Richard charged up the remaining steps. He raised his hand.

Grace flinched, squeezing her eyes shut. But the blow didn't land. She had swung her suitcase up instinctively, the hard plastic shell taking the impact of her father's hand with a loud thwack.

She opened her eyes. The fear was still there, pounding in her chest, but something else had joined it. Anger. Cold and sharp.

"I'm married," Grace said, her voice shaking but audible. "You don't own me anymore."

Richard's face turned a shade of purple Grace had never seen. "Married? To who? That corporate shark you hired?"

"His name is Alaric Hunter," Collins yelled from the top of the stairs. "The man who just cost us millions!"

Richard laughed, a cruel, grinding sound. "Fine. Excellent. Since you're a married woman, your husband can pay for your mother's specialized care facility."

The blood drained from Grace's face. "No."

Richard pulled out his phone. He dialed a number, putting it on speaker. "Dr. Evans? This is Richard Kirk. Cancel the private payments for Catherine Kirk. Move her to the state ward. Effective immediately."

"No!" Grace screamed. She lunged for the phone, but Tyler caught her arm, holding her back.

"Grace, stop," Tyler whispered, his breath hot on her ear. "Just apologize. I can fix this with your dad. Just beg him."

Grace stomped on Tyler's instep with her heel. He yelped and let go.

"I will find the money," Grace hissed at her father. "I will figure it out. And when I do, you will never see either of us again."

"Get out!" Richard roared. "And don't come crawling back when that monster dumps you!"

Grace turned and ran. She burst out the front door into the night. It had started to rain-a cold, biting downpour that soaked her shirt in seconds.

She didn't stop running until she reached the corner, the Maybach still waiting patiently where she'd left it. She collapsed into the back seat, shivering violently.

She had nowhere to go. Her apartment wasn't safe; her father knew where it was. She was legally shielded but financially and emotionally devastated.

Her phone rang. Unknown Number.

She stared at it, then swiped answer. "Hello?"

"Grace?" The voice was deep, calm. Alaric. "Where are you? My security detail lost visual."

Grace let out a sob. She couldn't help it. The dam broke. "My father's house. I... I got kicked out."

There was a pause on the line. "Send me your location. I'm coming to get you."

"You're in a meeting," Grace asked, wiping her eyes. She remembered he had to go to his office.

Alaric hesitated. "The meeting is over. Sit tight."

He hung up. Inside the climate-controlled interior of his office, Alaric turned to Marcus.

"Find me the location of the nearest state-run long-term care facility to this address," he ordered. "And get me the administrator on the phone. I am making a donation. An anonymous one. It will cover the care of a Catherine Kirk. In perpetuity."

Marcus looked like he was about to cry. "Sir, you want me to arrange a multi-million dollar endowment in-"

"Ten minutes, Marcus."

Thirty minutes later, a black Maybach, identical to the one she was in, rattled up to the curb. The engine was silent, a predator in the rain.

The driver's door opened. Alaric stepped out. He was wearing the same perfect suit, now shielded by a black umbrella.

Grace looked up at him, her hair plastered to her skull, her eyes red and swollen.

Alaric didn't say a word. He walked over, opened her car door, and extended a hand.

"Let's go home," he said.

Grace took his hand. It was warm. She climbed out of one car and into the other. The new car smelled of nothing but clean leather and power. The heater was blasting.

For the first time that day, Grace stopped shaking.

The Maybach purred as Alaric's driver parked it in the private garage beneath a glass tower in Tribeca.

He looked up at the structure. It was a gleaming spear of steel and light. Exposed art installations hung in the lobby. A flickering holographic display cast long, dancing shadows against the polished marble. It looked more like a modern museum than the derelict warehouses Hunter Industries was scheduled to demolish next month.

"This is it," Alaric said, his voice small. "Penthouse. Direct elevator."

Alaric didn't blink. He grabbed her heavy suitcase from the trunk as if it weighed nothing. "Lead the way."

The elevator was silent, ascending with unnerving speed. The doors opened directly into the apartment. By the time they arrived, Grace was panting. Alaric wasn't even winded.

Alaric used a thumbprint to open the massive steel door. It swung open with a faint hiss.

Alaric made a mental note: Add her biometrics.

The apartment was a cavern of glass and white furniture. The living room held a sprawling sectional sofa and a wall that was a single television screen. The kitchen was a gleaming expanse of stainless steel.

Grace turned to him. "Per the agreement, we have separate rooms. But... I don't see any other doors."

Alaric looked around. "This is the guest wing. My quarters are on the second floor. This entire level is yours." He rubbed the back of his neck, a feigned gesture of casualness. "Actually, Grace, I have bad news. The holding company that absorbed your gallery's debt? It got shut down today. Your professional accounts are frozen."

Grace's eyes widened. "What? So you have nothing?"

"Zero," Alaric lied smoothly. "I can't access your professional funds. But I'll handle your expenses. Consider it an advance."

Grace's face softened. The tension in her shoulders dropped. "It's okay. We're both in the same boat. We'll... figure it out." She pointed to the en-suite bathroom that was larger than her old bedroom. "You should shower. You're soaked."

Alaric stepped into the bathroom. It was so large his footsteps echoed. The showerhead was a rainfall fixture the size of a dinner plate. When he turned the knob, the water was instantly and perfectly hot.

He stood under the powerful spray, a billionaire in a perfect shower, wondering what the hell he was doing.

"I found the guest closet!" Grace called out.

Alaric turned off the water and wrapped a thick, plush towel around his waist. He stepped out.

Grace was holding up a pair of pajamas. They were charcoal grey silk. They were plain, minimalist, and exquisitely tailored.

"It's from the closet," Grace explained, her face turning bright red. "It was in a drawer marked 'Guest Attire'. It's a men's large. It's the only thing that will fit you."

Alaric stared at the dark silk. His left eye twitched. "Thank you."

"Take it or leave it," Grace said, tossing it at him. "Or sleep naked."

She ducked into the kitchen to hide her blush.

Alaric sighed. He pulled on the pajamas. They were ridiculously soft. He looked in the mirror, ran a hand through his damp hair, and snapped a selfie. He texted it to Marcus.

Proof of life. Send the asset protection agreement to my personal email.

Marcus replied with a single thumbs-up emoji.

When Alaric walked out, Grace was placing two steaming bowls of what looked like takeout ramen on the massive marble island. She looked up, saw the perfectly fitting pajamas, and bit her lip to keep from staring.

"Dinner is served," she said.

Alaric sat down. He looked at the noodles. He looked at his wife, who was trying so hard to be brave in a gilded cage. He picked up his fork.

"Thank you," he said.

"I don't run a charity," Grace whispered, wiping broth from her lip. "I cooked. You clean."

Alaric looked at the two bowls. He had negotiated billion-dollar mergers. He had fired executives. He had never washed a dish in his life.

"No problem," he said, standing up with unearned confidence.

He carried the bowls to the sink. He grabbed the bottle of dish soap and squeezed. A massive glob of blue liquid shot out.

"Whoa!" Grace cried. "That's concentrated! You only need a drop!"

Alaric turned, startled. The soapy bowl slipped from his hand.

Crash.

Ceramic shards exploded across the polished concrete floor.

Silence filled the room. Alaric stood there, hands dripping with blue foam, looking like a guilty toddler in a silk suit.

Grace sighed, rubbing her temples. "Okay. You are banned from the kitchen. Go figure out the television."

Alaric retreated to the living room. The sofa was long enough for three of him. When he lay down, his feet were nowhere near the end. Grace brought him a thin, knitted blanket.

"It was my grandmother's," she said softly. "Goodnight, Alaric."

"Goodnight, Grace."

The lights went out. The apartment was plunged into darkness, save for the constellation of city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Alaric couldn't sleep. The sofa was too comfortable, too quiet. He could hear the faint hum of the air filtration system, but not Grace, in her soundproofed room a hundred feet away.

He pulled out his phone, dimming the screen. He began typing a list to Marcus.

1. Biometric access for Grace K. to penthouse and all facilities.

2. Full background check on Tyler Brock. I want dirt.

3. Set up a shell company. 'GK Restoration.' Fund it with 500k. Make her the sole proprietor.

A faint beeping sound came from the corner.

Alaric froze. He turned on his phone's flashlight.

A small, red light on a smoke detector was blinking rhythmically. It was a model he didn't recognize. One with a lens in the center.

Alaric sat up, his heart rate spiking higher than it had during the market crash of '08. He walked over to the device, pulled a chair over, and twisted it off the ceiling.

The back was stamped: RAYMOND SECURITY.

"What happened?" Grace's voice called out from the bedroom. The door creaked open.

Alaric shoved the device into his pocket. He lay back down, pulling the blanket up to his chin. "Nothing. Just... dropped my phone."

Grace squinted at him, then closed the door.

Alaric exhaled. He picked up his phone again.

4. Sweep the penthouse. Immediately. Tomorrow while she's out.

A drop of water landed on his forehead.

Plip.

He looked up. A sprinkler head was dripping slowly. Plip.

Alaric closed his eyes. He wasn't going to sleep tonight. He was going to plan. This apartment was going to get the most covert, high-tech security overhaul in the history of Tribeca, and he was going to find out which one of his partners was spying on him.