The knock was sharp. Three raps.

Addie smoothed her shirt. She opened the door.

Council filled the frame. He was too big for this doorway. Too big for this building. Even in a sweater, he looked expensive. It was the way he stood. Like he owned the air around him.

"Mr. Bartlett," she said. "Come in."

He stepped inside. His shoe stuck slightly to the linoleum floor. He looked down, disgusted.

He scanned the room. The peeling wallpaper. The mismatched chairs. The pile of plastic toys in the corner.

It's a set, he thought. She staged it to look pathetic.

"Where do I-" he started.

Addie's phone screamed.

It wasn't a normal ringtone. It was the emergency override she had set for only one person.

She grabbed the phone from the table. Her face went pale.

"Aunt Sarah?"

A scream came through the speaker. It was loud enough for Council to hear.

"Addie! Help! He's back! Rick is back and he's drunk!"

There was a crash. The sound of glass breaking. A man's roar.

Addie dropped the act. Her posture changed instantly. Her shoulders squared. Her eyes went hard.

"Stay with Leo," she snapped at Council, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Don't let him out of your sight."

She hung up. She grabbed her coat.

"I have to go," she said. She pushed past Council. She actually put her hands on his chest and shoved him aside.

Council stumbled back, surprised by her strength.

"Now?" he demanded. "Where are you going?"

To see him, he thought. The boyfriend. The real father.

Addie didn't answer. She was already out the door, her footsteps thundering down the stairs. She hesitated for a split second at the top of the stairs, a flicker of panic in her eyes. What if Miller comes now? she thought. No choice. Sarah is in danger. Sarah is my only witness. The calculation was cold, swift, and necessary.

Council hesitated for one second. He touched his earpiece.

"Team Alpha, a woman just left my location. Maintain visual but do not engage. Team Bravo, stay on the vehicle," he commanded, his voice low and controlled. He glanced back at the boy, who was now staring at him with wide, frightened eyes.

He ran down the stairs.

Addie hailed a yellow cab. She threw herself into the back seat.

Council got into his sedan. "Follow that taxi."

They drove deep into Brooklyn. The neighborhoods got darker, tighter. The houses were old brownstones that had seen better days.

Council was on the phone with Dr. Aris, the top neurologist in the country.

"Yes, Mother's tremors are worse," Council said calmly, watching the taxi weave through traffic. "I want the new treatment protocol ready by Monday. Cost is irrelevant."

The taxi screeched to a halt in front of a narrow house.

Addie jumped out. She didn't pay. She just ran.

The front door of the house was ajar.

Council stayed in the car, a block away, watching the scene unfold on a tablet linked to his security team's discreet body cams. He signaled his bodyguards to stay back but be ready. He would not be seen here. He would not risk a single photograph linking him to this squalor.

He heard the yelling before he saw them.

"Where is the money, Sarah? I know you have it!"

Council zoomed in on the video feed.

The living room was a wreck. A lamp was smashed on the floor. A woman-Sarah-was cowering in the corner, bleeding from a cut on her lip.

A man, big and swaying, held a bottle of whiskey like a club. Rick.

Addie didn't scream. She didn't cry.

She reached behind the door and grabbed a baseball bat.

SLAM.

She brought the bat down on the wooden table. The sound was like a gunshot.

Rick jumped. He spun around.

"You again?" he slurred. "The little niece."

Addie stepped forward. She held the bat high. Her face was terrifying. It wasn't fear. It was pure, cold rage.

"Touch her again," Addie said, her voice low and steady, "and I will put you in the hospital. The police are already on their way."

Council watched from the safety of his car. He was stunned. The mouse from the law firm was gone. This was a lioness. And as she moved, he saw her instinctively shift her weight, a subtle, protective posture that seemed odd for someone about to engage in a fight.

Rick laughed. He lunged at her.

Council tensed. He spoke into his earpiece. "Prepare to intervene."

But Addie was faster. She dropped the bat and pulled a small canister from her pocket.

Hiss.

Pepper spray. Direct hit to the eyes.

Rick howled. He clawed at his face, stumbling backward, crashing into the wall. He slid down, sobbing.

Addie stood over him, chest heaving.

Addie kicked the whiskey bottle away from Rick's flailing hand. It rolled across the floor, clinking against the broken glass.

She dropped to her knees beside Sarah.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Sarah sobbed, but she wasn't. Her face was swelling.

Council leaned back in the cool leather of his car seat, never taking his eyes off the screen. He should leave. He should call the police. But he couldn't move. He was transfixed.

"He's blind!" Rick screamed from the floor. "My eyes!"

"Police are five minutes out, Rick," Addie lied. Her voice was ice. "Get out the back door or go to jail. Your choice."

Rick scrambled up, crashing into furniture, whining like a kicked dog. He stumbled toward the kitchen and out the back door.

The silence that followed was heavy.

Sarah grabbed Addie's hand. Her fingers were stained with blood.

"Addie... Leo? Is Leo okay?"

"He's safe. He's with a neighbor."

"And the husband?" Sarah asked. "The billionaire? Is he treating you okay?"

Council held his breath. He leaned in closer to the speaker relaying the audio.

Addie let out a short, bitter laugh. She grabbed a bag of frozen peas from the kitchen and pressed it to Sarah's cheek.

"Auntie, don't worry. It's just a transaction."

"A transaction?"

"I need the marriage certificate to get full custody of Leo. He needs a boring wife to fix his stock price. That's it. We use each other."

Council's eyes narrowed. So the report was accurate, he thought. She needs a stable home for the boy. But the report said nothing of this... ferocity. It didn't capture the desperation. The pieces were clicking into place, but the picture they formed was more complex than he'd anticipated.

"But... these rich men," Sarah whispered. "If he hurts you..."

Addie's face softened. She looked tired. So incredibly tired.

"I can handle him. I just need to survive until the adoption is finalized. Once Leo is mine, legally mine, I'll divorce him. I'll sign whatever he wants. I don't want his money. I just want my boy."

Council stiffened.

She doesn't want the money.

The realization hit him like a physical blow. She wasn't a gold digger. She was a mercenary. But she was fighting for a child, not a payout.

"I have to go back," Addie said, standing up. "He's moving in tonight. If I'm not there, he might leave. And I can't lose this chance."

She wiped her hands on her jeans. She took a deep breath, and Council watched her put the mask back on. The shoulders slumped slightly. The fierce look vanished. She became the quiet, obedient wife again.

She walked toward the front door.

Council immediately spoke into his earpiece. "Pull back. Return to the primary residence. Now." He moved fast. His car was already pulling away before she even stepped outside.

He watched her run down the street to hail a cab in his rearview mirror.

He waited until she was gone. Then he picked up his phone.

"Marcus," he said into his phone. "Put a security detail on this address. 24/7. If that man comes back, have him arrested for trespassing. Make sure it sticks."

He got into his car. "Get me back to Queens. Fast."

Council was sitting on the lumpy sofa when Addie burst through the door. He had arranged his luggage to look untouched. He was scrolling on his phone, looking bored.

Addie was breathless. She smelled of sweat and stale alcohol-the smell of Rick's house.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Bartlett," she gasped. "I... I went to the bodega. For milk."

Council looked up slowly. He locked eyes with her.

"Milk?" he asked.

"Yes."

He stood up. He walked toward her. He stopped inches away. He sniffed the air.

"You smell like a distillery," he said.

Addie froze. She pulled her coat tighter. "I... there was a drunk guy outside. He bumped into me."

It was a terrible lie.

Council stared at her. He knew everything. He knew where she had been. He knew she had swung a baseball bat at a man twice her size. He knew she planned to divorce him.

He felt a flicker of admiration.

"Go shower," he said, his voice cold. "I don't want my living quarters smelling like cheap whiskey."

Addie blinked, surprised he didn't push further. "Okay."

She rushed to the bathroom.

Council stood alone in the living room. He looked at the closed door.

Just a transaction, she had said.

Fine, he thought. Let's do business.

Addie stayed in the shower until the hot water ran out. She scrubbed her skin raw, trying to wash away the smell of Rick's whiskey and the fear that still clung to her.

When she stepped out, she was wearing her most conservative pajamas-cotton, buttoned to the neck, with little clouds printed on them.

She walked into the living room.

Council was standing by the window, looking out at the brick wall of the next building. He turned when he heard her.

He looked at the bedroom door. Then at her.

"Where do I sleep?" he asked.

Addie pointed to the sofa.

Council looked at it. Then he looked back at her. His expression was one of genuine disbelief.

"You expect Council Bartlett to sleep on... that?"

"The bedroom is for Leo and me," Addie said. She crossed her arms. "The contract didn't specify sleeping arrangements. It just said 'cohabitation'."

"This is ridiculous," Council said. "I'll take the bed. You take the sofa."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"Leo wakes up three times a night. Unless you want to change diapers and sing 'Baby Shark' at 2 AM, you sleep out here."

Council opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. The thought of a crying child was more terrifying than the lumpy sofa.

"Fine," he snapped. "Goodnight."

Addie handed him a thin blanket. "Goodnight, Mr. Bartlett."

She went into the bedroom and locked the door. Click.

Council heard the lock turn. It annoyed him. Did she think he was going to attack her? Him? He had models throwing themselves at him. While she was locked away, he took the opportunity for a quick, cursory search. He scanned the mail on the counter-bills, junk mail, a letter from Leo's preschool. He glanced at the titles of the few books on the shelf. Nothing. No hidden bank statements, no secret letters. For now, her story held up.

He sat on the sofa. Squeak.

He lay down. His feet hung off the end by a good six inches. He tried to curl up. A metal spring dug into his hip.

He groaned.

The apartment was noisy. A siren wailed outside. The couple upstairs was arguing about money. The refrigerator hummed like a dying engine.

Council stared at the ceiling. There was a water stain shaped like a map of Florida.

He closed his eyes. He couldn't sleep. His back was already aching.

Hours passed.

At 2:00 AM, the bedroom door creaked open.

Council feigned sleep. He watched through his eyelashes.

Addie tiptoed out. She was holding a glass. She went to the kitchen sink and filled it with tap water.

She turned around and saw him.

The moonlight filtered through the dirty window. It illuminated Council, curled into a ball, clutching the thin blanket, his expensive legs dangling in the air. He looked ridiculous. He looked... human.

Addie felt a twinge of guilt. Just a small one.

She took a step toward him.

Council's eyes snapped open.

"Enjoying the view?" he rasped.

Addie jumped. Water sloshed over the rim of her glass onto the floor.

"I... I was getting water," she stammered.

Council sat up. He rubbed his neck. He looked miserable.

"This is torture," he said. "This is a violation of the Geneva Convention."

"It's my life," Addie said softly. "If you don't like it, you can leave. You can go back to your penthouse and tell your mother you failed."

It was a challenge.

Council narrowed his eyes. The moonlight caught the sharp angle of his jaw.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? You want me to breach the contract."

"I want to sleep," Addie said. "And I want you to stop complaining."

"I never complain," Council lied. "I negotiate."

"Not tonight, Council."

She used his first name. It hung in the air between them.

She turned and went back to the bedroom.

Council lay back down. He shifted, trying to find a spot that didn't hurt.

She's tough, he thought. I'll give her that.

He closed his eyes, and for the first time in years, he fell asleep without checking the stock market.