The morning sun streamed into the hospital room, doing nothing to warm the chill in the air. Annelise sat on the sofa, wearing a fresh set of clothes Silas had brought. She had reapplied the dull foundation, put the glasses back on, and drawn her hair into a severe, unflattering bun. But she could feel the tension in her muscles.

The door opened. Preston walked in, holding a bouquet of roses that looked like they cost more than Annelise's foster family's car. Felicia trailed behind him, holding two cups of coffee.

"Annelise, darling!" Felicia cooed. Her voice was like syrup laced with arsenic. "We were so worried! The news said you were in shock."

Preston tossed the flowers onto the bed. He didn't look sorry. He looked annoyed.

"Why haven't you been answering my calls?" Preston demanded. "Do you know how bad this looks for me? The press is sniffing around."

Annelise looked at him over the rim of her glasses. "You left me to die, Preston."

"It was a split-second decision!" Preston waved his hand dismissively. "It was a high-stress situation. You can't hold that against me. Besides, you're fine."

Felicia stepped forward, a smirk playing on her lips. "Here, have some coffee. You look like you need it. You look... dreadful."

She extended the cup. Annelise reached for it.

Just as Annelise's fingers brushed the cardboard sleeve, Felicia's wrist flicked. It was subtle, a motion meant to look like a fumble. The cup tipped. Scalding dark roast liquid arched through the air, aiming straight for Annelise's face.

Reflex took over.

Annelise didn't flinch back. Her left hand shot up, blurring with speed. She caught Felicia's wrist in mid-air, twisting it sharply outward.

The coffee splashed, but not on Annelise. It cascaded down the front of Felicia's cream-colored Chanel dress.

"Ahhh!" Felicia shrieked, jumping back. "You bitch! You burned me!"

Preston stared. His mouth hung open. He had never seen Annelise move like that. It was faster than the eye could follow.

Annelise stood up. She didn't let go of Felicia's wrist. She squeezed. She felt the delicate bones grind together.

"Let go!" Felicia screamed, dropping to her knees.

Annelise leaned down. Her voice dropped an octave, losing the tremble, losing the fear. It was cold steel.

"This is the only warning I will give you," she whispered into Felicia's ear, so low that only she could hear. "Next time, it won't be coffee."

She shoved Felicia away. Felicia scrambled back, clutching her wrist, sobbing.

"What the hell are you?" Preston stepped forward, his face red with anger. "You attacked her!"

"She tried to burn me," Annelise said calmly. "I'm done being your punching bag, Preston. Your uncle knows what you did. You think your trust fund is safe? You think your position in the company is secure? You need this merger, and you just tried to destroy its most important asset."

"Shut up!" Preston roared. The truth stung more than the coffee. He raised his hand, stepping into her space, preparing to backhand her.

Annelise watched the hand coming. She calculated the trajectory. She could duck, strike his throat, and collapse his windpipe in two moves.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow in the doorway. A tall, broad shadow.

Francesco.

Annelise aborted the counter-strike. She relaxed her core. She let her eyes go wide.

She threw herself backward, tripping over her own feet. She crashed into the coffee table. The crystal vase of lilies shattered, sending glass shards skittering across the floor.

"No! Please!" Annelise screamed, curling into a ball on the floor, covering her head with her arms.

Preston stood there, his hand raised, confused. He hadn't even touched her yet.

"I didn't..." Preston started.

"That's enough."

The voice came from the doorway. It was quiet. Deadly quiet.

Francesco Lancaster stepped into the room. He looked at Felicia, wailing about her dress. He looked at Preston, hand raised in a threat. And he looked at Annelise, cowering amidst broken glass.

His eyes went black.

The air in the room seemed to vanish, sucked out by the sheer gravitational pull of Francesco's rage. He didn't shout. He didn't run. He walked into the room with a terrifying, predatory slowness.

He walked past Preston as if he didn't exist. He went straight to Annelise.

"Uncle Fran, she's faking it!" Preston stammered, lowering his hand. "She attacked Felicia! She's... she's crazy! You didn't see what she did!"

Francesco ignored him. He crouched down beside Annelise. He took off his suit jacket, draping the heavy, warm fabric over her shoulders.

"Annelise?" he asked softly.

She looked up. Her eyes were wet with tears. She was shaking so hard her teeth chattered.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, clutching the lapels of his jacket. "I'm so clumsy. I made him mad."

Francesco saw the blood. A shard of the vase had sliced her calf. A thin line of crimson ran down her leg, soaking into her sock.

He stood up. He turned to Preston.

Preston took a step back, hitting the wall. "Uncle Fran, listen to me. She twisted Felicia's wrist! She threatened to break her arm!"

"I see a woman on the floor bleeding," Francesco said. "And I see a man with his hand raised."

"She's lying!" Felicia screeched from the corner. "Look at my dress!"

"Silas," Francesco said without looking back.

Silas appeared in the doorway. "Sir."

"Remove Ms. Carson. If she speaks again, ban her from all Lancaster properties. Permanently."

Silas nodded and grabbed Felicia by the elbow, dragging the protesting woman out of the room.

Francesco stepped closer to Preston. He towered over him.

"You come into my hospital," Francesco said, his voice a low rumble. "You threaten my ward."

"She's not a ward! She's a psycho!" Preston yelled, desperate now. "She knows things about the accounts! She's not who she says she is!"

Francesco reached out. His hand clamped around Preston's throat. He didn't squeeze to choke; he squeezed to control. He lifted Preston onto his toes, pinning him against the wall.

"You are a disappointment, Preston. You always have been. But now, you are a nuisance."

Francesco leaned in close. "If I ever see you within ten feet of her again, I will not call the police. I will break your legs myself. Do you understand?"

Preston gurgled, his face turning purple. He nodded frantically.

Francesco released him. Preston slumped to the floor, gasping for air.

"Get out."

Preston scrambled to his feet and ran. The door slammed shut behind him.

Silence returned to the room, heavy and thick.

Francesco took a deep breath, composing himself. He turned back to Annelise. She was still on the floor, watching him. Her eyes were wide, but the fear... the fear seemed different now.

He walked over and knelt again. He reached out, his fingers hovering near her face. He gently took the glasses off her nose, setting them on the table.

"Did he hit you?" Francesco asked.

"No," Annelise whispered. "You stopped him."

She reached up, her hand trembling, and touched his cheek. Her fingers brushed against the rough stubble of his jaw.

"Thank you," she said.

Francesco felt a strange tightness in his chest. He hated weakness. He despised tears. But seeing her like this, so small in his oversized jacket, ignited a protective instinct he didn't know he possessed.

"It's over," he said roughly. "I'll handle them."

He scooped her up into his arms, mindful of the glass. He carried her to the bed and set her down.

"Rest," he commanded.

Annelise lay back against the pillows. She watched him walk to the window, his shoulders tense. She allowed herself a small, imperceptible smile.

The King was moving his pieces exactly where she wanted them.

An hour later, the room was quiet. Francesco sat at the small table, signing documents. He had just frozen Preston's trust fund. It was petty, but satisfying.

He shifted in his chair, a grimace crossing his face. The adrenaline from the confrontation had faded, leaving the burn on his back throbbing with renewed intensity.

"Your back hurts," Annelise said.

He looked up. She was watching him.

"It's fine," he said.

"It's not fine. You're guarding your left side. The dressing needs to be changed."

"I'll call a nurse."

"No." Annelise sat up. "You don't trust the staff here. I saw how you looked at them. Let me do it."

Francesco hesitated. She was right. He didn't like strangers touching him, especially when he was injured. It was a vulnerability.

"I know first aid," she added quickly. "I helped... I helped at the animal shelter. With the dogs."

Francesco sighed. He stood up and unbuttoned his shirt, letting it fall to his waist. He sat on the edge of her bed, presenting his back to her.

Annelise opened the first aid kit. She peeled back the bandages. The skin was angry, red and blistered. It was a nasty burn.

"This is going to sting," she murmured.

She applied the cooling gel. Her fingers were gentle, incredibly precise. She didn't hesitate. She didn't shake.

The door opened.

A nurse walked in. Her name tag said 'Ashley'. She had blonde hair, too much eyeliner, and a uniform that was a size too small.

"Mr. Lancaster," Ashley purred. "I'm here to check your vitals."

Her eyes immediately went to Francesco's bare torso. She licked her lips. In her hand, she held a tray with a thermometer and a cotton swab.

Annelise watched her. She saw the way Ashley's eyes darted to the bloody bandage on the table. She saw the way she positioned the swab, not for a throat culture, but as if she intended to swipe a sample of blood.

Corporate espionage. Someone wanted Francesco's DNA. Maybe to check for genetic markers, maybe to prove he was unfit to lead, maybe to clone him. It didn't matter.

Ashley reached out, leaning over Francesco, her chest practically brushing his shoulder. "Let me just clean that up for you..." She reached for the bloody bandage with the swab.

Clatter.

Annelise's hand swept across the bedside table. The metal tray of instruments crashed to the floor.

"Oops," Annelise said. "My hand slipped."

Ashley jumped, glaring at her. "Watch it!"

The swab had fallen on the floor. Ashley bent down to retrieve it.

Annelise swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her foot came down hard, directly on the tip of the cotton swab, grinding it into the linoleum.

"Oh no," Annelise said, her voice dripping with false innocence. "I'm so clumsy today."

Ashley stood up, her face red. "You did that on purpose!"

"Silas!" Annelise called out.

The bodyguard opened the door.

"This nurse is making me uncomfortable," Annelise said, pointing a trembling finger. "She's... she's staring at Francesco. I don't like it."

Francesco turned around. He looked at the crushed swab on the floor. He looked at Ashley's panicked expression. Then he looked at Annelise, who was doing a very convincing impression of a jealous girlfriend.

"Get her out," Francesco said to Silas. "And have security vet her personnel file again."

Ashley was escorted out, protesting loudly.

Francesco turned back to Annelise. A small smirk played on his lips.

"Jealous?" he asked.

Annelise looked down, twisting her fingers. "She was looking at you like you were a steak. It was gross."

Francesco chuckled. It was a rusty sound, like he hadn't used it in years.

"Continue," he said, turning his back to her again.

Annelise resumed applying the ointment. Her touch was firm. As her fingers traced the muscles of his spine, the air in the room grew heavy. It wasn't just medical anymore. It was intimate.

Francesco closed his eyes. For a second, he forgot she was a liability. He forgot the merger. He just felt her hands on him, and it felt... right.