The study was completely dark except for the glow of the desk lamp.

Harlan sat on the Chelsea leather sofa, a laptop balanced on his knees. He was scrolling through a backlog of corporate legal documents. His face was illuminated by the harsh blue light of the screen.

The door clicked open.

Jessenia stepped into the room. She was wearing a floor-length silk robe. She carried a tray with a glass of warm milk and a heavy, custom-made Hermès leather photo album.

She walked over to the desk and set the tray down.

"You shouldn't be working this late," Jessenia said softly. "The doctor said your brain needs rest."

Harlan didn't look up from the screen. "The company didn't stop running just because I was on an island."

Jessenia picked up the heavy leather album. She walked around the desk and sat on the edge of the sofa, leaving a safe distance between them. She placed the album on the cushion between them.

"I thought this might help," she said. "If you see it, maybe you'll feel it."

Harlan finally stopped typing. He closed the laptop and set it aside. He looked at the album. He reached out and flipped the heavy leather cover open.

The first page held a large photograph of the two of them standing in the snow in Aspen. They were wearing ski gear. Harlan had his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, and they were both laughing at the camera.

Jessenia leaned closer. "You taught me how to ski that weekend. I was terrified, but you wouldn't let me fall."

Harlan stared at the photo.

The truth was, Jessenia had paid a hacker on the dark web fifty thousand dollars to seamlessly splice her face onto the body of a blonde model Harlan had actually dated that winter. The Photoshop work was flawless.

Harlan turned the page. A photo of them kissing on a yacht in Monaco. A photo of them at a charity gala.

He looked at the physical evidence of their love. Logically, it was undeniable. But as he stared at his own face in the pictures, his chest felt completely hollow. There was no spark. No warmth. He felt like he was looking at a stranger's life.

He turned to the third page. It was a photo of them sitting on a bench in Central Park. Jessenia was leaning her head on his shoulder.

Harlan's eyes narrowed. He leaned closer to the page.

His brain was a supercomputer when it came to visual data. He analyzed market trends and architectural blueprints for a living.

He pointed his index finger at the right side of Jessenia's face in the photo.

"What time of day was this taken?" Harlan asked. His voice was flat.

Jessenia's heart skipped a beat. "Um, it was the afternoon. Around three o'clock. We had just finished tea."

Harlan tapped the photo. "The shadow cast by the oak tree behind the bench indicates the sun is directly overhead. High noon."

He moved his finger to Jessenia's face. "But the shadow on your jawline is falling forward. The light source hitting your face is coming from behind you. That's a physical impossibility in natural sunlight."

The temperature in the study plummeted to zero.

Jessenia's blood turned to ice. The hacker had missed a microscopic lighting angle. Harlan had spotted it in less than ten seconds.

He looked up at her. His dark eyes were terrifyingly sharp. He was putting the pieces together.

Jessenia's survival instinct kicked in. She didn't panic. She attacked.

She reached out and snatched the heavy album right out of his hands. She stood up abruptly, her silk robe swirling around her legs. She glared down at him, her chest heaving with manufactured outrage.

"Are you accusing me of faking our photos?" Jessenia raised her voice. "What kind of psycho do you think I am, Harlan?"

Harlan stood up. "Jessie, the lighting doesn't make sense-"

"Because I edited it!" Jessenia yelled. She let a tear of pure humiliation spill down her cheek. "I used a FaceTune app on my phone! I thought my face looked fat in that picture, so I smoothed my jawline and messed up the lighting! Is that a crime?"

Harlan froze.

The accusation of a grand conspiracy suddenly collapsed into a mundane, embarrassing female insecurity. The sheer absurdity of the excuse made it incredibly believable.

Jessenia wrapped her arms around the album, holding it to her chest like a shield. She let out a broken sob. "I show you our memories, and you analyze the shadows to call me a liar. You really don't love me anymore."

Harlan's sharp expression crumbled. A wave of deep guilt washed over his face. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking suddenly exhausted.

"Jessie, I'm sorry," he said quietly. "My brain is just... it's looking for patterns that aren't there. I'm sorry."

Jessenia didn't accept the apology. She turned on her heel and ran out of the study, playing the wounded victim to perfection.

She slammed the bedroom door shut behind her. She slid down to the floor, gasping for air.

The photos weren't enough. His logic was too sharp. She couldn't beat his brain. She had to bypass his brain entirely. She had to use his body.

Midnight.

The rain lashed violently against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the master bedroom. The storm had rolled over Manhattan suddenly, bringing deafening cracks of thunder.

Jessenia sat at the vanity mirror. She was wearing a black silk La Perla slip dress. The fabric clung to her curves like a second skin. She watched Harlan through the mirror.

Harlan walked out of the en-suite bathroom. He had just taken a shower. He was wearing nothing but a white towel slung low on his hips. Water droplets clung to the hard planes of his chest and stomach. When he turned around to grab his sleepwear, Jessenia saw the thick, jagged scar running across his lower back.

She stood up. Her bare feet sank into the plush carpet.

She walked up behind him. As he reached for his silk robe, Jessenia reached out first. Her fingers brushed against the bare skin of his waist.

Harlan's entire body jerked. The muscles in his back locked tight.

Jessenia ignored the flinch. She picked up the robe and stepped in front of him. She held the silk fabric up, her eyes looking deeply into his.

"The doctor said you need rest," Jessenia whispered, her voice low and husky. "But I need you."

She stepped closer. The heat radiating from his skin washed over her. She rose onto her tiptoes. She closed her eyes and tilted her head up, aiming her red lips directly at his jaw.

A split second before their lips touched, Harlan turned his head sharply to the side.

Jessenia's lips brushed against the cold, hard bone of his cheek.

The rejection was absolute. The air in the room turned brittle.

Harlan took a large step backward, putting a physical yard of space between them. He grabbed the robe from her hands and pulled it on, tying the belt tightly.

"I'm sorry, Jessie," Harlan said. His voice was like cracked ice. "My brain tells me I should love you. But my body isn't ready."

The words were a brutal, surgical strike to her pride.

Jessenia bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper. She wanted to scream. She wanted to slap him. But she forced her eyes to water.

"It's okay," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I waited three years. I can wait a little longer."

She turned around, walked to the right side of the massive California King bed, and slid under the covers. She turned her back to him, staring at the dark wall.

A few minutes later, the mattress dipped as Harlan got into the left side of the bed. The space between them felt like an ocean.

Two hours passed. The storm outside worsened.

A massive crack of thunder shook the glass windows. It sounded like an explosion.

Harlan violently shot up in bed. He gasped for air, his hands clutching his chest. Sweat poured down his face. His eyes were wide and unseeing in the dark. The thunder had triggered a flashback to the island-the storms, the drugs, the feeling of being trapped and powerless.

He was having a severe PTSD panic attack.

Jessenia woke up instantly. She saw him shaking. She saw the absolute terror in his posture.

She didn't hesitate. She scrambled across the mattress. She threw her arms around him from behind, pressing her chest against his trembling back.

"Harlan!" she said loudly over the rain. "You're safe! You're home! I'm right here!"

Harlan gasped. The physical contact startled him, but then the warmth of her body registered in his panicked brain as an anchor.

He spun around. He grabbed her arms with bruising force. He pulled her against his chest, burying his face in her neck. He was breathing like a drowning man who had just found a piece of driftwood.

The logic was gone. The physical revulsion was overridden by pure, primal terror and the desperate need for comfort.

He lifted his head. In the dark, illuminated only by a flash of lightning, he looked at her mouth. He didn't see the woman he hated. He just saw survival.

He crashed his lips down onto hers. Jessenia wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, securing her victory in the dark.

The morning sun poured through the glass windows, casting bright geometric shapes across the tangled sheets of the California King bed.

Jessenia woke up slowly. Her muscles ached. She rolled onto her back and stretched, a deep, satisfied smile curving her lips. She had done it. The physical barrier was broken. She was truly the lady of the house now.

She turned her head to look at the left side of the bed.

It was empty. The sheets were cold.

Jessenia's smile vanished. She sat up, pulling the silk sheet over her chest. She heard the sound of rushing water coming from the bathroom.

She slid out of bed, grabbed her silk robe from the floor, and tied it tightly around her waist. She walked quietly to the bathroom door and pushed it open an inch.

Harlan was standing in the massive glass shower. He had the water turned all the way to cold. He was leaning forward, his hands pressed flat against the marble tiles, letting the freezing water batter his head and shoulders. His posture wasn't relaxed. It was rigid, tense, and filled with a heavy, suffocating regret.

He was trying to wash her off.

Jessenia's stomach twisted. She stepped back and waited by the vanity.

A few minutes later, the water stopped. Harlan walked out with a towel wrapped around his waist. He saw Jessenia standing there.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

Jessenia forced a shy, morning-after smile. She took a step forward and reached out to touch his wet chest.

Harlan immediately took a step back. He avoided her hand completely. His eyes were dark, flat, and completely devoid of any warmth.

"Good morning," he said. His voice was entirely monotone.

The coldness of his tone hit her like a physical blow. There was no affection. There was no lingering intimacy. There was only a profound, physical discomfort.

He walked past her, keeping a wide berth, and went straight into the walk-in closet. He pulled out a dark navy suit and began dressing with rapid, mechanical efficiency.

Jessenia followed him to the doorway of the closet. Her hands balled into fists.

"You're going to the office?" Jessenia asked, trying to keep her voice steady. "The doctor said you need a week of rest."

"The Schwartz Group needs its CEO," Harlan said, buttoning his crisp white shirt. He didn't look at her in the mirror. "I've already told Arthur to have the car ready."

He grabbed his watch from the velvet display case and strapped it onto his wrist. He walked toward the bedroom door. He didn't offer a kiss. He didn't even look back.

"Harlan," Jessenia called out. Her voice cracked slightly. "Do you regret last night?"

Harlan stopped with his hand on the brass doorknob. He stood still for a second.

"We are engaged," Harlan said coldly to the wooden door. "It was bound to happen eventually."

He turned the knob and walked out, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Jessenia stood alone in the massive bedroom. The words echoed in her head. Bound to happen. It was a duty. A mechanical obligation. He had slept with her, and it had only made his subconscious hate her more.

A soft knock came from the open hallway door.

Kaylee stepped into the doorway. She was holding a silver tray with a cup of coffee and a croissant. She looked at the violently rumpled bedsheets, and a flash of pure, venomous jealousy crossed her eyes.

But she blinked it away instantly.

"Morning," Kaylee said, her voice sickeningly sweet. "Cole asked me to bring you breakfast. He said he was leaving early. He looked really... upset."

She emphasized the word upset. It was a deliberate twist of the knife.

Jessenia's eyes narrowed. A blatant lie. Harlan would never ask this girl to serve her, especially not after the cold, mechanical way he had just left the room. This was a pathetic power play, an attempt to insert herself into the intimate space of their morning.

Jessenia's blood ignited. She walked across the room, her bare feet stomping on the carpet. She reached Kaylee, grabbed the silver tray out of her hands, and slammed it down onto the nearest table. Coffee splashed over the rim of the cup.

Jessenia stepped into Kaylee's personal space.

"Listen to me very carefully," Jessenia hissed, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Keep your pathetic little island tricks to yourself. This is New York. I am the mother of his child. You are nothing but a stray dog he brought home out of pity."

Kaylee didn't shrink back this time. She looked Jessenia dead in the eye. The innocent mask slipped completely, revealing a cold, calculating smirk.

"We'll see about that," Kaylee whispered back.