William froze. His hand hovered over her exposed skin, trembling.

The name hung in the air, more powerful than a physical blow. His hand, which was gripping her waist, went slack. His breathing was ragged, harsh in the quiet room.

He pulled back, looking down at her.

Mia lay on the sofa, her blouse torn open, her skin marked with red welts from his grip. Her eyes were wide, dry, and completely empty. There was no anger in them anymore. Just a terrifying, abyssal nothingness.

Horror crashed into William. It was a physical nausea. He scrambled back, stumbling over the coffee table, putting distance between them as if she were on fire. He looked at his own hands, seeing them as foreign, monstrous things.

"Mia, I-" His voice cracked. He reached a hand out, trembling.

Mia didn't flinch. She didn't move to cover herself. She just stared at the ceiling.

William looked at his own hands, revulsion twisting his features. He turned and fled. The door to the master bedroom slammed shut, the lock clicking-a futile gesture against the monster that was already inside with him.

Mia lay there for a long time. Then, slowly, painfully, she sat up. She gathered the edges of her ruined shirt.

She walked to the guest room. She locked the door. She went into the shower and turned the water as hot as she could stand. She scrubbed her skin until it was raw, red and stinging, but she couldn't wash away the sensation of being owned. Of being a thing. She applied a thick layer of concealer to the bruise forming on her lip, masking the physical evidence, though the internal damage remained untouched.

Morning came too soon.

Mia woke up in the guest bed. Her body ached. Her soul felt bruised.

She dressed in a black turtleneck, the high collar hiding the marks on her neck. She walked out into the hallway.

William was there. He was standing by the console table, staring at his phone, but he wasn't looking at the screen. He looked pale.

He looked up when he heard her. His eyes dropped to her neck, to the high collar. He flinched.

"Mia," he started. His voice was low, laced with something that sounded like shame. "Last night... I was drunk. I didn't..."

"Nothing happened last night," Mia cut him off. Her voice was glass-smooth, cold, sharp.

She walked past him. She didn't look at him.

"The papers are on the floor, William. Sign them."

"Mia, please, we need to discuss-"

"There is no 'we'. There is just a contract." She stopped and turned her head slightly, offering him her profile. "You were right. It's just business. So let's conclude the transaction."

She walked into the nursery and closed the door.

William stood in the hallway, alone. He looked at his hands, then clenched them into fists until his knuckles turned white.

---

Mia was on the floor with the twins. She was building a tower of blocks for Leo, while simultaneously gently rocking Maya in her bouncy chair with her foot. She was laughing, a soft, genuine sound that made William's chest ache.

But every time she stood up or turned in his direction, her face went blank. The light vanished. She looked through him, not at him.

He walked into the living room to pour a glass of water. He needed to make her look at him. To acknowledge him. Even anger would be better than this erasure.

"Leo needs his shots next week," he said.

"I booked the driver. You don't need to worry," Mia said, not looking up from the blocks.

"I am his father," William snapped.

"Biologically," Mia muttered.

William slammed the glass down on the marble counter. "Don't push me, Mia."

Mia's phone rang. She picked it up. Her face transformed instantly.

"Zoe! Hey!" She sounded light. Happy. "Really? Oh my god, that's amazing."

William stiffened. Zoe was Mia's best friend. A troublemaker.

"The application was approved? Yes, I can send the deposit today."

William felt a spike of adrenaline. Deposit?

Mia hung up, smiling.

"You're looking for apartments?" William's voice was dangerously quiet.

Mia turned. "It's not a violation of the prenup."

"You are not going anywhere until my lawyers review everything," he commanded. Panic was clawing at his throat, but it came out as control.

"You can't keep me prisoner, William."

"Think about the press! Think about the family name! If you move out now-"

"Oh, the family name?" Mia laughed, a bitter, sharp sound. "Where was the family name when you were plastered all over Page Six with Lucinda last week?"

William opened his mouth to retort, but his personal cell phone rang. The ringtone he had assigned to the family emergency line.

He frowned, pulling it out. Mother.

He answered. "Mother?"

He listened for two seconds.

The color drained from his face. The glass of water he was holding slipped from his fingers.

Crash.

Shards of crystal exploded across the floor. Water soaked his expensive Italian loafers.

Mia jumped back, startled. She looked at him, ready to fight, but stopped when she saw his expression. He looked like a child who had been struck.

"I... I'm coming. Immediately," William whispered.

He lowered the phone. He looked at Mia, his eyes wide and terrified.

"It's Grandfather," he said. "He collapsed. Massive heart attack."

---

She didn't look at the broken glass. She didn't look at William. She turned and ran to the bedroom.

William followed her to the doorway. She was frantically pulling a dress from the closet. Her hands were shaking so badly she couldn't manage the zipper.

Arthur Sterling. The only man in this godforsaken family who had treated her like a human being. The only one who remembered her birthday. The only one who defended her against Eleanor.

William watched her panic. His eyes narrowed. The fear in her seemed real, but the cynicism in his heart was a deep, rot-filled root.

"Hurry up," he said coldly.

"I'm trying!" Mia snapped, grabbing her purse. Her eyes were swimming with tears.

"Don't overact, Mia," William said.

Mia froze. She turned slowly to face him. "Excuse me?"

"He hasn't signed the final amendment to the trust yet," William said, leaning against the doorframe. "This display of devotion... your timing is impeccable, isn't it? Hoping the old man sees your tears one last time and adds a few zeros to your name?"

The air left the room.

Mia stared at him. For a moment, she looked like she might hit him. Then, her shoulders slumped, not in defeat, but in sheer exhaustion.

"Not everyone operates like a Sterling, William," she said quietly. "Not everyone sees a dying man and sees a bank account."

She pushed past him.

In the elevator, they stood shoulder to shoulder, staring at the steel doors. The silence was suffocating.

Down in the garage, the black Lincoln was waiting with the driver holding the door open. They slid into the back seat. The door thudded shut, sealing them in leather-scented intimacy.

The car merged into the Manhattan traffic. Mia stared out the window, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were white. A tear escaped, tracking silently down her cheek.

William watched her from the corner of his eye.

The grief looked genuine. The trembling looked real.

A crack formed in his certainty. Is she actually... sad?

He shook his head, physically dispelling the thought. No. She's a master manipulator. She trapped me. She wants the money. He repeated the mantra, rebuilding his walls.

---