The next morning, Eva pushed the breakfast cart into the master suite. Her thumb was wrapped in a thick bandage.

The room was dim. Alek was still in bed, tangled in the gray sheets. He was muttering something in his sleep, his brow furrowed in distress.

Eva set the coffee cup on the nightstand. Clink.

Alek's eyes flew open.

In a blur of motion, his hand shot out. He grabbed her wrist.

He grabbed the injured hand.

Eva let out a muffled cry of pain as his fingers squeezed the bandage.

Alek blinked, the fog of sleep clearing. He saw her face. He looked down at his hand crushing her injury.

He didn't let go.

He yanked her forward. Eva lost her balance, falling against the side of the mattress.

Alek sat up. The sheet fell to his waist. His chest was bare, defined muscle moving with his heavy breathing.

"Why didn't you move?" he rasped, his voice thick with sleep.

Eva pointed to her throat with her free hand. I can't.

Alek scoffed. He released her wrist, but immediately reached up and grabbed her chin. He pulled her face close to his.

"There was a hair on my pillow," he lied. His eyes searched hers. "Sloppy."

Eva stared back. The pillowcase was fresh. He just wanted a reason to touch her.

His hand slid down from her jaw. His fingers wrapped around her neck, not choking, but resting. His thumb pressed against her carotid artery.

He closed his eyes.

Eva held her breath. Her heart was racing, pounding against his fingertips. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

Alek kept his eyes closed. He seemed to be drinking in the rhythm of her fear.

"Fast," he whispered. "Like a little bird flying into a window."

Eva felt bile rise in her throat. She stood rigid, forced to endure his touch.

Alek's eyes snapped open. They were clear now, sharp and cold.

"Are you cursing me in that head of yours, Eva?"

Eva averted her gaze.

Alek pushed her away abruptly, as if she had burned him.

"Draw my bath," he ordered, turning away. "And get out."

Eva stumbled back. She rushed into the bathroom, her legs shaking.

She turned the faucets on full blast. The water roared into the massive stone tub.

She gripped the edge of the sink, staring at herself in the mirror. Hate burned in her chest, hot and purifying.

Ring.

Alek's phone.

Eva reached out and turned the water flow down, just enough to hear.

"Dr. Evans," Alek's voice floated in from the bedroom. It was different. Respectful. Desperate.

"Is the team ready?"

Pause.

"I don't care about the cost. I want the best. The vocal cord reconstruction... yes."

Eva froze.

"She needs to speak again," Alek said. "Fix it. Whatever it takes."

Eva gripped the sink until her knuckles turned white.

He wasn't talking about Arvo or Britt. The specificity... vocal cord reconstruction. A cold dread washed over her. He suspected. This wasn't about fixing someone; it was about exposing her. Or worse, ensuring her silence was permanent, carved into her throat with a surgeon's blade.

Hypocrite. Monster.

She turned the water back up, drowning out his voice, drowning out the terror.

Eva was dusting the lower shelves of the library, trying to blend into the woodwork.

Alek sat behind the massive oak desk. Arthur stood in front of him, looking pale.

"Gone?" Alek asked. His voice was dangerously quiet.

"The facility called," Arthur reported. "Arvo used his credentials to sign out Miss Britt Bowen an hour ago. They're gone."

Alek was holding a fountain pen.

Snap.

The sound was sharp like a bone breaking.

Ink exploded over Alek's hand. Black liquid dripped down his fingers, staining the expensive leather desk pad.

"That useless..." Alek stood up. "He's going to destroy everything."

Eva paused in her dusting. The name Arvo hung in the air.

Alek's head snapped toward her. He had seen the hesitation.

"Out," he barked at Arthur.

Arthur fled.

Alek rounded the desk. He walked toward Eva. He held up his hand, the black ink glistening like oil.

"You Bowens," he said, looming over her. "You infect everything you touch."

Eva backed up until her spine hit the bookshelf. Books dug into her shoulder blades.

Alek reached out.

He placed his ink-stained hand on her cheek. He slid his thumb across her skin, leaving a thick, black smear.

Eva flinched, her eyes wide with horror. It felt like he was branding her.

"You're mine," he whispered. "Until every cent is paid. You don't get to run like your sister."

The intercom on his desk buzzed.

Alek stared at her for a second longer, then turned and pressed the button.

"Speak."

"Sir," Emory Chapman's voice filled the room. Cool. Detached. "I've located them. Motel 6 off the interstate."

Alek grabbed a rag and wiped his hand. "Send the team."

"There's a complication," Emory said. "Britt Bowen has been transported to St. Jude's. Overdose."

Alek froze.

If Britt died, the scrutiny on the families would be unbearable. The merger, the Senate seat, everything would collapse.

Alek threw the rag on the floor. He grabbed his coat.

He stopped next to Eva on his way out.

"Don't wash it off," he said, pointing to her face. "Wear it."

He slammed the door.

Eva slid down the bookshelf to the floor. She touched her cheek. The ink was wet, sticky.

She scrambled up and ran to the small bathroom attached to the library.

She turned on the tap and scrubbed. She used soap, then a rough sponge. She scrubbed until the black faded to gray, and the gray faded to angry red. She scrubbed until the skin broke and raw blood mixed with the water.

She wasn't just washing off ink. She was trying to wash off his ownership.

Knock, knock.

Eva jumped.

The door opened a crack. Felicity slipped a hand inside.

"For you," she whispered.

She dropped a folded piece of paper on the sink and vanished.

Eva picked it up with wet, trembling hands.

It was a small note.

Midnight. The West Terrace. - E

Eva stared at the letter E.

Emory.

The staff dormitory was quiet, save for the rhythmic wheezing coming from the bottom bunk.

Eva slipped inside, closing the door softly. She had avoided the security patrol by seconds.

Sarah, her roommate, rolled over. Her face was flushed with fever.

"Eva?" Sarah rasped. She squinted in the dark. "Your face..."

Eva touched her cheek. It was raw, swollen from the scrubbing.

She nodded.

Sarah sighed, a rattling sound in her chest. "He's spiraling. I heard the kitchen staff talking. If Britt dies..."

Eva grabbed a notepad from the nightstand. She scribbled quickly.

I'm not afraid of him.

She showed it to Sarah.

Sarah laughed, a weak, humorless sound. "You should be. But... he wasn't always like this."

Eva frowned.

"My aunt worked here thirty years ago," Sarah whispered. "She saw it. Alek's birth mother, Elara. She wasn't like Hester. The pressure of this family... it broke her. They said she lost her mind. Jumped from the east tower roof. Alek saw it. He was seven." Sarah coughed, a dry, rattling sound. "Hester was her replacement, brought in to manage the family... and the boy. That's why he hates weakness," Sarah said. "And that's why he's obsessed with you. My aunt said you have Elara's eyes. Sad eyes."

Eva lowered the notepad. She felt a chill that had nothing to do with the drafty room. She didn't want his projection. She didn't want his twisted trauma bonding.

She wrote again. I am leaving.

"Nobody leaves," Sarah coughed.

Eva reached into her pocket and touched Emory's note. Someone helps.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The PA system screeched to life.

"All staff to the main hall. Immediately. Mr. Crawford has returned." Arthur's voice was strained.

Eva checked the clock on the wall. 10:00 PM. Emory's meeting was at midnight.

"Go," Sarah whispered, trying to sit up.

Eva pushed her back down gently. She put a finger to her lips. Stay.

Eva pulled her hood up and walked out.

The hallway was full of nervous staff shuffling toward the main hall. The air smelled of fear.

Eva entered the grand foyer.

Alek was standing in the center of the room.

He was covered in blood.

It splattered his white dress shirt, his hands, his face. But he wasn't injured. He wasn't triumphant. His face was stark white beneath the crimson streaks, his eyes holding a hollow, feverish glaze. He moved with a terrifying, coiled energy, like a man running from his own skin.

In his right hand, he held a bent iron golf club. The head of the club was distorted.

Silence fell over the fifty staff members.

Alek's eyes scanned the crowd. Hunting.

They landed on Eva. He took a half-step toward her, his gaze fixing on her cheek. The raw, scrubbed skin was a flag of defiance. A flicker of something cold and sharp crossed his face before he masked it, pointing the bent club at her.

"You."

Eva stepped forward. Her legs felt like lead. Every eye was on her.

Alek reached into his pocket and pulled out a pristine white towel. He threw it at her.

It landed at her feet.

"Clean it," he said, gesturing to the club.

Eva bent down. She picked up the towel. She walked toward him.

The smell of metallic blood hit her nose. It was fresh.

Whose blood is this?

She wrapped the towel around the club head and began to wipe.