Justice walked out of the air-conditioned lobby and onto the sweltering Manhattan pavement.

The black stretched Lincoln idled at the curb. A driver in a dark suit pulled the heavy rear door open. Justice slid into the back seat. The leather was cold against the back of her thighs.

A moment later, the suspension dipped. Derek and Meredith climbed in after her. The heavy door slammed shut, sealing them inside.

The driver pressed a button. The thick, soundproof partition glided up, locking into place with a solid click. The cabin became a pressurized vault.

The Lincoln pulled away from the curb, merging seamlessly into the chaotic city traffic, heading east toward Long Island.

Derek immediately reached for his collar, yanking his tie loose. He turned his body toward Justice.

"Listen to me," Derek snapped, pointing a thick finger at her face. "The Aguirre family is old money. They don't tolerate mistakes. You speak only when spoken to. You keep your head down. You act like you belong there, even though we both know you don't."

Justice propped her elbow on the armrest. She rested her chin in her palm and turned her head to look out the tinted window. The towering glass buildings blurred past.

Meredith reached into her designer tote bag. She pulled out a thick, leather-bound directory and shoved it toward Justice's chest.

"Memorize this," Meredith ordered. "It's the Aguirre family tree. All the extended relatives, the board members, the trust managers. If you call someone by the wrong title, I will personally make you regret it."

Justice didn't move her hands. The heavy book hit her collarbone and slid off her lap, thudding onto the floor mats.

Derek's face turned purple. The veins in his neck bulged against his skin.

"Pick that up!" Derek roared. His spit flew across the narrow space. "What exactly did they teach you in that garbage public school in the Rust Belt? Did you learn any manners at all?"

Justice slowly turned her head. Her eyes locked onto Derek's. The air in the car seemed to drop ten degrees.

"I wouldn't know," Justice said. Her voice was completely flat. "I dropped out six months ago."

The silence in the cabin was absolute. The only sound was the low hum of the tires chewing up the asphalt.

Derek's eyes widened until the whites showed all the way around his irises. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Meredith sucked in a sharp, loud breath. Her hands flew to her mouth.

"You what?" Derek finally choked out. His chest heaved. He lunged forward, grabbing the edge of Justice's seat. "You dropped out? You're a high school dropout?"

Panic seized Derek's features. His breathing turned ragged. If the Aguirre family found out they were marrying their heir to a girl without a high school diploma, they would cancel the contract. The three-hundred-million-dollar lifeline would vanish.

Justice watched the sweat bead on his forehead. It was pathetic.

"What does it matter?" Justice asked, tilting her head slightly. "Did the Aguirre family buy me to tutor their vegetable in calculus?"

Derek gagged on his own breath. The sheer disrespect in her words hit him like a physical blow.

Meredith grabbed Derek's arm, pulling him back against the seat. She rubbed his chest frantically.

"Calm down, Derek, your blood pressure," Meredith hissed. She shot a venomous glare at Justice. "When we get to the estate, you keep your mouth shut. You act mute. Do you understand me?"

Derek pointed a shaking finger at Justice. "If you ruin this deal," he whispered, his voice trembling with raw fury, "I will throw you back into the gutter. You will starve on the streets."

Justice let out a short, breathy laugh. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated mockery.

She turned her face back to the window. She didn't look at them for the rest of the ride.

Derek's chest continued to heave, his fists clenched tight on his knees, but he didn't say another word.

The concrete jungle of the city gradually gave way to sprawling, manicured forests. The road smoothed out.

In the distance, massive wrought-iron gates appeared, towering over the tree line.

The Lincoln slowed to a halt. High-definition security cameras mounted on the stone pillars instantly swept over the vehicle, scanning the license plates and running thermal imaging on the cabin. An armed guard in tactical gear stepped forward, holding a biometric tablet. He didn't just take the driver's laminated pass; he visually confirmed the identities of every passenger against the pre-approved digital manifest, his eyes cold and methodical behind dark sunglasses, before finally giving a curt nod.

The heavy iron gates groaned, slowly swinging inward.

The car rolled forward onto the pristine gravel of the Aguirre estate. Justice stared at the endless expanse of green lawns, her index finger tapping a slow, silent rhythm against her knee.

The Lincoln glided to a stop in front of a massive, baroque-style fountain. Water cascaded over marble statues, the sound heavy and rhythmic.

A valet in white gloves pulled Justice's door open. She stepped out, her cheap canvas shoes hitting the pristine cobblestones.

Derek and Meredith scrambled out of the other side. The anger on their faces vanished, instantly replaced by sickeningly sweet, subservient smiles.

A butler in a tailored suit bowed slightly and led them up the wide marble steps. They entered a foyer with ceilings so high it made the air feel thin. Priceless oil paintings stared down from the walls.

Standing on the landing of the sweeping grand staircase was Eleonora Aguirre.

She leaned heavily on a silver-handled cane. Her white hair was pulled back into a severe knot. Her eyes, sharp as shattered glass, swept over the group.

They skipped Derek entirely. They locked onto Justice.

Eleonora's knuckles turned white around the silver handle of her cane. She descended the stairs slowly, the cane clicking against the marble.

Derek stepped forward, extending his hand, his smile stretching his cheeks tight. "Mrs. Aguirre, it is an honor-"

Eleonora walked right past him. The draft of her movement made Derek flinch.

She stopped inches from Justice. She studied Justice's face, her eyes tracing the line of her jaw, the shape of her eyes.

"Come with me," Eleonora commanded. Her voice was raspy, carrying the weight of absolute authority. "Only you."

Derek swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. He grabbed Meredith's arm and pulled her back, nodding frantically.

Justice followed Eleonora down a long, dimly lit corridor. The air grew colder.

They stopped in front of a heavy steel door. A red laser swept across Eleonora's eye. The door hissed open, breaking the seal.

They stepped into a massive medical suite. It looked like a top-tier ICU, sterile and bright. Machines beeped in a steady, monotonous rhythm.

Justice walked toward the bed in the center of the room.

Auguste Aguirre lay under a thin white sheet. His face was sculpted, flawless, and pale. An oxygen mask covered his nose and mouth. His chest rose and fell with mechanical precision.

Justice stopped at the side of the bed. Her eyes flicked to the monitors.

Heart rate: 60. Blood pressure: 110/70. Brain waves: slow, steady theta waves.

To anyone else, it was the chart of a man in a deep coma. But Justice's eyes narrowed. The intervals between the heartbeats were too perfect. The respiratory rate had a micro-stutter every fourth breath-a conscious attempt to mimic a ventilator's rhythm.

He was faking it.

Justice looked down at Auguste's face. She took a half-step forward.

Her canvas shoe swung out and slammed hard into the metal caster wheel of the hospital bed.

The heavy clank echoed in the sterile room.

Justice stared intently at Auguste's face. His eyelids remained perfectly still, but her trained eyes caught it-the pupils beneath the thin skin of his closed lids underwent a microscopic contraction, a pure, uncontrollable physiological reaction to the sudden acoustic shock. Justice's stomach tightened with dark amusement. The billionaire was playing dead.

She reached out. Her cold fingers brushed against the back of Auguste's hand, which rested on top of the sheet.

As her skin made contact, Justice shifted her thumb. She found the web of muscle between his thumb and index finger-the Hegu acupoint. She pressed her nail in, applying a highly calculated, agonizing pressure.

A jolt of pure nerve pain shot up Auguste's arm. He was exceptionally disciplined, but biology was biology. Instead of a violent jerk, the subcutaneous muscle tissue near the acupoint underwent a rapid, almost invisible micro-spasm. It didn't lift his finger, but the subtle, rigid vibration against her thumb was undeniable.

Behind them, Eleonora dropped her cane. It hit the floor with a deafening clatter.

Eleonora gasped, her hands flying to her chest. She was shaking violently.

The attending doctor rushed forward, his eyes glued to the monitor. "Neurological reflex," the doctor breathed out, his voice trembling. "He reacted to touch."

Eleonora lunged forward. She grabbed Justice's hand, her fingers digging into Justice's skin. Tears spilled over her wrinkled cheeks.

"You," Eleonora sobbed, her chest heaving. "You are the miracle. You brought him back."

Under the sheet, Auguste's jaw muscles locked so tight his teeth ached. He wanted to strangle the woman standing over him.

Justice looked at Eleonora's tear-stained face, then down at the man pretending to be a corpse.

Justice flipped her hand over and squeezed Eleonora's trembling fingers.

"I'm here now," Justice said softly.

As Eleonora composed herself, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief, a young footman appeared in the corridor behind them.

In his hands, he carried a faded, canvas backpack—the same one that had been retrieved from the trunk of Derek's Lincoln by the estate's security team.

It was standard protocol; all luggage was to be inspected and delivered to guest quarters. The footman caught the butler's eye and gave a slight nod, indicating the item was clean and had been scanned, before carrying it silently toward the guest wing.

Eleonora wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand. She kept a tight grip on Justice's wrist and pulled her away from the medical suite.

They walked deeper into the estate. The sterile smell of the hospital faded, replaced by the heavy scent of old paper and cedarwood.

Eleonora stopped in front of a heavy oak door. She pushed it open and pulled Justice inside.

It was a massive private study. Bookshelves stretched up to the vaulted ceiling. Eleonora turned the deadbolt, the metal lock sliding into place with a heavy thud. The silence in the room was absolute.

Eleonora walked behind a massive mahogany desk. She reached up and pulled a framed oil painting away from the wall. Behind it was a steel wall safe.

She spun the dial. The mechanical clicks echoed in the quiet room. She pulled the heavy steel door open and reached inside.

Her hands trembled as she pulled out a worn, velvet-wrapped wooden box.

Eleonora placed the box on the desk. She peeled back the velvet and pushed the box toward Justice.

Justice looked down. Inside the box rested a rolled piece of yellowed parchment.

"This marriage is not a business deal," Eleonora said. Her voice was thick with emotion. "Derek Barnes thinks he sold you. He knows nothing."

Eleonora took a deep breath. "Twenty years ago, your mother, Seraphina, and I made a blood pact."

Justice's chest tightened. The air in her lungs felt suddenly cold. Her mother's name. This was the only reason she had allowed Derek to drag her back to New York.

Eleonora unrolled the parchment. The paper was brittle, covered in strange, jagged symbols and a paragraph of English text.

"The prophecy," Eleonora whispered, tracing the English words. "It states that when the Aguirre bloodline faces extinction, only the blood of Seraphina can bring salvation."

Justice's eyes dropped to the jagged symbols bordering the text.

Her heart skipped a beat.

The English text was completely authentic, a binding relic of her mother's desperate past. But Justice's attention drifted to the margins. Scrawled faintly along the edge, disguised as decorative bordering, was a highly specific, chaotic cipher. It was the exact cipher her deadbeat master, Corwin Shepherd, used to leave her grocery lists in the mountains.

Justice's eyes darted across the tiny symbols, her brain automatically translating the code.

Dear disciple. This is the inescapable fate your mother carved out for you. The prophecy is real, and the blood pact is binding. Embrace your destiny. P. S. Master is out of money for video games. Since you're marrying a billionaire, wire me half your dowry. Good luck.

Justice's teeth ground together. A hot spike of irritation shot through her stomach. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, the knuckles popping in the quiet room. She felt a profound sense of solemn destiny regarding her mother, immediately undercut by the overwhelming urge to fly back to the mountains and burn Corwin's cabin to the ground.

But her face remained a mask of cold awe. She didn't let a single muscle in her face twitch.

Eleonora reached across the desk and grabbed Justice's hands.

"Please," Eleonora begged, her voice breaking. "Do not hate this family because of your father's greed. If you stay by Auguste's side, the entire Aguirre empire will protect you."

Justice forced her breathing to slow down. The sheer weight of the genuine prophecy anchored her. If Corwin had tracked down this sacred document just to leave a pathetic ransom note on it, it meant her mother's legacy in this estate was exactly where she needed to be.

Justice looked up. She met Eleonora's desperate eyes and gave a slow, firm nod.

"I will stay," Justice said. Her voice was quiet, steady. "I am his fiancée."

Eleonora let out a choked sob. She pulled Justice across the desk into a tight, crushing hug.

Ten minutes later, Eleonora led Justice to the guest wing. She opened the door to a sprawling, luxurious suite and left Justice to rest.

Justice stepped inside. She ignored the silk sheets and the crystal chandelier. Her eyes landed on the faded, canvas backpack that had been placed neatly at the foot of the four-poster bed—the Aguirre security team was nothing if not efficient.

She crossed the room, dropped onto the edge of the velvet sofa, and pulled the backpack toward her. She unzipped the hidden bottom compartment and pulled out a battered, matte-black laptop.

Justice sat on the edge of the velvet sofa. She ran her thumb over the cold metal casing of the laptop. Her eyes narrowed, sharp and dangerous.