The kiss ended only when Helena couldn't breathe. Authur pulled back, his chest heaving. He wiped his mouth as if he had kissed poison.

"You little fox," he whispered.

"Husband," she replied, wiping a smudge of lipstick from her chin.

The reception was a blur. Helena was paraded around as the "Hero Doctor." Authur was shunned, people whispering about the video.

An hour later, Charles appeared at their side. "The study. Now."

The Alexander estate's library was a room designed to intimidate. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, dark wood, and a desk that looked like a fortress.

Grandfather Alexander sat behind the desk. He looked frail but furious.

"You are a disgrace," the old man spat at Authur. He threw a stack of papers onto the desk. "This is a motion to remove you from the board. Effective immediately."

Authur flinched. This was the only thing he cared about. Not the money-the power. The power to protect his sister, Angel, who was hidden away in a Swiss clinic. Without the board seat, he couldn't control her trust fund. He couldn't keep her safe.

"Grandfather, wait," Authur said, his voice losing its arrogance. "The video... it was old."

"It was dated yesterday!" Grandfather shouted. "Stock is down 3% since the ceremony ended. You are a liability."

Authur's hands curled into fists. He looked defeated.

Helena stood by the door. She watched Authur. She saw the desperation in his posture. If he lost power, he was useless to her. She needed a powerful husband, not a disinherited playboy.

She stepped forward. She placed her hand on Grandfather's trembling fist.

"Grandfather, please," she said softly.

Authur looked at her, confused.

"Don't blame Authur," Helena said. "It was... a strategy."

"A strategy?" The old man frowned.

"We released the video," Helena lied. "And the 'accident' story. It's a PR narrative. The 'Bad Boy' and the 'Savior'. It creates conflict. Engagement. Look."

She pulled out her phone. She showed him Twitter. AuthurAndHelena was trending 1 worldwide.

"People are obsessed," Helena said. "They want to see if the Saint can tame the Sinner. If you fire him, the story ends. If you keep him, eyes are on the company like never before."

Grandfather squinted at the screen. He understood numbers. He understood attention.

He sat back, sighing. He picked up the motion papers and tore them in half.

"One chance," he growled at Authur. "You listen to your wife. She has more brains in her little finger than you have in your whole body."

Authur stared at Helena. He looked stunned.

They walked out of the study. The corridor was empty.

Authur slammed Helena against the wall. His forearm pressed against her collarbone, pinning her.

"Why?" he demanded. "You leaked the video. Then you saved me. What game are you playing?"

"I'm playing the long game, Authur," Helena said, looking up at him. "I need you on that board. And you need me to clean up your messes."

Authur stared at her mouth. The hatred was still there, but it was mixed with something else now. Curiosity.

"Don't mistake this for affection," Helena said, trying to push his arm away. It was like pushing a granite statue.

"I don't," Authur murmured. "I think you're a calculating witch."

He grabbed her hand. "Come here."

He dragged her down the hall, into the private elevator. He punched the button for the penthouse.

"Where are we going?"

"Home," he said mockingly.

The elevator opened directly into the penthouse living room. One wall was entirely glass. It looked out over the city, thirty stories up.

Authur walked to the sliding glass door and kicked it open. The wind roared in, cold and violent.

He pulled Helena out onto the balcony.

"Authur, stop!" Helena gasped. She squeezed her eyes shut.

She had acrophobia. Severe, crippling fear of heights. It was a remnant of a childhood trauma she never spoke about.

Authur didn't know that. Or maybe he didn't care.

He pushed her toward the railing.

"Open your eyes," he commanded.

Helena shook her head, gripping his lapels blindly. Her knees buckled. "I can't. Please."

"Look at your kingdom, Mrs. Alexander!" He forced her backward. Her lower back hit the railing. There was nothing behind her but air and a three-hundred-foot drop.

Helena screamed, a short, sharp sound of pure terror. She clamped her arms around Authur's neck, burying her face in his chest. She was trembling so violently her teeth chattered.

Authur paused. He felt her fear. It wasn't fake. It wasn't a performance. She was terrified.

He wrapped an arm around her waist, instinctively steadying her. "Helena?"

"Don't let go," she sobbed into his shirt. "Please don't let go."

The vulnerability hit him harder than the ice water had. He had expected her to fight. He hadn't expected her to cling to him like he was her only lifeline.

"I've got you," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

He pulled her away from the edge, back into the safety of the living room. He kicked the door shut, cutting off the wind.

Helena didn't let go. She stood there, shaking, breathing in his scent.

Authur looked down at her. Her hair was wild, her face pale. The adrenaline of the moment shifted. The fear turned into something electric.

He ran his hand down her back. She felt fragile.

"You're afraid of heights," he stated. It was a realization.

"Yes," she whispered, pulling back.

Authur didn't let her retreat. He kept his hands on her waist. He looked at her lips. The memory of the kiss in the church surfaced.

"You're not as tough as you pretend to be," he murmured.

He leaned in. He wasn't angry anymore. He was intrigued. He brushed his lips against her ear. "Maybe I should test what else you're afraid of."

His hand moved to the zipper of her dress.

Helena froze. Her body went rigid. A memory flashed-not of heights, but of hands. Unwanted hands.

She shoved him. Hard.

"No!"

She scrambled back, her eyes wide with a different kind of fear. A trauma fear.

Authur stumbled back, insulted. "What? I'm your husband."

"Don't touch me," Helena gasped, hugging herself. "Never touch me like that."

Authur's face hardened. He fixed his jacket, his ego bruised. "Fine. Don't worry. You're not my type anyway."

The silence in the penthouse was deafening. Authur stood by the fireplace, pouring himself a drink-real whiskey this time.

"So," he said, his back to her. "We're married. But you don't want me to touch you. You just want my money and my name."

Helena leaned against the wall, her heart rate slowly returning to normal. She needed to deflect. She couldn't let him know about the trauma. He would use it against her.

"I want security," she said coldly. "And yes, I want the Alexander fortune secure."

She took a step forward, forcing her face into a mask of greed. She started to unbutton the top button of her dress. Her fingers felt like ice.

"But if you insist," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. "We can do it. I need an heir. The trust fund releases an extra ten million upon the birth of a child."

She looked at him dead in the eye. "Let's get it over with. For the check."

Authur turned around. He saw her unbuttoning her dress like she was preparing for a root canal.

His face twisted in disgust. To him, sex was about passion, or at least pleasure. This... this was a transaction. And nothing turned Authur Alexander off faster than feeling like a stud horse being used for breeding.

"Stop," he ordered.

Helena stopped.

Authur slammed his glass down. He walked to the side table and yanked open a drawer. He pulled out a small white box.

He tossed it at her.

It hit her chest and fell to the floor.

"Plan B," Authur said. "Take it."

Helena picked up the box.

"I don't trust you," Authur sneered. "I don't want a child with a calculator for a heart. Take the pill. Now."

Helena opened the box. She popped the pill out of the foil.

"Water?" she asked.

"Swallow it dry."

Helena put the pill in her mouth. She placed it carefully under her tongue. She swallowed hard, mimicking the motion.

"Happy?" she asked, opening her mouth to show him. She lifted her tongue just enough to hide the white tablet.

Authur didn't look closely. He just wanted to leave.

"You sleep here," he said, grabbing his keys. "I'm going out."

"Where?"

"Somewhere I can find a woman who has a pulse," he snapped.

He stormed out. The elevator doors dinged.

Helena ran to the bathroom. She spat the pill into the toilet and flushed it. She rinsed her mouth.

She looked at herself in the mirror. She was alone on her wedding night.

"Good," she whispered. "One day down."