Reagan didn't come home that night. Rivera found out where he was the same way the rest of New York did: through the morning tabloids.

THE BILLIONAIRE BAD BOY IS BACK, the headline screamed. The photo was grainy but unmistakable. Reagan, looking devastatingly handsome in a half-unbuttoned shirt, sat in the VIP booth of an exclusive club.

He was holding a glass of amber liquid in one hand, while his other arm was draped carelessly over the back of a sofa, surrounded by a harem of hot, half-naked women.

Rivera swiped the tablet screen off, tossing it onto the duvet. She felt a sting of humiliation, but beneath it, a sense of relief. If he was busy acting out the role of the playboy, he wasn't watching her. And she had work to do.

She sent Luke an invitation to talk, and he honored it. When Luke arrived that afternoon, Reagan still hadn't returned.

"How are you settling in?" he asked as they sat across from each other in the sunroom.

"Is that what we're calling this now? Settling in?"

"Did he hurt you?"

Rivera hesitated. "Not physically."

"He can be intense. Let me know if you need anything. Reagan asked me to move into one of the mansions. He and I will be working closely, so we'll be seeing each other more often."

"Work?"

He nodded. "I'll be around to make sure he doesn't cross any lines with you."

Protect her from Reagan? That unsettled her more than it comforted her.

"That's rich, Luke, considering you're the one who handed me over to him. You've never cared what happens to me. You won't take my calls, and now you're here, you still won't look at me. Yet you show up pretending to care?"

"You shouldn't bring that up."

"That's what you said in Italy too every time I ask you anything real. Two years, Luke. We lived together for two years. You can't pretend that place doesn't exist."

"It doesn't matter anymore," he said and looked away.

"It does to me. Because that's where everything went wrong."

"I'm trying to keep you safe here."

"By lying?"

"Yes, because if you knew..." he stopped himself, realizing he'd said too much.

"If I knew what?" But he said nothing.

"It's Italy, isn't it? Whatever you're hiding, it started there."

His silence confirmed it.

"Was it about my father? Back then, every time I mention him, you go quiet."

"Stop River," Luke's voice softened. He always called her River whenever he was trying to pacify her.

"No, you don't get to tell me to stop anymore. Not after two years of silence."

Luke finally met her eyes. "There are some tales that are better left untold."

"Did something happen there?"

"Yes," he admitted.

"What?"

"I can't tell you," Luke sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Why? Because of Reagan? He doesn't want me asking questions. He went mad when I mentioned my father."

"He's trying to protect you."

"From what?!" Rivera shouted, her frustration boiling over.

"From the truth and from your father." Rivera blinked, stepping back as if slapped.

"My father wouldn't hurt anyone. He's a victim. He lost everything," she said weakly. Luke looked at her with an expression that terrified her. It was pity. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"That silence? That's your answer, isn't it?" She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. "You said you came to check if I need anything. I do need something."

He looked at her curiously. She unlocked the screen and shoved the phone toward him. It was a photo of the document she had found in Reagan's study.

"I found that in his study. A chart, hand-drawn. My father's name was on it. And another name, Jordan. And look," she pointed to the jagged line drawn in ink. "It connects them both to Palermo."

In a swift movement, Luke grabbed her wrist, pushing the phone down. "Delete that. Now."

Rivera yanked her hand back. "No! My father is missing, yet you expect me to just sit here and play the trophy wife while he's out there."

"You shouldn't be looking into this. It's not safe."

"Safe?" she scoffed. "I'm locked in a mansion with a man who thinks he owns me, and you're telling me this is where the danger is?"

Luke stood as well and stepped closer. "Rivera, listen to me. Some things are buried for a reason."

"My father isn't a thing," she snapped. "He's a person. And he wouldn't just disappear."

"You don't know him the way you think you do." Rivera stared at him. 'What do these strangers think they know about my father more than I who have lived with him all my life,' she wondered.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

"He's not the man you remember. And if you keep digging, you'll wish you hadn't."

"You're protecting Reagan, aren't you?" she accused.

"I'm protecting you."

"From my own father? That's insane."

"You need to trust me. Stop asking about Jordan. Stop looking for your father. I'll find him for you and make sure he's fine."

A knock sounded at the door. They both turned.

Isabel came in. "Mr. Royce has returned. He's asking for his wife." Rivera nodded and she left.

Luke came even closer to Rivera. "Promise me something River," he said quickly.

"What?"

"After I find Robert, you won't meet him. And if Reagan asks what you know about Jordan, tell him nothing."

Before she could ask another question, the door opened again. This time, it was Reagan. He stood in the doorway. He was still wearing the clothes from the paparazzi photos, rumpled and smelling faintly of expensive scotch and smoke.

He glared at them as he took in the scene. They were standing too close to each other and, strangely, that bothered him more than it should. Then his eyes dropped to Rivera's phone still in her hand. On the screen was the photo of the link chart.

"Luke," he said calmly, far too calmly, "leave us."

Rivera's heart beat so loudly that she feared they could hear it. Luke didn't move.

"That wasn't a request," Reagan emphasized.

Luke deliberately stepped even closer to Rivera. "You don't get to isolate her," Luke replied.

"This doesn't concern you anymore," Reagan warned him.

"It does if she's involved."

Reagan exhaled slowly, the way a man does when he's choosing restraint. "Leave," he said again.

"There's a thin line between protection and imprisonment. You don't own her just because you took the fall for her once. If you hurt her, I won't stay still."

The silence that followed was deafening. Reagan's face was stone. Luke held his gaze for another second, long enough for the warning to land, then he walked out, closing the door softly behind him.

Reagan didn't watch him go. His eyes were locked on Rivera. He walked toward her, until he was looming over her. His eyes dropped to her phone, then back to her face.

"How long," he whispered, "have you been looking into things that will get you killed?"

Rivera ignored the threat. Her mind was reeling from Luke's parting words.

"What did Luke mean when he said you took the fall for me?"

"What did he mean that you took the fall for me?" Rivera asked again.

"You'll never let this go, will you?" Reagan dragged a hand through his hair as if restraining something violent inside him.

He didn't like that she was digging through things he had warned her to drop.

But seeing her with Luke that way awoke something in him that he could barely restrain. How dare he?

"Listen to me carefully. Whatever Luke implied means absolutely nothing."

"More lies. I saw your face. Why do you treat me like a child?" she sighed.

"You think this is some romantic sacrifice and noble gestures?" he snapped.

"I don't know what to think! One minute I'm a contract wife, the next I'm a liability you want to hide, now, this?"

"You're not the center of this. Don't flatter yourself," he said coldly. The words hurt more than she expected.

"Then why won't you let me leave?" her ego spoke.

"Because you don't understand the kind of world you married into. If you did, you wouldn't be standing here arguing with me."

She folded her arms. "Explain it."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because knowledge isn't power. Far from it, knowledge is exposure. You think Luke is on your side. That's your mistake. He's protecting his own guilt."

"You're speaking in riddles."

"Let me de-mystify it for you. If you walk away, people will ask questions. And questions lead to names and names lead to graves."

"You're exaggerating."

"No, I'm simplifying," he said flatly. It was obvious he was trying to scare her into submission and obedience.

"If no one would tell me why I should stop, then I won't," she stubbornly replied.

Reagan stared in her green defiant eyes. He had never fancied a submissive woman, but God, he wished that just this once, she'd listen to him even if she had no reason to.

Just then, Rivera heard a car drive towards the mansion. The house staff moved with unusual urgency and chaos, whispering to each other, running back and forth.

Rivera frowned. Something felt different.

Minutes later, the sharp click of heels echoed through the hallway.

She heard a woman's voice. "I don't need an announcement. He knows I'm here."

The voice didn't belong to a maid. It sounded too sharp and confident.

The woman finally stepped in. For the first time since Rivera met him, Reagan looked truly disoriented and almost vulnerable.

"Clara," he murmured, his voice low, almost stunned.

She was tall, elegant and dressed in a tailored cream coat that hugged her slender figure and probably cost more than Rivera's entire college tuition.

Her dark hair was sleek and her makeup flawless. She looked like she belonged in this world of wealth and power.

"So it's true. You're back," she said, her gaze fixed on Reagan. Rivera could detect a note of disappointment in her voice.

"Clara, this isn't the place."

"You disappeared for two years. I find out through a gossip column that you're back in the country and married and you think this isn't the place?"

Reagan's gaze flicked briefly towards Rivera before returning to Clara.

"Let's talk in private."

Clara followed his glance. She looked at her the way a woman looks at another woman she had lost to.

"So this is her. She's younger than I imagined. And so... plain," Clara said.

"Give us some space please," he told Rivera. She nodded and left but stopped at the corner of the staircase to listen.

She could guess what was happening and even though she knew she shouldn't listen, she had this compelling urge to see how it'd play out.

"You threw me under the bus Ray. After everything." Clara voice softened once Rivera was out of sight. Her words sounded like a plea.

"I didn't believe the news at first. I waited for you. I defended you when the board said you abandoned the company and when people said that you abandoned me. And you truly came back with a wife?"

"It wasn't your place to wait," Reagan replied coolly.

"That's not fair."

"Life isn't."

"You loved me," Clara stated. She seemed to be looking for reassurance that she still mattered to him. "We were supposed to run this city together. Seven years, Ray. Do you love her now?"

Reagan didn't answer.

Clara laughed. "You don't even deny it. You're just going to erase me."

"You're not erased. You're just not part of this anymore."

"And she is? You barely know her," Clara cried out.

"You don't know what I know."

"I've known you for 7 years and I've never seen you with another woman. Why did you marry her? Is she better than me? Prettier? Richer? Does she make you forget me?"

There was another pause then unexpectedly, his tone softened.

"She doesn't make me forget anything."

Rivera held her breath as she heard footsteps move.

She pictured it without seeing it. Reagan standing in front of Clara, consoling her.

Rivera's chest burned.

The same man who had pinned her to himself hours ago now lowers his guard for another woman.