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.

"Upstairs."

Alek didn't wait for the staff to disperse. He turned and walked toward the grand staircase.

Eva held the bloody towel in one hand, the ruined club in the other. She followed him. She had no choice.

In the master bedroom, Alek stripped off his jacket and let it drop to the floor. It landed with a heavy, wet thud.

"Bath," he muttered. He walked to the liquor cabinet and poured a drink, his hands shaking slightly.

Eva went into the bathroom. She set the club down in the corner. She turned on the water, her mind racing.

11:30 PM.

She needed to get out.

She tested the water temperature. Hot. Scalding. Just how he liked it.

Alek entered the bathroom. He had removed his shirt. His chest was heaving.

He walked up behind her.

Eva froze as his arms circled her waist. He was heavy, leaning on her.

He buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply.

"Quiet," he mumbled against her skin. "Everything is so loud. But you... you are quiet."

His hands moved up. His thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts through the rough fabric of her uniform.

Eva went rigid. She grabbed the edge of the marble tub.

This was different. He wasn't just angry. He was needy. And that was more dangerous.

His fingers fumbled with the top button of her dress.

"No," she mouthed.

She spun around. She placed her hands on his bare chest and pushed. Hard.

Alek stumbled back. His hip hit the sink.

He looked at her, blinking. The vulnerability vanished, replaced by a dark, wounded anger.

He grabbed her hand and slammed it against his heart.

"Feel that?" he hissed. "You think you're better than me? You're just payment, Eva. A receipt."

Eva shook her head, tears streaming down her face.

Alek lunged.

He crushed his mouth against hers. He tasted of whiskey and iron.

It wasn't a kiss. It was an assault.

Eva panicked. Instinct took over.

She bit down. Hard.

She felt the skin of his lip burst.

Alek jerked back with a grunt of pain. He brought his hand to his mouth. When he pulled it away, his fingers were red.

He stared at the blood on his hand. Then he looked at her.

He smiled.

It was a terrifying, broken smile.

"Finally," he whispered. "A reaction."

Eva didn't wait. She bolted.

She ran out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, and into the hall.

"Eva!" Alek roared behind her.

She didn't run toward the staff quarters. She ran toward the west wing. Toward the terrace.

She burst through the side door.

The storm had broken. Rain lashed against her face, cold and violent.

She ran into the night.

Eva slipped on the wet stone. Her knee hit the pavement, skinning it raw.

She scrambled up, ignoring the sting. The rain was blinding.

A figure loomed in the darkness ahead. A shadow holding a black umbrella.

Eva gasped, ready to turn back.

"This way, Miss Bowen."

The voice was cool, precise.

Emory.

Eva ran to him. She ducked under the large black umbrella. The relief was instantaneous.

"Where is she?!"

Alek's voice cut through the rain.

He appeared from the doorway, soaked to the bone. Blood from his lip was running down his chin, mixing with the rain.

He saw them. He stopped.

"Get away from her, Emory," Alek snarled.

Emory didn't flinch. He adjusted his glasses with one finger.

"Sir," Emory said, his voice calm, carrying effortlessly over the wind. "If you touch her now, the board meeting tomorrow will be... complicated."

Alek wiped rain from his eyes. "What?"

"Arvo is in custody," Emory said quickly. "We need a narrative. If Miss Bowen appears bruised or beaten, the press will link it to your temper. We need her to be the negligent staff member who caused an accident. Not a victim."

Alek paused. The logic pierced through his drunken rage. He was a businessman first, a monster second.

He looked at Eva, shivering under the umbrella.

"She bit me," Alek said, touching his lip.

"And she will be punished," Emory said smoothy. "I suggest she stands guard here. In the rain. To reflect on her... insubordination."

Alek stared at Eva. His chest heaved.

"Fine," he spat. "All night. If she moves, fire her. Then kill her."

Alek turned and stomped back inside.

Emory waited until the door clicked shut.

He didn't move. He kept his posture rigid, in case anyone was watching from the windows.

"Did he hurt you?" Emory asked. His voice had dropped an octave. It was soft.

Eva shook her head, her teeth chattering.

Emory turned his back to the house. He handed the umbrella to Eva.

"Take it."

Eva tried to push it back. He would get soaked.

Emory grabbed her hand. His fingers were cold, but his grip was reassuring.

"Take it," he insisted. "Consider it a message. He asked me to ensure you were safe until he arrived."

Eva froze.

He?

Emory stepped back into the rain, letting the water soak his expensive suit instantly. He checked the camera mounted on the wall above them.

"Stay in the blind spot," he whispered. "Pretend you are miserable."

Eva held the umbrella. She looked at Emory.

Who sent it?

Emory wiped water from his face. He looked at her, his eyes serious behind the wet lenses.

"Wait."