"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."

A week later.

Helena was in her element. The Trauma Center at St. Luke's was chaos, and she loved it. Here, she wasn't Mrs. Alexander. She was Dr. Lawrence. She was in control.

She was suturing a laceration on a construction worker's arm when a nurse poked her head in.

"Dr. Lawrence? There's a... situation in VIP 3."

"I'm busy," Helena said, not looking up.

"It's Mr. Alexander. He brought a patient."

Helena tied off the stitch. She stripped off her bloody gloves. "Of course he did."

She walked to the VIP wing. She pushed open the door to Room 3.

Authur was sitting on the leather sofa, scrolling on his phone. In the hospital bed lay a young woman with perfectly curled hair and a face full of makeup. It was Bonnie Le, an Instagram model Helena recognized from the tabloids.

Bonnie was clutching her flat stomach, looking tragic.

"Helena!" Authur grinned, looking up. "Meet Bonnie. She says she's carrying my baby."

Bonnie let out a whimper. "Authur, don't be so mean. Dr. Lawrence might be upset."

Helena didn't blink. She picked up the chart at the end of the bed. It held a single sheet with a hastily scribbled chief complaint: 'Abdominal discomfort due to possible joy.'

"Last menstrual period?" Helena asked, clicking a pen.

Bonnie blinked. "Um... last month? I just feel pregnant. Morning sickness and everything."

"Lie back," Helena ordered coolly, setting the chart down. She didn't reach for a stethoscope.

Bonnie lay back, pulling up her designer t-shirt.

"I want an ultrasound," Bonnie pouted. "I want to see the picture."

"An ultrasound won't show much if you've only just started feeling morning sickness," Helena said flatly. "But we can certainly start the official process."

Authur snorted. He was enjoying this. He didn't believe Bonnie either. He just wanted to see Helena squirm.

Helena ignored him, her professional mask firmly in place.

"Well," Helena said, her voice sickly sweet. "If you are pregnant with an Alexander heir, protocol dictates I inform Mrs. Alexander immediately."

Bonnie's eyes widened. "What?"

"My mother-in-law," Helena continued, pulling out her phone. "She's very particular about heirs. First, we'll need a blood draw for a full genetic panel and toxicology screen. Then we'll begin the HCG doubling tests-that's a blood draw every 48 hours for the next two weeks to confirm viability. If all that checks out, she'll have you airlifted to the family estate in the Catskills. Total bed rest. No phone. No internet. 24-hour surveillance. Organic diet only. For nine months."

Helena tapped her screen. "I'm dialing her now."

Bonnie sat up, panic setting in. No phone? No Instagram? For nine months?

"Wait!" Bonnie squeaked. "I... maybe I'm just late. Stress, you know?"

"Are you sure?" Helena hovered her thumb over the call button. "The phlebotomist is just outside. Better to be safe. The helicopter can be here in ten minutes."

"No!" Bonnie scrambled out of bed. "I'm sure! It was a false alarm! I just got my period! Right now!"

She grabbed her purse and practically ran out of the room.

Authur watched her go, then turned to Helena. He wasn't laughing anymore. He was studying her.

"You're terrifying," he said.

"I'm efficient," Helena replied, clipping the chart back onto the bed. "Next time you want to make me jealous, bring someone who understands basic biology. I have patients waiting."

She turned on her heel and walked out.

Authur watched her walk away, the white coat flapping behind her like a cape. For the first time, he didn't see a gold digger. He saw a worthy opponent.