Brook pushed open the door to her apartment. The hinges screamed.

The smell of damp drywall and stale cigarettes hit her instantly. She locked the deadbolt, slid the chain into place, and leaned her forehead against the peeling paint of the door.

She walked to the tiny kitchen table and dropped the white corporate card onto the scratched laminate.

Julian Cardenas IV.

Project Manager. The Cardenas Consolidated logo sat in the corner next to a phone number.

Her phone vibrated on the table, rattling against the wood. The caller ID said Tammy.

Brook snatched it up. "Tammy?"

"Brook, did you get away?" Tammy's voice was a harsh, terrified whisper.

"I got married, Tammy," Brook said. She sank into the wobbly kitchen chair. "I did it."

Silence stretched over the line. Then, the sound of a muffled sob broke through the speaker.

"It's too late, Brook," Tammy cried. Her voice cracked with panic. "Dad already took the deposit from Travis."

Brook's stomach violently cramped. She doubled over slightly, pressing her free hand against her abdomen.

"Fifty thousand dollars," Tammy choked out. "They're going to sell you to him, Brook. Mom said if you don't come back, she's going to hunt you down and make your life a living hell until you beg to marry Travis."

Bobbi's twisted, furious face flashed in Brook's mind. The memory of Bobbi's heavy rings striking her cheek made her skin burn.

Brook looked down at the corporate business card.

Julian was a stranger. But he was a stranger who had stood between her and Bobbi. He was a legal shield.

"I'm not coming back, Tammy," Brook said. Her voice dropped an octave, hardening into something brittle and sharp. "I am legally married. They can't force me to do anything."

"Who is he?" Tammy asked. "Is he safe?"

Brook closed her eyes. She remembered the solid wall of Julian's chest. The calm, cold way he handled the clerk.

"His name is Julian. That's all I know."

"Just... be careful, Brook. Please."

The line went dead.

Brook dropped the phone. She couldn't stay here. Bobbi had the address. Travis had the address.

She picked up her phone again, opened a new text message, and typed in the number from the corporate card.

Mr. Cardenas, this is Brook. When can we discuss the living arrangements for this marriage?

She hit send. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

Three seconds later, a reply popped up.

I'll come get you at 9 AM tomorrow. Be ready.

Brook stared at the glowing screen. She didn't know what she was walking into. But as the Seattle rain began to lash against her cracked window, she pulled her knees to her chest and felt a tiny, fragile spark of hope.

Sunlight stabbed through the gap in the cheap blinds, hitting Brook directly in the eye.

She gasped, sitting up so fast her head spun. She grabbed her phone from the mattress.

8:30 AM.

Her chest seized. She had slept through her alarm. The sheer exhaustion of yesterday's terror had dragged her into a dead sleep.

There were three missed calls on her screen from an unknown number.

Brook's fingers fumbled as she tapped the screen to call back. It rang once.

"Are you still inside that condemned building?" Julian's voice was a low, impatient rumble in her ear.

Brook swallowed hard. "I... I overslept. I'm sorry."

"Come down. I'm outside." The line clicked dead.

Brook threw off the thin blanket. She shoved three worn t-shirts, two pairs of jeans, and her toothbrush into a faded canvas duffel bag. She didn't look back at the moldy walls. There was nothing here to miss.

She pushed through the front doors of the apartment building.

A sleek, black sedan was idling by the curb. It wasn't a flashy sports car, but the paint gleamed under the overcast sky.

The passenger window rolled down. Julian was sitting in the front seat, wearing dark sunglasses and a crisp, charcoal button-down shirt. He looked entirely out of place against the backdrop of graffiti and overflowing trash cans.

Brook clutched her canvas bag to her chest. She felt a hot flush of shame creep up her neck.

Julian opened his door and stepped out. He didn't say a word. He just reached out and took the bag from her hands.

"This is it?" He looked at the deflated canvas. His brow furrowed slightly.

Brook nodded, staring at the pavement.

Julian popped the trunk and tossed the bag inside. He opened the rear door for her.

Brook slid onto the back leather seat. It smelled like expensive cologne and new car. She noticed a man in the driver's seat wearing a baseball cap.

"This is Jaylin," Julian said, glancing back at her. "He's a coworker from the office. He offered to give us a ride today."

Jaylin's eyes met Brook's in the rearview mirror. There was a sharp, calculating look in his gaze before he quickly looked away, masking his confusion at the CEO's sudden demotion.

The car pulled away from the curb.

Brook kept her eyes glued to the window as the rundown buildings faded into tree-lined streets and modern architecture. Her hands were sweating.

The car pulled into the driveway of a sleek, modern apartment complex. It was nice. Very nice. But it wasn't a billionaire's mansion. It was the kind of place a successful middle-class professional would live.

Julian got out and swiped a grey key fob against the security panel. The glass doors slid open.

"This is my apartment," Julian said, holding the door for her. "From now on, it's your home."

Brook stepped inside. She followed him into the elevator.

The doors slid shut, sealing them in a small, mirrored box. The scent of cedar and rain radiating from Julian's shirt suddenly filled the tight space. Brook's breath caught in her throat. She pressed her back against the wall, her heart kicking into a frantic, uneven rhythm.

The elevator chimed.

Julian led her down a quiet hallway and unlocked a door at the end.

Brook stepped inside and stopped dead in her tracks. The apartment was immaculate. Hardwood floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, and minimalist grey furniture. It looked like a showroom.

She looked down at her scuffed sneakers. She was terrified to take a step and ruin the pristine floors.

Julian walked to a closet, pulled out a pair of brand-new, plush grey slippers, and dropped them at her feet.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said, his tone flat. "Master bedroom is mine. The guest room down the hall is yours."

Brook slipped off her shoes and pushed her feet into the slippers. They felt like warm clouds.

Julian walked into the open-concept kitchen. He opened a drawer, pulled out a sleek but entirely standard navy-blue Visa card, and slid it across the marble island.

"This is for household expenses," Julian said. "Groceries, clothes, whatever you need. Use it."

Brook stared at the navy plastic. Her stomach twisted. Money always came with strings. Bobbi had taught her that lesson with bruises.

"I don't want your money," Brook said. Her voice was quiet, but her chin tilted up defiantly. "I'll buy my own things. If I use your food, I'll keep a ledger and pay you back."

Julian's hand paused on the marble. He looked at her, really looked at her. Her jaw was set. Her eyes were hard.

He didn't argue. He turned to the stainless-steel fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, and set it on the counter.

"Suit yourself," he said. "There's food in the fridge."

He walked into a room down the hall and shut the door with a soft click.

Brook let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. She pulled out her phone and immediately downloaded a budgeting app.

Hours later, the apartment was pitch black.

Brook tossed and turned in the guest bed. Her throat was parched. She threw off the covers. She was wearing an old, oversized t-shirt that barely covered the tops of her thighs.

She tiptoed down the dark hallway into the kitchen. The only light came from the digital clock on the oven.

She grabbed a glass and filled it from the fridge dispenser.

Footsteps padded softly against the hardwood.

Brook spun around.

She slammed directly into a solid wall of hot, wet muscle.

Her glass shattered on the floor.

Julian had just stepped out of the shower. He was wearing nothing but a white towel slung low on his hips. Water dripped from his dark hair, trailing down the deep grooves of his chest and abs.

Brook gasped, stumbling backward. Her bare heel slipped on a puddle of spilled water.

She fell.

Julian's hand shot out. His large, damp fingers clamped around her bare waist, jerking her forward to stop her fall.

Brook crashed against his bare chest. The heat radiating from his skin burned through the thin cotton of her t-shirt.

Julian's breath hitched. The soft, warm curve of her waist under his palm sent a violent jolt of electricity straight to his groin. His jaw locked instantly.

"Careful," Julian rasped. His voice was an octave lower than normal, rough and strained.

Brook's face flooded with boiling heat. She shoved her hands against his chest, breaking the contact, and scrambled backward like a terrified animal.

She didn't say a word. She just turned and bolted down the dark hallway, her heart hammering against her ribs so hard she thought it might crack them.