter, making sure the maids could hear her. "Oh, what a night. The storm was terrifying, wasn't it? I got so lost in the hallway... ended up in the strangest place."

She touched her hair, smiling coyly. "Mr. Sargent was working so late. I brought him some documents he needed. He was... very grateful for my dedication."

Her grip on the mug tightened until her knuckles turned white. She was lying. She was taking credit for being in his study.

Cole walked in, his face grim. "Ms. Bates. Mr. Sargent would like to see you."

Ivy's smile widened. She shot her a smug look. "See? Some of us belong upstairs."

She followed Cole out.

She sat there, frozen. Part of her was relieved. If she took the fall, she was safe. But another part of her-a part she hated-was furious.

She stood up and followed them, keeping a distance.

She waited outside the study door. It was slightly ajar.

"You were here last night?" Adrien's voice was low, dangerous.

"Yes, Adrien," Ivy purred. "I came to bring you the revised press release for the Chen merger. You seemed... stressed."

"And what did I do?"

"You... thanked me," she said vaguely.

"I bit you," Adrien said. "Show me."

There was a pause. "What? Adrien, don't be ridiculous."

"My neck," Adrien corrected. "The woman I was with. I bit her on the neck."

Silence.

"Get out," Adrien said. But his voice lacked the conviction of certainty. He was confused. The whiskey had messed with his memory.

Ivy stumbled out, looking pale. She saw her standing there.

"What are you looking at, trash?" she hissed. "He's under a lot of pressure. He gets confused."

She looked at her, then at the closed door.

"Careful, Ivy," she said softly. "Lies have a way of rotting."

"A security review," Adrien announced.

He stood in the center of the security office, arms crossed. Ivy sat on a sterile metal chair, looking nervous. She stood by the counter, holding a clipboard, playing the part of the concerned ward.

"Is this necessary?" Ivy asked, laughing nervously. "I just got turned around in the dark."

"Protocol," Adrien said. "Clarice, confirm her statement."

She stepped forward. "Ms. Bates, you stated you delivered a press release. What was the headline?"

Ivy glared at her. "You think I memorize these things?"

"I have a job to do. As the Foundation's public face, I review all major press releases."

She reluctantly fumbled for an answer. "Something about... a new era of partnership." Her skin was flawless. No marks. No bruises. And definitely no bite on her neck.

She checked her vitals. Normal.

"Well?" Adrien asked from behind the screen.

"The final draft headline was 'Sargent Corp Finalizes Hostile Takeover of Chen Industries,'" she said loudly. "A significant difference. And there's no record of her keycard accessing the study's floor last night."

She looked at Ivy. "Mr. Sargent was in a volatile mood last night. It's impossible he would have simply let you walk away without comment."

Ivy's face crumbled. "He... he told me to get out! That's why! But I was there!"

Adrien ripped the curtain back. "You're lying. Get out of my house. Now."

"Adrien, please!" Ivy wailed as Cole grabbed her arm. "I just wanted to help!"

They dragged her out. Her screams faded down the hallway.

Adrien turned to her. The air in the room grew heavy.

"So," he said, stepping closer. "It wasn't her. Then who?"

"I'm a resident, Mr. Sargent. Not a detective." She turned to stack her papers, her heart pounding against her ribs.

The door opened again. Cole walked in. He was holding a small plastic evidence bag.

"Sir," Cole said. "Found this under your desk. The cleaners missed it."

Adrien took the bag. Inside was a small, white pearl button.

He looked at it. Then he looked at her.

His eyes dropped to her chest. She was wearing the sweater. But he remembered.

"The pajamas," he said. "The blue silk ones."

Her blood ran cold.

"Cole," Adrien said, never taking his eyes off her. "Search her room. Find the blue pajamas."

"You can't," she said, backing away. "That's an invasion of privacy."

"I own you," Adrien snarled. "Go."

Ten minutes later, Cole returned. He held up the navy top. The collar was torn. The top button was missing.

Adrien took the shirt. He held the bagged button up to the remaining ones. A perfect match.

He looked at her, and the confusion in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, hard rage.

"It was you," he whispered.

"Adrien, listen-"

"You planned this," he accused, advancing on her. "You knew I was on edge. You knew I was vulnerable. You orchestrated this to get leverage. To blackmail me."

"No! It was an accident! I was trying to escape!"

"Liar!" He threw the shirt at her face. "You're just like the rest of them. A parasite with a pretty face."