Charlie pushed through the canvas flap and locked the brass latch behind her.

She slid down the door until she sat on the Persian rug, knees drawn up, forehead pressed against her wrists. The tent smelled of cedar and the ghost of Claudius's cologne.

Above her, the aurora projector hummed.

He'd insisted on bringing it. Set it on the nightstand himself, angled just so, claiming he wanted her to sleep under the stars even inside. She'd thought it romantic.

Now she stared at the black cylinder.

Her legs carried her to the nightstand before she decided to move. She picked up the projector. Heavy. Sleek. The laser aperture stared back like a blind eye.

Below it, almost invisible, a tiny circle of non-reflective black.

Charlie's breath stopped.

She fumbled for her makeup bag. Found the tweezers. Instead of prying, her fingers searched the smooth surface, her instincts screaming. She felt it-a nearly imperceptible seam. She pressed the tip of the tweezers into a tiny, recessed release button, designed to be overlooked. The side panel didn't crack; it clicked open on a silent hinge.

A micro camera stared back at her, no bigger than a fingernail. A blue LED blinked slow and steady. Wireless transmitter attached. Recording everything. Every moment. Every intimacy.

Last night. The bed behind her.

She ran for the bathroom.

Cold water splashed her face, again and again, until her hands stopped shaking. She gripped the marble sink and met her own eyes in the mirror. Wide. Terrified. Pregnant, maybe. Watched, definitely. Targeted, absolutely.

Footsteps outside.

His footsteps. She knew the rhythm. Heavy, confident, the stride of a man who owned the ground he walked on.

Charlie grabbed a towel. Dried her face. Ran.

She reached the nightstand as the tent flap rustled. She snapped the projector casing shut. It clicked back into place with seamless precision, leaving no trace it had ever been opened. The blue LED winked out, hidden again.

She dove into bed and pulled the covers to her chin.

The latch turned.

Claudius stepped through, tall and broad, bringing the night chill with him. He paused at the entrance, looking at her. She kept her breathing slow. Even. Eyes closed.

The mattress dipped.

He sat on the edge, close enough that she felt his heat through the silk sheets. His fingers touched her cheek, rough and warm.

She wanted to recoil. Her body wanted to scream.

She let him touch her.

"Charlie," he murmured.

The voice that had whispered love. That had planned her destruction with the same tongue.

She fluttered her eyelids open. "Mmm?"

"You're cold." His thumb traced her jaw. "And you're shaking."

She forced a sleepy smile. "The wind. Through the canvas."

His eyes searched hers. Blue and endless and completely unreadable. "I missed you."

He leaned down. Bourbon on his breath. His lips pressed her forehead, then her mouth, soft and claiming.

Charlie let him kiss her. Let him pull her against his chest where his heart beat strong and steady and false. She buried her face in his neck so he couldn't see her eyes.

His hand slid down her side. Paused on her stomach.

"You're not feeling well?" he asked, voice gentle as poisoned honey.

The clinic. The words from the oak tree replayed in her skull.

"A little dizzy," she whispered. "Just need sleep."

"Of course." He tucked her in, kissed her temple, and reached for his phone on the nightstand.

Charlie watched him through lowered lashes.

The projector sat inches from his hand. He didn't look at it. Didn't touch it. Just scrolled through emails with the concentration of a man who had nothing to hide.

She closed her eyes and planned how to steal the footage.

The early morning sun filtered through the gaps in the canvas tent, casting thin, golden streaks across the floor. Charlie huddled under the down quilt, her face as pale as paper, her body curled into a tight ball.

She pressed her hands firmly against her lower abdomen, letting out a soft, painful groan-feigning the throes of severe premenstrual syndrome. Her brow furrowed, and her lips trembled, making the act look so real it was almost convincing even to herself.

Claudius, who had been sitting on a folding chair by the bed, reading the Wall Street Journal, immediately dropped the newspaper. The pages fluttered to the ground as he strode over to her side, his usually composed face twisted with obvious anxiety.

He reached out and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, his brows knitting tighter when he felt the cold, clammy skin. "Damn it," he muttered, his voice laced with irritation. "I told the staff to keep the tent warm. Those idiots let the night wind seep in."

Charlie weakly grabbed his wrist, squeezing it gently, and forced a few physiological tears to spill from the corners of her eyes. "Claudius," she whispered, her voice fragile and trembling, "I don't feel well. I want to go back to the apartment in Manhattan. Please."

Claudius didn't hesitate for a second. He pulled out his phone from his pocket, his fingers moving quickly across the screen to dial Jenilee's encrypted line-his assistant who was always on call, no matter the hour or location.

"Jenilee," his voice dropped to a cold, commanding tone, sharp and unyielding, a stark contrast to the tenderness he'd shown Charlie just moments before. "I need a Sikorsky S-76 helicopter on the camp helipad in twenty minutes. No delays. If it's late, you're fired." He hung up the call without waiting for a response.

When he turned back to Charlie, the coldness in his eyes melted instantly, replaced by that suffocating, overbearing tenderness that made her skin crawl. He picked up a warm wet towel from the nearby table, his movements surprisingly gentle as he dabbed the cold sweat from her forehead and cheeks.

Watching him play the role of the perfect lover so flawlessly, Charlie felt a wave of nausea surge in her stomach. She quickly closed her eyes, pretending to be too weak to keep them open, just to hide the disgust that threatened to show on her face.

Twenty minutes exactly, the distant hum of helicopter blades grew louder and louder, shattering the quiet of the Hamptons morning. The Sikorsky S-76 touched down smoothly on the small helipad near the camp, its rotors still spinning as it settled.

Claudius wrapped Charlie tightly in a soft cashmere blanket, lifting her up bridal-style in his strong arms. She was light in his grasp, but the weight of his touch made her feel trapped, like a bird caught in a golden cage.

As Charlie leaned against his broad shoulder, her peripheral vision caught sight of Kael and Burk standing under a tree in the distance. Their eyes were fixed on her and Claudius, their expressions strange and unreadable-cold, almost predatory. A shiver ran down her spine.

She immediately buried her face in the crook of Claudius's neck, pretending to flinch from the strong wind stirred up by the helicopter's rotors. In reality, she was just trying to avoid the gaze of those two monsters, the ones who had haunted her nightmares since she'd first crossed paths with them.

Claudius carried her onto the helicopter, carefully setting her down on the top-of-the-line leather seat. He leaned over and fastened the four-point safety belt around her himself, his fingers brushing against her waist lightly as he did so-a subtle touch that made her muscles tense.

The helicopter lifted off, and the Hamptons coastline grew smaller and smaller beneath them. Charlie felt the tightness in her chest ease slightly, if only for a moment-away from the camp, away from Kael and Burk, she could breathe a little easier.

Through the noise-canceling headphones, Claudius's deep voice came, soft and low. "Do you want some warm water, baby?"

Charlie shook her head, turning her gaze to the window. The scenery of Long Island rushed by below-lush green lawns, sprawling mansions, the glistening ocean. It was beautiful, but it felt like a distant dream, one she could never reach.

Claudius reached out, his long fingers brushing gently over the back of her pale hand. His gaze was deep and dark, so intense that she couldn't bear to meet it-she had no idea what he was thinking, and that uncertainty terrified her.

Suddenly, he spoke again, his tone casual, as if he was just making small talk. "When you were looking at my friends earlier at the camp... why were you shaking?"

Charlie's heart skipped a beat, panic surging through her veins. Her mind raced, searching for an excuse, a lie that would sound convincing. She turned to him, her eyes filled with feigned grievance. "Their cigars," she whispered, her voice trembling. "The smell was so strong... it made me feel sick to my stomach."

Claudius stared into her eyes for three long, tense seconds-long enough that Charlie thought he might see through her lie. His gaze was sharp, like a knife, as if he was dissecting every word she said, every expression on her face.

Finally, he let out a low, amused chuckle, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the tip of her fingers. "I'm sorry, baby," he said, his voice gentle again. "I'll tell them not to smoke around you ever again. I won't let anything make you uncomfortable."

Charlie forced a weak smile, her back already soaked with cold sweat. She nodded, leaning back against the seat, and closed her eyes again-pretending to rest, but in reality, her mind was racing with fear and relief.

Forty-five minutes later, the helicopter landed smoothly on the private helipad atop the Buchanan Estate penthouse in midtown Manhattan. The dazzling skyline of New York City stretched out before them-tall skyscrapers, twinkling lights, a city that never slept. But to Charlie, it was just another cage, a gilded prison that Claudius had built for her.

Claudius lifted her up again, carrying her through the bulletproof glass corridor that led directly to the master bedroom. The corridor was lined with expensive artwork, but Charlie didn't even glance at it-her mind was too focused on the growing unease in her abdomen.

He set her gently down on the huge custom waterbed, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "I'll go get you some warm water," he said, turning to walk toward the bathroom.

The moment he turned away, Charlie felt a sharp, crushing pain in her lower abdomen-a real pain, not the feigned PMS she'd been pretending to have. It felt like something was falling, like her body was betraying her.

A warm, sticky liquid trickled down between her legs. Charlie froze, her eyes widening in terror. This wasn't her period. This wasn't the lie she'd been telling.

She realized, with a sinking feeling in her chest, that this might be a threatened miscarriage. And in that moment, all her pretense, all her fear, all her anger, collided into a single, overwhelming panic.

Seizing the moment when Claudius turned to get the water, Charlie threw off the quilt and scrambled off the waterbed. The sharp, cramping pain in her lower abdomen made her suck in a breath, and she bit down hard on her lower lip to keep from crying out.

She stumbled toward the marble bathroom attached to the master bedroom, her legs unsteady, each step sending a fresh wave of pain through her body. The cold floor beneath her feet only made the discomfort worse, but she didn't stop-she had to get away, to check, to confirm what she already feared.

She slammed the heavy frosted glass door shut behind her and flipped the lock, leaning against the cool Door panel as she gasped for air. Her chest heaving, her hands trembling, she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm the panic that was threatening to consume her.

Slowly, she pulled down her silk panties. When her eyes fell on the bright red stain on the crotch, her pupils dilated in horror. This wasn't her period. This was the bleeding she'd heard about in those terrible rumors-the bleeding that meant a pregnancy was in danger.

Just then, the phone on the bathroom counter began to vibrate violently, its screen lighting up with Corina's name. Charlie's heart skipped a beat-her sister, the one person who could see through her lies, the one person who might be able to help her.

She grabbed the phone, fumbling with the screen as she answered it, forcing her voice to sound lazy and normal, as if she was just waking up. "Hey, Corina," she said, her voice wavering slightly despite her best efforts.

Corina's sharp, cold voice came through the line, no-nonsense and demanding. "Where the hell were you this weekend? You were supposed to come back to the family estate on Long Island. I called you three times, and you didn't answer."

Charlie bit her lip,Endure it the pain in her abdomen as she lied. "I'm so sorry, Corina. I was with Ami in the Hamptons, doing a spa weekend. My phone died, and I forgot to charge it. I didn't mean to worry you."

Corina's tone softened slightly, but it was still laced with warning. "Listen to me, Charlie. The wind is changing on Wall Street. The Buchanan family is secretly buying up Powell shares. Stay away from them-all of them. Don't let Claudius Buchanan manipulate you. He's dangerous, and he doesn't care about you or our family."

Tears stung Charlie's eyes as she listened to her sister's warning. She knew Corina was right. She'd known it from the moment she'd gotten involved with Claudius, but she'd been too naive, too desperate, to admit it. Now, she was trapped, and there was no easy way out.

A knock sounded on the bathroom door, followed by Claudius's deep voice, laced with concern. "Baby, are you okay? You've been in there a long time. Is the pain getting worse?"

Charlie jumped, nearly dropping the phone. She quickly whispered into the receiver, "Corina, I have to go. The signal is really bad here. I'll call you back later, okay?" Before her sister could respond, she hung up the call and tossed the phone onto the counter.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to sound calm as she called out to him. "I'm okay, Claudius! Just a minute, I'll be right out!" Her voice trembled slightly, betraying her nervousness, but she hoped he wouldn't notice.

She knelt down and pulled open the bottom drawer of the vanity, rummaging through the contents until she found what she was looking for-a Clearblue digital pregnancy test that Ami had jokingly stuffed into her bag a few weeks ago, saying "just in case." At the time, Charlie had laughed it off, never thinking she'd actually need it.

Her hands shaking so badly that she could barely hold it, she tore open the packaging and followed the instructions, urinating on the test stick before setting it down on the marble countertop to wait. Every second felt like an eternity, and the cramping in her abdomen only grew worse.

Three minutes. That's what the instructions said. Three minutes to find out her fate. But to Charlie, it felt like a lifetime. The hourglass icon on the test's screen blinked repeatedly, taunting her, reminding her of how little time she might have.

Outside the bathroom, Claudius seemed to grow impatient. She heard him twist the doorknob, and when he found it locked, his voice turned dangerous, low and menacing. "Charlie, open the door. Now."

Charlie's eyes were fixed on the test screen, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. Finally, the hourglass disappeared, and two clear words appeared on the screen: "Pregnant 3+." Pregnant. Three weeks or more.

Desperate tears spilled down her face as the reality sank in. She was pregnant. Pregnant with the child of the man who was trying to destroy her family, the man who had trapped her, the man she hated more than anything in the world.

Combined with the bleeding, she knew she needed to get to a hospital immediately. But she couldn't let Claudius know. If he found out she was pregnant, he would never let her go. He would use the baby to control her, to tie her to him forever.

She quickly wrapped the pregnancy test in several layers of toilet paper, shoving it deep into the bottom of the trash can, where it would be hidden from sight. She grabbed a handful of toilet paper and tucked it into her panties, trying to stop the bleeding, then smoothed out the hem of her nightgown, making sure no trace of the blood was visible.

She turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on her red, tear-stained face. She took several deep breaths, forcing herself to compose herself, to put on the act of the weak, suffering girl he expected her to be. When she was sure she could pass, she unlocked the door and pulled it open.

The moment the door opened, Claudius loomed in the doorway like a mountain, his tall frame blocking out the light. In his hand, he held a cup of warm brown sugar water, steam curling up from the rim.

His sharp eyes scanned her face, noticing the redness around her eyes and the paleness of her cheeks. His brows furrowed, and he reached out to brush a strand of hair away from her face. "Have you been crying?" he asked, his voice softening slightly.

Charlie took advantage of the moment, leaning into his arms, her body trembling with a mix of real pain and feigned weakness. "It hurts so bad, Claudius," she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest. "The cramps are terrible. I can't stand it."

Claudius's eyes darkened, and he held her tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He held the cup of brown sugar water to her lips, watching as she drank it obediently, her hands still trembling.