The next three days were a lesson in how to watch a man drown without jumping in to save him.

I stayed in my apartment, keeping the lights low and the door locked. Marcus called me thirty-two times. He sent texts that went from sweet and worried to angry and demanding, then back to sweet again. In my first life, I would have been crying by the third call, apologizing for making him wait. Now, I just watched my phone light up on the kitchen counter like a dying star.

On Friday morning, I finally picked up.

"Clara! God, finally!" Marcus sounded like he hadn't slept. His voice was jagged. "I've been coming by your place, but the doorman won't let me up. What is going on? We need to talk about the bank. I found a guy who can help us skip the audit."

I leaned back against my headboard, filing my nails. I felt a cold, dark thrill at the desperation in his voice. "I told you, Marcus. I'm stressed. The lawyers told me not to talk to anyone about the finances until it's cleared."

"I'm not 'anyone,' Clara! I'm your boyfriend!" he shouted. I heard something shatter in the background on his end-probably a glass. "Listen, I need you to meet me at the park. Now. Just for ten minutes."

"Fine," I said softly. "The fountain. In an hour."

I didn't dress like the girl he knew. Usually, I wore soft pinks and pastels, things that made me look young and easy to handle. Today, I put on a sharp, black tailored coat and dark sunglasses. I looked like a woman going to a funeral. His.

I got to the park early and sat on a bench hidden behind some thick hedges. I wanted to see him before he saw me. I wanted to see the man behind the mask.

Marcus arrived five minutes later. He didn't see me. He was pacing back and forth by the fountain, his face twisted into a scowl that made him look ten years older. He was biting his nails, his eyes darting around like a cornered animal.

Then, his phone rang. He snapped it open.

"I know, I know!" he yelled into the phone. "The girl is being difficult! I don't know what happened, she just snapped. Just tell the landlord we'll have the money by Monday. I'll fix it. I always fix it."

He paused, listening. His face went red. "Don't you dare talk to me like that, Sienna! You're the one who said this would be easy. You said she was a pushover. Well, your 'pushover' is locking me out!"

I sat frozen, the cold air hitting my face. Even though I knew they were working together, hearing him say it-hearing him call me a pushover to her-felt like a slap. My heart hurt for the girl I used to be. She had loved him so much, and he had looked at her like a chore.

Marcus hung up and kicked a trash can, a loud metallic bang echoing through the quiet park. He looked ugly. Not in his face, but in his soul.

I stood up and walked out from behind the bushes. "Marcus?"

He spun around, and in a second, the mask was back. His face smoothed out, his eyes went soft, and he rushed toward me. "Clara! Babe, I was so worried."

He tried to grab my hands, but I kept them buried deep in my coat pockets. "I heard you yelling, Marcus. Who were you talking to?"

He didn't even flinch. "Just a contractor for the office. They're being pushy. You know how it is. But forget that-did you talk to the bank? Is there any way to get a bridge loan?"

I watched him. I watched the way his eyes searched mine for a sign of weakness. He didn't care that I looked pale. He didn't care that I was clearly upset. He just wanted to know where his money was.

"No loan," I said. "And the audit might actually take longer than a month. They found some inconsistencies in how you handled the last gift I gave you."

That was a lie, but it hit him like a bullet. Marcus stepped back, his mouth hanging open. "What? That's... that's impossible. I handled that perfectly."

"Did you?" I asked, stepping closer. I let a little bit of my coldness show. "Because the bank thinks it looks a lot like money laundering, Marcus. They're asking a lot of questions about where that fifty thousand went."

"I... I can explain that," he stuttered. He was sweating now, despite the cold. "Clara, you have to tell them it was a mistake. If they dig into my past, it could ruin the startup before it even starts!"

"I'll see what I can do," I said, my voice empty. "But for now, I think we need a break. I can't be seen with you while they're investigating my accounts. It looks bad for the estate."

"A break?" Marcus grabbed my arm, his grip tight and painful. "You can't be serious. Now? When I need you most?"

"You're hurting me, Marcus," I said, looking down at his hand.

He let go immediately, his eyes wide with fear-not fear for me, but fear that he had pushed too far. "I'm sorry. I'm just... I'm spiraling, Clara. Please. Don't leave me like this."

"I have to go," I said. I turned and walked away, feeling his eyes burning into my back.

I didn't go home. I took a taxi to the other side of the city, to a small, private boutique that only opened for people with a certain last name. I had an appointment.

Tonight was the Thorne Auction.

I spent three hours getting ready. I chose a dress the color of a dark forest-deep, shimmering emerald silk that clung to my body like a second skin. I did my makeup sharp, my lips a deep red, my eyes dark and smoky. I didn't look like a girl anymore.

When I looked in the mirror, I saw the woman who was going to win.

I arrived at the auction house just as the sun was setting. The building was a palace of glass and steel, guarded by men in black suits with earpieces. I handed my invitation to the man at the door. He looked at the name and bowed slightly.

"Welcome, Miss Vane."

I stepped inside. The room was filled with the smell of expensive perfume and old money. And there, standing in the center of the room, surrounded by a circle of people who looked terrified to speak to him, was Alistair Thorne.

He was taller than I remembered. His hair was black as coal, and his suit was so sharp it looked like it could cut. He wasn't talking. He was just listening, his eyes scanning the room like a hawk looking for its next meal.

He looked up and his eyes met mine.

For a second, the whole room went silent. He didn't smile. He didn't nod. He just looked at me with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat. He knew I didn't belong here. And he knew I was there for him.

I picked up a glass of champagne from a passing tray and took a sip. The game was about to get very dangerous.

The air inside the ballroom was thick with the scent of lilies and the kind of perfume that cost more than a month of my old rent. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, dripping with light that made the diamonds on everyone's necks sparkle like ice. In my first life, I would have been hiding in a corner, hoping Marcus would come find me. Tonight, I stood in the center of the room and let them look.

I saw Alistair Thorne before he saw me. He was standing by a marble pillar, a glass of dark amber liquid in his hand. He wasn't talking to anyone. He didn't need to. He had this gravity about him-people stayed a few feet away, whispering about him, too afraid to actually step into his circle.

He was exactly how the rumors described him. Cold. Dangerous. Like a wolf that had walked into a room full of sheep and was just deciding which one to eat first.

I felt a flutter of fear in my stomach, but I crushed it. I had died once. There was nothing this man could do to me that was worse than the pavement.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats," the auctioneer's voice boomed.

I sat in the third row. Alistair was in the front, his back to me. I watched the back of his head, the way his shoulders stayed perfectly still while everyone else was fidgeting. He was a statue.

The auction started with small things. Gold vases, paintings, a set of pearls. I waited. I knew what was coming. It was the piece Marcus had obsessed over in my first life-the Cursed Emerald. It was a deep, blood-green stone the size of a pigeon's egg, rumored to bring nothing but ruin to whoever owned it.

"And now, Lot forty-two," the auctioneer announced. Two men in white gloves brought out a velvet cushion. "The Midnight Emerald. Starting bid, two million dollars."

The room went quiet. Two million was a lot, even for this crowd.

"Two million," Alistair said. His voice was deep, smooth, and carried a weight that made the hairs on my arms stand up.

"Two point five," a man in the back called out.

"Three million," Alistair said immediately. He didn't even look back.

The room stayed silent. No one wanted to outbid Alistair Thorne. It wasn't just about the money; it was about the fact that if you crossed him, he'd find a way to take everything else you owned the next morning.

The auctioneer raised his hammer. "Three million going once. Three million going twice-"

"Five million."

The entire room gasped. People actually stood up to see who had spoken. I felt every eye in the building land on me. My heart was thumping so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest, but I kept my face as cold as stone. I didn't look at the crowd. I looked at the back of Alistair's head.

For the first time all night, Alistair Thorne moved. He turned his head slowly, looking over his shoulder. His eyes were like dark glass-unreadable and sharp. He looked at me, his gaze lingering on my face, then down at the emerald silk of my dress, then back to my eyes.

He didn't look angry. He looked... curious.

"Six million," he said, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Seven," I replied. My voice didn't shake. I had the money. It was my father's "emergency" fund, the one Marcus didn't even know existed yet.

Alistair tilted his head. A tiny, almost invisible smirk touched the corner of his mouth. "Ten million."

The room was buzzing now. People were whispering my name. Isn't that the Vane girl? Where did she get that kind of money? Is she crazy?

"Ten million going once," the auctioneer said, his voice trembling with excitement. "Ten million going twice..."

I stayed silent. I didn't bid again. Ten million was exactly what I wanted him to pay. I wanted him to see me, to remember me, and to know that I was a player who wasn't afraid of him.

"Sold! To Mr. Thorne for ten million dollars!"

The hammer came down. Alistair kept looking at me for a long beat before he finally turned back around.

The rest of the auction was a blur. My skin felt hot, and the adrenaline was humming through my veins like an electric current. As soon as the event ended and people started moving toward the bar, I made my move. I didn't wait for him to find me. I walked straight toward him.

He was standing by the exit, leaning against the wall, waiting. It was like he knew I was coming.

"That was an expensive game for a girl who doesn't even want the stone," Alistair said. He didn't turn to look at me, but his voice was loud enough for only me to hear.

"I wanted to see if the rumors were true," I said, stepping up beside him. I could smell him now-cedarwood, expensive tobacco, and something cold like rain. "They say you always get what you want, no matter the cost."

He finally looked at me. Close up, he was even more terrifying. There was no warmth in him, just a heavy, dark power. "And what do you want, Clara Vane? Besides making me overpay by seven million dollars?"

"I want a partner," I said. I didn't flinch. "I have information about a merger that's going to happen in three months. A merger that will ruin your shipping empire if it goes through. I can stop it. But I need your protection to do it."

Alistair stepped closer, entering my personal space. He was so tall I had to tilt my head back to look at him. He looked down at me, his eyes searching mine for a lie, for fear, for anything.

"Why should I trust a girl who was, until yesterday, the shadow of a man like Marcus Reed?" he asked. His voice was low, a dangerous growl.

"Because the girl you're talking about died," I whispered. "And the woman standing in front of you is the only person in this room who isn't afraid of you."

Alistair stared at me for a long time. The silence between us was like a taut wire. Then, he reached out. I expected him to grab my arm or push me away, but his hand stopped just an inch from my cheek. He didn't touch me, but I could feel the heat from his skin.

"You're playing a very dangerous game, Clara," he said. "If you lie to me, I won't just ruin you. I'll make sure you disappear."

"I know," I said. "That's why I'm here."

He dropped his hand and stepped back. "My car is outside. You have ten minutes to convince me not to leave you on the curb."

He turned and walked away without checking to see if I was following. I took a deep breath, smoothed my dress, and followed the monster into the night.

The interior of Alistair's car smelled like expensive leather. It was silent, the kind of silence that feels heavy in your ears. Outside, the city lights blurred into long streaks of neon, but inside the blacked-out windows, it felt like we were in another dimension.

Alistair sat in the corner of the seat, his long legs crossed. He didn't look at me. He was staring out the window, his jaw set in a hard line. He looked like he was thinking about a thousand things at once, and none of them were good.

"You have eight minutes left," he said. He didn't check his watch. He just knew.

My heart was doing a frantic dance in my chest, but I kept my hands folded neatly in my lap. "In three months, Marcus Reed is going to announce a partnership with the South-Side Port Authority. He told you he's building tech for them, right?"

Alistair's eyes flicked to mine. They were cold and sharp, like the edge of a knife. "How do you know what he told me?"

"Because I was the one who wrote the proposal in my first-" I caught myself just in time. I couldn't tell him the truth yet. He'd think I was insane. "I mean, I saw the files on his desk. But Marcus is lying to you, Alistair. He isn't building tech. He's using that partnership as a front to smuggle high-end emeralds out of the country without paying the Vane estate taxes. And he's going to frame Thorne Industries as the primary investor when the feds show up."

Alistair didn't move, but the air in the car seemed to get colder. "That's a very specific accusation. If you're wrong, or if you're trying to use me to settle a lover's spat, you'll regret the day you ever learned my name."

"I'm not wrong," I said, leaning forward. I let the anger I felt for Marcus show in my eyes. "He's been planning this for a year. He needs my inheritance to pay the bribe for the port director. That's why he's so desperate for me to sign those papers."

Alistair finally turned his whole body toward me. He reached out, his large hand grabbing my chin. He didn't hurt me, but his grip was firm, forcing me to look directly into his dark gaze.

"You're a Vane," he whispered. "You've been protected your whole life. Why are you suddenly turning on the man you were supposed to marry? What did he do to make you this desperate?"

I felt a lump in my throat. I couldn't tell him that Marcus had pushed me off a roof. I couldn't tell him that I had felt my life end in the dark.

"He showed me who he really is," I said, my voice trembling just a little. "And I realized that if I don't kill his ambition now, he'll kill me later. Literally or figuratively, it doesn't matter. I want him gone, Alistair. And you're the only person who can help me do it without getting my hands dirty."

Alistair searched my face for a long time. I didn't look away. I didn't blink. I let him see every bit of the jagged, broken parts of my soul.

Slowly, he let go of my chin. He leaned back and let out a short, sharp breath.

"The Midnight Emerald I bought tonight," he said, his voice low. "People say it's cursed. They say whoever owns it finds ruin. Do you believe in curses, Clara?"

"I think people make their own ruin," I said. "Marcus made his when he decided I was an easy target."

Alistair looked at me, and for the first time, I saw a tiny glint of something that wasn't coldness. It was respect. "I'll look into the port deal. If I find even a grain of truth in what you said, I'll give you the protection you want. But understand this: if you work with me, you belong to the Thorne circle. That means no more Marcus. No more games. You do what I say, when I say it."

"Deal," I said immediately.

The car pulled up to the curb in front of my apartment. Alistair didn't get out to open the door for me. He just sat there, a shadow in the corner of the seat.

"One more thing," he said as I reached for the door handle. "That emerald stone... the one I overpaid for because of you? It's sitting on the seat next to you."

I looked down. The small velvet box was sitting right there.

"Consider it a warning," Alistair said. "It's beautiful, but it's heavy. If you aren't strong enough to carry it, it will crush you. Just like this world will."

I picked up the box. It felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. "I'm stronger than I look, Alistair."

"We'll see," he replied.

I got out of the car and watched the black sedan disappear into the night. I stood on the sidewalk, clutching the "cursed" emerald to my chest. I had done it. I had made a deal with the devil.

But as I walked into the lobby of my building, I saw a familiar figure sitting on the velvet sofa, waiting for me.

It was Marcus. And he looked like he was about to explode.