The silence that followed stretched for an eternity. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked loudly, marking the seconds of their indecision.

Edward blinked, rubbing his face with a shaking hand. "Dereck? You want to marry Dereck?"

"He has the name," Annette repeated. "And he won't cheat on me at my own engagement party. He can't even walk to a mistress."

"Annie," Lucas whispered, touching her arm. "He's... unwell. Seriously unwell. You'd be a nurse, not a wife."

Annette squeezed Lucas's hand. "I know what I'm doing, Luke. Trust me."

Bernadine realized the danger immediately. If Dereck married an Adams, he would have backing. Powerful backing. "It's impossible," she argued, her voice shrill. "Dereck is unfit for public life. He can't attend galas. He can't campaign. He's useless to the family image."

"I don't need him for public life. I need the alliance," Annette countered. "I can handle the public. I can handle the image."

Edward looked at Bernadine, then at the shattered glass, then at Hank. He saw the ruin of his plans in Hank's weak face. He saw salvation in Annette's cold offer.

"If I marry Dereck," Annette said, stepping closer to the desk, "I want the primary Family Trust transferred to him. Immediately."

"What?!" Hank screamed. "That's my trust! That's my inheritance!"

"It was yours," Edward snapped at him. "Before you threw it away for a quick lay."

"And full voting rights in Bolton Industries," Annette demanded.

Bernadine turned pale. "You're giving power to a ghost. To a man who is practically dead."

Annette kept her face neutral. She was counting on that perception. She wanted them to think she was grabbing power through a puppet. "Dereck won't use them," she said dismissively. "He's too sick, right? So I will manage his interests. As his wife."

Edward weighed the options. Ruin vs. Dereck. Bankruptcy vs. A puppet marriage.

"Done," Edward said gruffly.

"Dad!" Hank looked at his father in betrayal. "You can't do this!"

"You made your bed, Hank," Edward said coldly. "Now sleep in it. Alone."

Lucas was stunned. He looked at his sister with new eyes. This wasn't the romantic girl he knew. This was a strategist. "We need the papers drawn up," he said, recovering his lawyer composure. "Tonight."

Annette smiled at Bernadine. It was a sharp, dangerous smile. "Looks like we're still family, Bernie."

Bernadine's eyes burned with hatred. She gripped the back of the chair until her knuckles were white. She had spent years sidelining Dereck, waiting for him to die. Now, in one night, this girl had brought him back into the center of power.

"Does Dereck get a say?" Lucas asked, the voice of reason.

"I'll handle him," Edward said dismissively. "He lives under my roof. He does what I say."

Annette nodded. "I'll handle him," she thought. She imagined the pale, frail man from her memories. The one who supposedly died of an overdose a year from now in her past life. I'll keep him comfortable, she told herself. It's a mercy.

"Get the papers," Annette said to the lawyer. "And Edward... go get the groom."

The lawyer began drafting the impromptu agreement, his pen scratching loudly against the paper.

Edward turned to Hank. "Get out of my sight. Take the girl. Get her out of the country, or so help me God..."

Hank looked at Elena, then at the door. He grabbed her arm roughly and dragged her out. He left in disgrace, the golden boy tarnished forever.

Bernadine followed him, casting one last venomous look at Annette. "You'll regret this," she hissed.

"I doubt it," Annette replied.

Edward sighed, rubbing his temples. "I will summon Dereck." He looked at the clock. "He's in the West Wing. Rarely comes out. It's... a process."

"I'll go with you," Annette said. "We need to announce the engagement change tonight. The guests are waiting."

"No," Edward said. "Go freshen up. Fix your makeup. I'll deal with my son. He can be... difficult."

Annette nodded. She grabbed Lucas's arm and they left the library.

In the hallway, the music was still playing, jarringly cheerful. The contrast between the polite society waltz and the bloodbath that had just occurred in the library made Annette feel dizzy.

Lucas pulled her into a quiet alcove, behind a large potted fern.

"Annie, are you insane?" Lucas asked, grabbing her shoulders. His eyes were wide with panic. "Dereck Bolton? He's... he's a vegetable, Annie. A vegetable!"

"He's not a vegetable, Luke. He's paralyzed," she corrected.

"He's on painkillers all day. Rumor says he has months to live. Liver failure. Kidneys. He's a sinking ship."

Annette looked around to ensure they were alone. She leaned in close.

"That's exactly why, Luke," she whispered.

Lucas looked confused.

"I don't want a husband," she said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "I want the Adams-Bolton alliance. I need the protection of the Bolton name to secure our assets against the coming... market shifts."

"If I marry Hank, I have to fight Bernadine every day. I have to fight his mistresses. I have to fight for every penny."

"If I marry Dereck," she continued, her eyes cold and pragmatic, "I wait a few months... or a year. I play the devoted nurse."

"And then?" Lucas asked.

"Then nature takes its course," Annette said. "And I'm a young, wealthy widow with control of the Bolton Trust. No one to tell me what to do. Total freedom."

Lucas stared at her, shocked. "You sound... ruthless."

"You've changed," he said softly.

"Survival changes you," she replied ambiguously. "I'm doing this for us. For the family."

Above them, on the shadowed balcony of the second floor, hidden by the heavy velvet drapes, a figure sat in the dark.

Dereck Bolton sat in his wheelchair, his hand resting on the joystick. He had been making his silent, nightly patrol of the upper floors-a habit he'd developed to monitor the manor's security blind spots-when the hushed, urgent voices from the alcove below caught his attention.

He listened to the girl-Annette Adams-outline her plan. She wanted him for his name. She wanted him for his money. And most of all, she wanted him dead.

He lowered his head. A smirk played on his lips. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a wolf who had just spotted a rabbit entering its den.

"A wealthy widow," he mouthed silently.

He turned his wheelchair around, the motor humming silently.

"Let's see if she can handle the husband first."

Edward marched towards the West Wing, his footsteps heavy with anger and impatience. The air grew cooler as he crossed the threshold; the heating system in this part of the manor was notoriously unreliable, a problem Edward had never bothered to fix.

A servant, Arthur, stepped out of the shadows. He was a nondescript man, balding and quiet, but he blocked the hallway with surprising solidity.

"Master Dereck is resting, sir," Arthur said. "It's a bad day. The pain is..."

"I don't care if he's in a coma. Wake him up," Edward barked. He pushed past Arthur and threw open the double doors to the study.

The room was dim, lit only by a single lamp. The smell of medicinal herbs-acrid and bitter-hung heavy in the air.

Dereck was positioned by the window, his back to the door. A thick wool blanket covered his legs. His head was slumped forward slightly.

"Father," Dereck's voice was raspy, weak. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You're getting married," Edward announced bluntly.

Dereck turned the chair slowly. His face was pale, his cheekbones sharp, dark circles painted expertly under his eyes. He looked like death warmed over.

"To whom? The nurse?" Dereck mocked, coughing into a handkerchief.

"Annette Adams. Hank ruined it. You're fixing it."

Dereck feigned surprise. He raised a shaking hand to his chest. "Hank's leftovers? I have some pride left, Father."

"You have nothing!" Edward shouted. "Except this roof over your head and the medicine I pay for. You are a drain on this family, Dereck."

"Marry her, and I sign the Trust over to you."

Dereck paused. He let a glimmer of greed enter his eyes. "The full Trust? And the voting rights?"

"Yes. Just sign the papers and show up at the gala. Tonight."

"She wants me dead, you know," Dereck said cryptically.

Edward frowned. "What?"

"Nothing. Just a feeling," Dereck corrected himself. "Fine. I'll do it. For the money."

Edward let out a breath of relief. "Good. Get dressed. Use the... motorized chair. Try to look alive."

Edward turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

Arthur locked the door. The click echoed in the silence.

Dereck sat still for a moment. Then, he threw the blanket off his legs.

He stood up.

He didn't struggle. He didn't wobble. He rose with the fluid grace of a predator. He stretched his tall frame, his spine cracking audibly. The "raspy" voice was gone.

"She wants a widow's life," Dereck mused to Arthur, walking over to the wardrobe. His stride was long and powerful.

"It seems the Adams girl is more interesting than the reports suggested," Arthur said, handing him a tuxedo.

"She's calculating," Dereck said, pulling on the shirt. "She thinks I'm a safe bet. A stepping stone."

He reached into a hidden compartment in the drawer and pulled out a slim, black holster. He strapped it under his arm, covering it with the tuxedo jacket.

"Let's go, Arthur," Dereck said, checking his reflection. The pale makeup made him look ghostly, but his eyes were sharp as steel.

"I have a wedding to attend."