Ivana stared at the button on his jacket. She couldn't look him in the eye anymore. The shame was a living thing, eating her from the inside out.

Aleta was smirking behind Gannon's shoulder.

Ivana reached down to grab her tote bag. As she did, the unpaid invoice from Dr. Evans fluttered out from the folder.

It landed right next to Gannon's shoe.

Gannon looked down. He saw the logo of the hospital. He saw the bold text: PAST DUE. And the number: $50,000.

Ivana lunged for it.

Gannon watched her scramble, his expression unmoving. He didn't step on it, but he didn't move out of the way either. He simply looked at the paper as if it were a piece of gum on the sidewalk-something beneath his notice, yet utterly revealing.

Ivana froze, her hand inches from his shoe.

She looked up at him. "Please," she whispered.

Gannon kicked the paper slightly, flipping it over so the total was obscured. It was a dismissive gesture, one that hurt more than if he had trampled it.

"Need money?" he asked. His voice dripped with disdain. But beneath the scorn, his eyes flickered with a dark calculation. If she had taken millions, why was she desperate for fifty thousand? The math didn't add up, and Gannon Sharpe hated unbalanced equations. But his anger was louder than his logic.

Ivana closed her eyes. If he knew she needed money for her mother, he might investigate. If he investigated Elena, he might find out about the time gap. About where Ivana had been. About Cohen.

She had to make him hate her. Hate was safe. Hate kept him away.

She forced her lips into a smile. It felt brittle, like cracked glass.

She pulled her hand back and stood up, dusting off her knees.

"Actually, yes," she said. Her voice shook, but she forced a tone of casual greed. "The millions didn't last as long as I thought. Europe is expensive."

Aleta gasped. "You have no shame!"

Gannon's face hardened. The muscle in his jaw jumped. He scanned her face, looking for the lie, but her mask was perfect.

"So you're back for a refill?" he asked.

Ivana shrugged. One shoulder. A casual gesture that cost her every ounce of her strength. "You have plenty, Gannon. You wouldn't miss a check or two."

The air around Gannon seemed to drop ten degrees.

He stepped back. He looked at her with such profound revulsion that Ivana felt physically sick.

"You are disgusting," he said.

The words slammed into her.

He turned to Aleta. "Let's go."

Gannon turned his back on her. He walked away, his stride long and angry. Aleta shot Ivana a triumphant glare and trotted after him, hooking her arm through his.

Ivana watched them go. She watched the man she had loved since she was twenty-two walk away, believing she was a monster.

She waited until they turned the corner.

Then, her legs gave out. She slid down the wall, clutching the dirty invoice to her chest.

She checked the paper. It was wrinkled, but legible.

She folded it carefully and put it in her pocket.

Her phone buzzed again. An automated text from the hospital billing department.

Payment required within 24 hours to proceed with treatment.

Ivana pulled herself up. She wiped her face. She had to fix this.

She walked back to the room, composing herself before she opened the door.

Elena was awake. Her eyes were cloudy.

"Did you pay?" Elena whispered.

Ivana nodded. She picked up a knife and an apple from the bedside table. "Yes, Mama. I worked out a plan. Don't worry."

Her hands were shaking so badly she almost cut her thumb.

Dr. Evans came back an hour later. He pulled Ivana into the hallway.

"I can't start the full dialysis without the deposit," he said gently. "I need that five thousand, Ivana. Today."

Ivana pleaded. "Give me forty-eight hours. Please."

Dr. Evans sighed. "Forty-eight hours. That's it."

Ivana sat on the bench in the hallway. She opened her banking app again.

$342.

A text came in from Mrs. Higgins, the neighbor she paid to watch Cohen in the motel room.

He needs more formula. And I need my pay for last week.

Ivana stared at the screen. Cohen. Her sweet, innocent boy who had Gannon's eyes and Gannon's allergies.

She couldn't let him starve.

She transferred $300 to Mrs. Higgins.

Balance: $42.

She hadn't eaten in two days. Her stomach cramped, a sharp, twisting pain.

She walked out of the hospital. The midday sun was blinding.

She couldn't afford a car. She couldn't even afford the subway if she wanted to eat something later.

She walked to the bus stop.

The heat radiated off the sidewalk. The air shimmered.

Ivana stood by the metal pole. Her head felt light. Black spots danced in her vision.

She swayed.

A black car pulled up to the curb. It was sleek, silent, and massive. A Maybach.

The window was tinted so dark it looked like a mirror.

Ivana didn't pay attention. She was focusing on breathing. In. Out.

The window rolled down.

The world tilted on its axis. The black spots in Ivana's vision grew larger, merging into a dark tunnel.

She reached out blindly for the bus stop sign, her fingers slipping on the hot metal. Her knees buckled, and she slid down to the curb, sitting on the concrete that was hot enough to fry an egg.

People walked past her. A man in a suit stepped around her legs, muttering about junkies.

Ivana wasn't a junkie. She was a mother. She was a scientist. She was starving.

Inside the Maybach, the air was a crisp sixty-eight degrees. Gannon sat in the back seat, a file open on his lap. He wasn't reading it.

He was watching the woman on the curb through his sunglasses.

She looked like a broken doll. Her face was pale, a stark contrast to the angry red mark on her cheek where Aleta had slapped her.

"Drive," Gannon said.

His driver, a burly man named Thomas, hesitated. "Sir? She looks... not good."

"She's acting," Gannon snapped. "She's a con artist, Thomas. That's what she does."

But he didn't look away.

He saw her hand trembling as she reached into her bag. She pulled out a small tin of mints.

Her fingers were clumsy. The tin slipped. It clattered onto the sidewalk and rolled, falling through the grate of a storm drain.

Ivana stared at the grate. Her shoulders slumped. It was a posture of absolute defeat.

Gannon felt a twinge in his chest. A sharp, annoying prick of conscience.

She put her head between her knees.

"She's going to pass out," Thomas said quietly.

Gannon cursed under his breath. He threw the file onto the empty seat next to him.

"Unlock the doors."

The lock clicked.

Gannon didn't get out. He couldn't. If he touched her, he might strangle her. Or worse.

"Get her," he ordered.

Thomas got out. A wave of heat rushed into the car.

Ivana felt hands on her arms. Strong, firm hands. She was too weak to fight.

"Come on, miss," a voice said.

She was lifted up. The world spun.

Next thing she knew, she was being lowered onto soft leather. The door slammed shut. The noise of the street vanished, replaced by the hum of the engine and the soft whir of the air conditioner.

She blinked, trying to focus.

She was in a car. A very expensive car.

She looked to her left.

Gannon was pressed against the far door, as if her poverty was contagious.

"Drink," he said.

He pointed to a bottle of Evian in the cup holder.

Ivana stared at the water. Her throat was sandpaper.

She reached for it. Her hand shook so much she couldn't unscrew the cap.

Gannon made a noise of impatience. He snatched the bottle from her, twisted the cap off with a sharp crack, and shoved it back into her hand.

She drank. She drank until she choked, water spilling down her chin and onto her hoodie.

Gannon watched her. His expression was unreadable behind the sunglasses.

"Slow down," he said.

Ivana lowered the bottle. She wiped her mouth.

"Thank you," she rasped.

Gannon didn't respond. He looked out the window.

Her stomach let out a loud, prolonged growl. It was a monstrous sound in the quiet cabin.

Ivana wrapped her arms around her midsection, her face burning.

Gannon turned back to her. He lowered his sunglasses.

"Skipping meals to save for your next Chanel bag?" he asked.

Ivana didn't answer. She didn't have the energy to fight him.

Gannon opened the center console. He pulled out a small, rectangular box.

He tossed it into her lap.

"Eat. I don't want you dying in my car. The paperwork would be a hassle."

Ivana looked at the box. La Maison du Chocolat.

Her heart stuttered.

It was the truffle collection. Specifically, the raspberry ganache ones.

They used to buy a box every Friday night. They would sit on his roof deck, sharing them one by one.

She looked at him. Did he remember? Or was this just his standard car snack?

She opened the box. The smell of rich dark chocolate wafted up.

She took one. She popped it into her mouth.

The sugar hit her bloodstream almost instantly. The tart raspberry, the bitter cocoa. It tasted like memories. It tasted like four years ago.

She ate another. And another.

Gannon watched her lips move. He watched a speck of chocolate adhere to the corner of her mouth.

His eyes darkened. He looked away abruptly, shifting in his seat.

"Where are you staying?" he asked.

Ivana swallowed. "A motel. In Bushwick."

Gannon scoffed. "Classy."

He tapped on the partition glass. "Thomas, take us to Bushwick."

Ivana leaned back against the headrest. The sugar was helping. The dizziness was receding.

"Why?" she asked softly. "Why did you pick me up?"

Gannon didn't look at her. "Because you were making a scene. And it reflects poorly on the company if my former... whatever you were... dies on the street."

Whatever you were.

The words stung, but she accepted them.

Her phone rang.

It was loud in the silence.

She looked at the screen. Mrs. Higgins.

Panic surged. If she didn't answer, Mrs. Higgins might leave. But if she answered...

She pressed the green button, intending to put it to her ear quickly.

But her thumb slipped. She hit the speaker button.

"Mommy?"

Cohen's voice filled the car.

Ivana scrambled to fumble with the phone, her fingers slipping on the sleek glass.

"Mommy, are you okay?" Cohen asked again. His voice was small, worried.

Gannon froze. His entire body went rigid.

He turned his head slowly. His eyes were like lasers, burning into the phone in Ivana's hand.

Ivana finally managed to hit the button to turn off the speaker, jamming the phone against her ear.

"I'm here," she whispered, turning her body away from Gannon, curling into the door. "I'm fine. I'll be there soon."

She hung up without waiting for a response.

Silence. Heavy, suffocating silence.

Gannon was staring at her. His expression had shifted from disdain to something dangerous.

"Who was that?" he asked. His voice was dangerously soft.

Ivana's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

"Wrong number," she said.

Gannon laughed. A dry, humorless sound. "A wrong number that calls you Mommy?"

Ivana licked her dry lips. "It's... the kid I nanny for. He's very attached. He gets confused sometimes."

It was a terrible lie. She knew it. He knew it.

Gannon studied her face. He was looking for the tell. He was looking for the truth.

But his mind slammed on the brakes. The reports from the private investigator were clear: Ivana had been spotted at galas in Paris, casinos in Monaco. There was no child. Breann had shown him the photos herself. If there was a child, it couldn't be his. And if it wasn't his, then she had moved on. She had started a family with someone else while he was still bleeding.

The thought was so agonizing he physically recoiled from it. He chose to believe the lie because the truth-or his version of it-was too painful to entertain.

"You're a nanny?" he asked, his voice dripping with skepticism. "You threw away a life with me to wipe some other kid's nose?"

"It pays the bills," Ivana said, staring at her knees.

Gannon felt a surge of irrational fury. He hated that she was struggling. He hated that she was serving someone else. He hated that hearing that child's voice had made his own heart stop for a second.

He looked at the chocolate box in her lap.

"That's fifty dollars," he said.

Ivana blinked. "What?"

"The chocolates. You ate half the box. Fifty dollars."

Ivana stared at him. "You gave them to me."

"Nothing is free, Ivana. You taught me that."

She felt the blood rush to her face. She dug into her pocket. She pulled out the crumpled twenty dollar bill and a handful of quarters.

It was all she had left after the transfer.

"I... I only have twenty-two dollars," she whispered.

She held it out to him.

Gannon looked at the pathetic pile of money in her shaking hand.

He felt like a monster. He wanted to take the money and throw it out the window. He wanted to pull her into his arms.

He swatted her hand away. The bills and coins scattered onto the floor of the car.

"Get out," he said.

Ivana looked out the window. "We're not there yet. We're blocks away."

"I said get out!" Gannon shouted.

He slammed his hand against the partition. "Stop the car!"

The Maybach lurched to a halt.

Outside, the sky had opened up. A summer thunderstorm was raging. Rain lashed against the windows.

Ivana looked at him, her eyes wide with shock.

"Gannon, please. It's pouring."

"Get out, Ivana. Before I do something I regret."

He couldn't be near her. He couldn't smell her scent-rain and cheap soap-and not want to destroy everything he had built to forget her.

Ivana grabbed her bag. She opened the door.

The wind caught it, ripping it from her hand. Rain soaked her instantly.

She stepped out into the deluge.

The door slammed shut behind her.

The lock clicked.

Ivana stood on the sidewalk, the rain plastering her hair to her face. She clutched the chocolate box-he hadn't taken it back-to her chest.

The Maybach sped away, tires spraying a wave of dirty puddle water over her legs.

She watched the taillights disappear into the gray mist.

She was alone. She was broke. She was wet. And her money was still scattered on the floor of his car.

She started to walk.