Morning sunlight poured through the massive glass dome of the estate's sunroom, casting geometric shadows across the lace tablecloth.

Justice sat at the round table. She wore a simple white knit sweater. She held a silver fork, slowly eating a piece of melon.

Outside the glass walls, three black, bulletproof Maybachs rolled to a stop on the edge of the lawn. Four men in dark, tailored suits stepped out, clutching thick leather briefcases.

The butler escorted the men into the sunroom. They stopped a respectful distance from Eleonora, who sat opposite Justice.

The lead lawyer opened his briefcase. He pulled out a thick stack of documents bound in a blue cover. He handed it to Eleonora with both hands.

Eleonora didn't even glance at the cover. She slid the heavy stack across the table. It stopped right next to Justice's teacup.

Justice put her fork down. She looked at the bold black letters printed on the top page: Aguirre Holdings Group.

"I am transferring five percent of the group's non-voting shares to your name," Eleonora said, her voice smooth and calm.

The lawyers behind her stiffened. One of them sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.

Justice's eyes flicked to the lawyers, then back to the paper. Five percent. That was billions of dollars. Derek Barnes would have sold his own organs for a fraction of a percent.

"This was the dowry promised to your mother in the original pact," Eleonora explained, her eyes softening as she looked at Justice. "It belongs to you."

Justice felt the warmth in Eleonora's gaze. It was genuine.

Justice didn't feign humility. She didn't gasp or shake her head. She reached out, took the heavy gold fountain pen the lawyer offered, and signed her name on the dotted line.

The lead lawyer stared at her. His eyes widened slightly at her absolute lack of hesitation. She signed away billions as if she were signing a receipt for coffee.

Eleonora smiled. The deep wrinkles around her eyes crinkled. She liked this girl's spine.

The lawyers packed up the signed documents, bowed deeply, and left the sunroom.

Eleonora reached across the table and covered Justice's hand with hers.

"Go see him, Justice," Eleonora pleaded softly. "Sit with him. Talk to him. I know your presence will bring him back to us."

Justice looked at the old woman. An image of Auguste's perfectly still, arrogant face flashed in her mind.

Justice's lips curved into a sharp, terrifying smile.

"I will take very good care of him," Justice promised.

Justice stood up. She left the sunroom and walked down the long, carpeted hallways toward the medical suite.

When she reached the heavy steel door, the two armed guards stepped aside immediately. Eleonora had given her absolute clearance.

Justice stepped inside. The door hissed shut behind her, sealing the room.

She didn't walk to the bed. She walked straight to the electronic control panel on the wall.

Her fingers danced across the keypad. She input a manual override sequence. The heavy deadbolts inside the door slammed into place with a loud, metallic clack. The room was locked from the inside.

Justice turned around. She walked to the corner of the ceiling. She reached up and yanked the power cord out of the security camera. The red recording light died.

Three floors below, in the subterranean server room, a massive monitor flashed crimson. CRITICAL ERROR: MEDICAL SUITE FEED LOST. DOOR LOCK OVERRIDE. Silas bolted upright, his heart slamming against his ribs. He slammed his hand onto the intercom button, grabbing his sidearm with the other, ready to dispatch the tactical team. Before he could shout the order, a sharp, double-burst of static crackled in his earpiece. It was the mattress sensor. Stand down. Silas froze, his hand hovering over the panic button. He stared at the red error screen, a drop of sweat rolling down his temple. The boss was intentionally trapping himself in a blind room with the new girl.

Justice dusted off her hands. She turned and walked slowly toward the bed.

Auguste lay perfectly still. But his enhanced hearing had picked up the sound of the deadbolts locking and the cord snapping.

Under the sheets, Auguste's heart gave a violent, heavy thump against his ribs.

Justice stood over the bed. She looked down at Auguste's face. He looked like a marble statue, perfect and untouchable.

She grabbed a stainless-steel medical stool. She dragged it across the floor. The metal legs shrieked against the tiles. The sound was deafening in the quiet room.

Justice sat down. She crossed her legs and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. She stared at him, her eyes tracing the line of his nose, the curve of his lips.

Auguste felt the weight of her gaze. His skin prickled. His hands curled into tight fists under the blanket. He hated feeling like prey.

Justice reached over to the rolling medical cart. She picked up a plastic bottle of ice-cold saline solution. She twisted the cap off.

She held the bottle directly over Auguste's face. She tilted her wrist.

A stream of freezing water poured down. It hit the bridge of his nose and splashed directly into his nostrils.

The shock of the ice water hitting his nasal cavity was brutal.

Auguste's chest seized. His throat spasmed violently as his body fought the instinct to inhale the water. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard, trying to clear his airway without coughing.

"Oh, my," Justice said. Her voice was flat, completely devoid of apology. "My hand slipped."

She grabbed a handful of rough paper towels from the cart. She slammed them onto his face, scrubbing the water away with aggressive, bruising force. She rubbed his skin until it turned pink.

Auguste clamped his jaw shut. He used every ounce of his interrogator-resistance training to keep his heart rate steady. He forced his muscles to remain limp.

Justice tossed the wet paper towels onto the floor. She looked at the monitor. His heart rate had barely moved.

Her eyes gleamed with dark amusement.

She turned back to the cart and picked up a long, sterile medical swab.

Justice leaned in close. Her face was inches from his ear.

"Let me help you clean that out," she whispered, her breath brushing against his skin.

Before Auguste could brace himself, Justice shoved the long cotton swab deep into his right nostril.

She didn't stop there. She twisted it. Hard.

The sharp, burning pain shot straight into Auguste's sinus cavity. It was an agonizing, eye-watering violation.

Auguste's body betrayed him. A single, hot tear leaked from the corner of his right eye and slid down his temple. His fingers dug so hard into the mattress that his knuckles turned stark white.

The heart monitor above the bed let out a rapid series of high-pitched beeps. His heart rate had spiked to 120 beats per minute.

Justice pulled the swab out and tossed it into the biohazard bin.

She looked at the tear tracking down his face. A soft, genuine laugh escaped her lips.

Justice leaned down again. Her lips hovered just above his ear.

"Nice endurance, fiancé," she breathed.

Justice stood up. She walked to the corner, plugged the camera back in, and went to the door. She punched in the code, unlocking the deadbolts, and walked out into the hallway.

The doctors, panicked by the heart rate alarm, rushed past her into the room.

Justice saw Silas running down the hall. She gave him a sweet, innocent smile as they crossed paths.

Silas burst into the room. He saw his boss lying there, face red, a tear on his cheek, surrounded by doctors.

As soon as the doctors declared it a random muscle spasm and left, Auguste's finger began hammering against the mattress sensor. The morse code was frantic and furious.

Get this psycho out of my house. Now.