Ever's fingers hovered over the delete button, trembling so violently she could barely focus on the screen.

I know your secret, Everly.

The use of her full name was the first dagger. Garrick only knew her as Ever. Everly Montgomery didn't die the day she walked out of the foster system; she went into deep cover, hidden beneath layers of lies and silence to protect the one thing that mattered. But now, someone had peeled back the first layer.

She snatched the phone up from the floor, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. She tapped the number to call back.

The number you have dialed is not in service.

She disconnected, tossing the phone onto the bed as if it were a venomous snake. Who? Who could possibly know?

Her mind raced through the possibilities. A bitter foster sibling from St. Mary's? A creditor from her adoptive parents' gambling debts? Or worse-someone connected to Leo?

No. No one knew about Leo. Ernestine was a vault. Ever paid her enough to be one.

She forced herself to breathe. In for four, hold for four, out for four. A technique she learned in the crowded dormitory of the orphanage when the older kids stole her food. Panic was a luxury she couldn't afford. Panic made you sloppy.

She walked over to the wall calendar hanging inside the walk-in closet. With a red marker, she slashed a thick line through yesterday's date. She wrote the number 144 in the corner of today's box and drew a tiny, crude bird next to it. A bird in flight.

She dressed quickly in a modest beige skirt and blouse-her "work costume." It was invisible. Boring. The opposite of the woman who warmed Garrick Head's bed.

The offices of Vanguard Design were a hive of activity. It was a boutique firm, owned by Miles Vane, Garrick's best friend. Ever was a junior associate there, a job Garrick had "arranged" to keep her busy, or perhaps to keep her under surveillance.

"Nice shoes, Ever," Zoe Yates sneered as Ever walked past her desk. "Did you earn them on your back or your knees?"

Zoe was beautiful, talented, and vicious. She knew exactly what Ever was to Garrick, and she hated her for it.

Ever didn't break stride. "Morning, Zoe."

She sat at her desk and turned on her computer, letting the mundane glow of the screen anchor her. She could do this. She could design logos and format brochures. She could be normal.

Her personal cell phone-the one Garrick monitored-sat silently on the desk. But inside her purse, tucked into a hidden lining, the burner phone vibrated.

One vibration. Then two. Then a continuous, angry buzz.

Ever grabbed her purse and bolted for the bathroom. Locking the stall door, she fished the phone out.

"Ernestine?"

"It's bad, Everly," Ernestine's voice was high, bordering on panic. "He spiked. 104 degrees. He's shaking. I think he's seizing."

The world tilted on its axis. Her knees hit the tile floor of the stall.

"Call 911," Ever screamed into the phone, not caring who heard. "Call them now!"

"I did! The ambulance is on the way. We're going to Queens General."

"I'm coming."

Ever hung up and burst out of the stall. She didn't care about the job. She didn't care about Garrick. Her son was burning up.

She ran through the office, papers flying off her desk as she grabbed her bag. Zoe laughed as she sprinted past, but the sound was distant, like static.

Ever barged into Miles's office without knocking. He was on the phone, his feet up on his desk, looking every inch the relaxed playboy. He sat up, startled, as she slammed the door behind her.

"Ever?" He lowered the phone. "What the hell?"

"I have to go," Ever gasped, her chest heaving. "Family emergency."

Miles raised an eyebrow. "You don't have family, Ever. That's part of your charm."

"My... my apartment," Ever lied, the words tasting like ash. "A pipe burst. The landlord says it's flooding the unit below. I have to go let the plumber in."

Miles studied her. He was smarter than he looked. He saw the sweat on her forehead, the terror in her eyes.

"A burst pipe in Garrick's penthouse?" He smirked. "That building is a fortress. Pipes don't just burst."

"Please, Miles." Her voice broke. She hated begging, but for Leo, she would crawl. "Please."

Something in her face must have convinced him. The smirk faded. He waved a hand dismissively.

"Go. But if Garrick asks, you were sick."

"Thank you."

Ever didn't wait for him to change his mind. She ran to the elevator, jamming the button repeatedly.

Forty minutes later, Ever was sprinting down a cracked sidewalk in Queens. The air here smelled different-exhaust, fried food, and desperation. It was a world away from Fifth Avenue.

She burst into the emergency room waiting area. It was chaos. Crying babies, coughing old men, the smell of antiseptic and old coffee.

"Leo Wells?" Ever demanded at the reception desk.

"Pediatric ward. Room 4."

She found them. Ernestine was sitting in a plastic chair, looking gray and old. And there, in the crib with the metal bars, was Leo.

He looked so small. Wires were taped to his chest. An IV line ran into his tiny hand. His face was flushed a deep, angry red.

"Mommy..."

Ever dropped her bag and rushed to the side of the crib, grabbing his hot little hand.

"I'm here, baby. Mommy's here."

She spent the next three hours sponging his forehead with cool cloths, singing the lullaby Clay used to hum to them at the orphanage. The fever broke slowly, stubbornly.

By 5:00 PM, Leo was sleeping peacefully, his breathing even. Ever slumped into the chair next to Ernestine, exhausted.

"You need to go," Ernestine whispered. "He's okay now. You have that gala tonight."

Ever checked her watch. 5:10 PM.

Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through the exhaustion.

Her phone rang. The screen flashed: Garrick's Driver.

Ever stared at it, paralyzed. She was in Queens. The gala pickup was in Midtown.

She answered, forcing her voice to be steady. "Hello?"

"Miss Wells," the driver's voice was polite but firm. "Mr. Head asked me to pick you up from the office, but the receptionist says you left hours ago."

Her heart stopped.

"I..." Think, Everly. Think. "I'm at the coffee shop around the corner. The one on 52nd. I needed... air."

"I see. I'll be there in two minutes."

Two minutes. Ever was forty-five minutes away.

"Actually," Ever said, praying her voice didn't shake. "I'm walking back to the entrance now. Just wait there."

She hung up. She kissed Leo's forehead, whispered a frantic apology to Ernestine, and ran out of the hospital like the devil himself was chasing her.

Ever practically threw money at the cab driver. "Midtown. As fast as you can. Run the red lights if you have to."

The drive was a blur of honking horns and near-misses. She spent the entire ride fixing her hair in the rearview mirror, pinching her cheeks to hide the pallor of fear. She smelled like hospital soap and sweat.

The cab screeched to a halt a block away from the office building. Ever jumped out, sprinting the last hundred yards. She ducked into a Starbucks, bought a cold brew she didn't want just to have a prop, and walked out, trying to look casual.

Garrick's Rolls Royce was idling at the curb. The back door opened before she even reached it.

Ever slid onto the leather seat. The interior was cool and smelled of cedar and leather.

Garrick wasn't there.

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. But then she saw the iPad mounted on the seat back in front of her. The screen was active.

Garrick's face filled the frame. He was in his office, looking down at some papers, but the moment the door closed, his eyes snapped up to the camera.

"Did the little bird find her way back to the cage?" Miles's voice drifted from the speaker. He was in the office with Garrick.

Ever stiffened. "Hello, Garrick."

Garrick ignored the greeting. "The pipe," he said. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "Is it fixed?"

Her stomach twisted. "Yes. The super handled it quickly. It was... messy. I'm sorry I worried you."

There was silence. Three seconds. Five. It felt like an eternity. He was studying her face on the screen, looking for the lie. He was good at finding lies. It was how he made his billions.

"Next time," Garrick said slowly, "call Niles. Don't handle things yourself. That's why I pay people."

"I will," Ever said, gripping the cold coffee cup until the plastic buckled.

"Be at the apartment in ten minutes. We're late."

The screen went black.

Ever slumped back against the seat, closing her eyes. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably.

He knew. He had to know. Garrick didn't accept simple explanations.

When Ever arrived at the penthouse, Garrick was sitting on the velvet sofa in the living room, flipping a silver lighter open and closed. Clink. Snap. Clink. Snap.

She walked in, trying to keep her head high. "I'm going to get changed."

He stood up. He moved with a predatory grace, closing the distance between them in two strides. He stopped inches from her. He didn't touch her, but she could feel the heat radiating off him.

He leaned in, inhaling deeply near her neck.

"You smell different," he murmured.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. "I... it was the cab. It smelled awful."

"It smells like antiseptic," Garrick said. His hand came up, his fingers trailing down the side of her neck, resting over her pulse point. He could feel it hammering.

"I stopped at a pharmacy," Ever lied quickly. "For... headache medicine. The stress of the leak."

Garrick stared at her. His eyes were dark, unreadable pools. Then, his hand moved to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair. He pulled her head back, exposing her throat.

"I don't like it when you smell like anything but me," he whispered. "Or when you smell like the poverty of a public taxi."

Then he kissed her. It wasn't a kiss of affection. It was a claiming. His lips were hard, bruising. He tasted of scotch and control. Ever stood rigid, letting him take what he wanted, while her mind drifted back to the hospital room, to the wires on Leo's chest.

He pulled back, his breathing slightly heavier. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a diamond choker.

"Turn around."

Ever obeyed. The metal was cold against her skin. She heard the clasp click shut. A collar. A very expensive collar.

"Don't lose this one," he warned, his voice vibrating against her spine.

They took the private elevator down in silence. The mirrored walls reflected them-a tall, powerful man in a tuxedo, and a woman in a blue silk gown who looked like she was about to shatter.

In the car, Garrick took her hand. His grip was firm, bordering on painful.

"Ever," he said suddenly.

"Yes?"

"If you ever had children..." He paused, watching her profile. "What kind of mother would you be?"

The air left the car. Ever couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. Did he know? Was this a trap?

She forced a laugh. It sounded brittle. "I haven't thought about it. You don't like children, Mr. Head. Remember?"

He snorted, turning his gaze back to the window. "True. They are liabilities. Weaknesses that enemies exploit. Parasites, really."

Ever looked out the window at the passing city lights. My son is not a parasite, she screamed internally. He is the sun and the moon.

"We're going to Cipriani," Garrick said, changing the subject as if he hadn't just stopped her heart. "Clarence Frazier will be there."

Ever froze.

"Stay away from him," Garrick commanded, his grip tightening until her knuckles turned white. "He's dangerous."

"I don't even know him," Ever whispered.

"Good. Keep it that way."

The Cipriani ballroom was a cavern of gold leaf and old money. Chandeliers the size of small cars hung from the ceiling, casting a flattering amber glow over Manhattan's elite.

Ever held onto Garrick's arm like it was a life raft. Or an anchor. She wasn't sure which anymore.

Niles, Garrick's head of security, walked a few steps ahead of them, parting the crowd. He nodded at her. "Evening, Mrs.-"

"Miss Wells," Ever corrected automatically.

Garrick's hand tightened on her waist. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. "Stop correcting him. It makes you look insecure. In their eyes, you belong to me. The title is irrelevant."

Ever bit the inside of her cheek. It's relevant to me.

They circulated. Ever smiled until her face ached. She nodded at the wives who looked at her with disdain and the husbands who looked at her with hunger. She was the trophy. The shiny object Garrick Head had acquired.

Then, the atmosphere in the room shifted.

It wasn't a sound, but a feeling. A drop in pressure. The crowd near the entrance parted, not out of politeness, but out of instinct.

A man walked in.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a tuxedo that fit him like a second skin. But unlike the soft, doughy men of Wall Street surrounding them, this man looked like he was carved from granite. He moved with a lethal fluidity.

Clarence Frazier.

Ever's breath hitched. It was Clay.

He was older, harder, his jawline sharper than she remembered, but those eyes-deep, warm brown like polished mahogany-were the same. The eyes that used to check under her bed for monsters at St. Mary's.

He scanned the room. He wasn't looking for business partners. He was hunting.

His gaze locked onto hers.

Time stopped. The noise of the gala faded into a dull roar. He didn't smile. He didn't wave. He just stared, an intensity in his expression that made her knees weak.

He started walking toward them.

Garrick felt her reaction. His body went rigid. He stepped slightly in front of her, a shield of possessiveness.

"Frazier," Garrick said, his voice ice cold. "I didn't think they let casino trash into Cipriani."

Clarence stopped a few feet away. He ignored Garrick completely. His eyes were glued to Ever's face, tracing every feature as if he were memorizing her all over again.

"Head," Clarence said. His voice was deep, gravelly. "And... Miss Wells."

He said her fake name with a strange inflection, a mockery.

"Do I know you?" Garrick asked, stepping closer to Clarence. The tension was palpable. Two alpha predators circling each other.

Clarence smiled then. It was a terrifying smile. "Your companion looks... familiar. Reminds me of someone I used to know a lifetime ago."

Ever looked down, letting her hair fall forward to hide her face. "I have a common face, Mr. Frazier."

"Hardly," Clarence said softly. He extended a hand. "A pleasure."

She had to take it. To refuse would be a scene. She reached out, her hand trembling.

His skin was warm, rough with calluses despite the expensive suit. As he gripped her hand, his thumb brushed against her palm in a specific pattern. Tap-tap-slide.

The secret handshake. The signal they used at the orphanage to say 'I've got your back.'

Ever snatched her hand away as if burned.

Garrick saw it. His eyes narrowed. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her violently into his side.

"She's with me, Frazier. Find your own entertainment."

"For now," Clarence said. The threat hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.

Miles appeared suddenly, looking flustered. "Garrick! The Senator is asking for you. It's urgent."

Garrick hesitated. He didn't want to leave her. He glared at Clarence. "Niles. Stay with her. If he comes within ten feet, break his legs."

Garrick walked away, but he looked back three times.

Ever stood by a pillar, shaking. Niles was five feet away, scanning the room, but Clarence was gone.

A waiter appeared with a silver tray.

"Compliments of the gentleman in the corner," the waiter murmured.

On the tray was a single Red Velvet cupcake.

Ever stared at it. It was cheap, out of place among the caviar and champagne. But it was her favorite. It was the only treat they ever got at St. Mary's, once a year on Christmas.

She looked up. Across the room, in the shadows, Clarence raised a glass of whiskey to her.

He knew. He knew everything.

Ever felt sick. She pushed the tray away. "I don't want it."

Garrick returned moments later. He saw the rejected cupcake.

"I thought you didn't eat sweets," he said suspiciously.

"I don't," Ever said. "Whatever. Let's go. I have a headache."

"We're leaving," Garrick decided. He grabbed her arm, marching her toward the exit.

As they passed the shadows, Ever couldn't help it. She looked back.

Clarence was watching. He caught her eye. He didn't speak, but his lips moved clearly.

Leo.

The floor seemed to drop out from under her. Ever stumbled. Garrick caught her, practically dragging her out to the waiting car.

He shoved her into the backseat and slammed the door. The lock clicked.

"Who is he to you?" Garrick snarled, leaning over her. "Don't lie to me, Ever. You know him."