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."

The interior of the Rolls Royce felt like a coffin. The air was thick with Garrick's suspicion.

"I asked you a question," Garrick said, his voice low and lethal. He reached out, his fingers gripping Ever's chin, forcing her to look at him. "Who is Clarence Frazier?"

"I told you," Ever stammered, tears pricking her eyes. "I don't know him. But... the way he looked at me. It was like he wanted to hurt me. I was scared, Garrick. I'm scared."

It was the best lie she had. It played into his hero complex. It played into his need to be the protector.

Garrick's grip on her chin loosened. He searched her eyes, looking for deceit, but seeing only genuine fear-fear of Clarence exposing her, though he interpreted it as fear of Clarence himself.

"He is a monster," Garrick said, releasing her. He sat back, straightening his cuffs. "He started as a pit fighter in Vegas. Illegal matches. Killed a man with his bare hands when he was eighteen. Now he runs half the gambling on the East Coast. He's filth."

Ever listened, trying to reconcile this violent biography with the boy who used to braid her hair when the other girls made fun of it. The boy who gave her his bread when she was punished and sent to bed hungry.

"He won't touch you," Garrick said, his voice taking on a possessive edge. "You're mine. Everyone knows that now."

The adrenaline of the evening began to crash. Her body, exhausted from the hospital run and the terror, started to shut down. The rhythmic hum of the car engine was hypnotic.

Her eyelids grew heavy. She fought it, but the darkness was inviting. Her head lulled to the side, resting against the cool glass of the window.

She drifted.

A hand touched her cheek. Gentle. Warm. Ever flinched in her sleep, but the hand didn't pull away. It guided her head down until she was resting on a solid shoulder. Garrick's shoulder.

"Don't hurt him..." Ever mumbled into his jacket, dreaming of Leo.

"I won't let anyone hurt you," Garrick whispered back. He stroked her hair. The tenderness was terrifying because it was real.

When the car stopped at the penthouse, Ever didn't wake up.

Garrick Head, the man who treated people like chess pieces, stepped out of the car. He didn't wake her. Instead, he leaned in and lifted her out of the seat. There was no romance in the gesture, only the efficient handling of a valuable acquisition. He carried her through the lobby, his face a mask of indifference to the doorman's stare, holding her as one might hold a rare artifact that needed to be placed back in its display case.

He laid her on the bed, unzipping her dress with clinical efficiency, sliding the silk from her body. He pulled the duvet over her.

Ever's clutch bag had fallen to the floor. As he bent to pick it up, her personal phone slid out. The screen lit up with a notification.

Transaction Successful: $5,000 sent to E. Miller.

Garrick froze. He picked up the phone. He knew her passcode-he had insisted on knowing it from day one. He unlocked it and opened the banking app.

He saw the history. Monthly transfers. Thousands of dollars. All to "E. Miller."

His eyes narrowed as he recalled the dossier Miles had compiled on her. "E. Miller... that debt consolidation service her foster parents used," he muttered to himself. He looked at Ever's sleeping form with a mixture of pity and disdain. "Still paying for the people who sold you out. You really are pathetic, Ever."

He tossed the phone onto the nightstand. He didn't see a secret child; he saw a weak woman shackled by a debt of gratitude to a family of leeches. It fit his narrative perfectly.

The next morning, Ever woke up disoriented. She was in bed. Alone.

She grabbed her phone instantly. She checked the position. It had been moved.

Her heart stopped. Had he seen the texts? The photos of Leo?

She unlocked it frantically. The gallery was untouched. The messages app was closed. But the banking app was running in the background.

He had seen the money.

Ever walked into the kitchen, her legs shaking. Garrick was eating breakfast, reading the Wall Street Journal.

He didn't look up. He slid a thick file folder across the marble island toward her.

"What is this?" Ever asked.

"The Head Family Charity Foundation," he said, turning a page. "I'm putting you in charge of the orphan relief initiative."

Ever stared at the folder. The irony was so sharp it almost cut her.

"Why?"

"Because you have a bleeding heart," Garrick said, finally looking at her. "And because if you're going to throw money away on lost causes, do it with my money where it brings tax breaks, not on your trashy relatives' debts."

Ever flinched. He thought the money was for her foster parents. Relief washed over her, followed immediately by anger.

"It cleans up your image," he continued. "Makes you look less like a mistress and more like a... companion. Don't embarrass me."

"Thank you, Mr. Head," Ever said, her voice hollow.

He stood up, walked over, and kissed her forehead. "Be a good girl."

When the elevator doors closed behind him, Ever picked up the folder. Orphan Relief.

She walked to the trash compactor and shoved the folder in. She listened to the gears grind the paper into dust.

She didn't need his charity. She needed her son.