The next morning, Kendrick kissed Cora's forehead, grabbed his briefcase, and walked out the door. He announced he was flying to Europe for a three-day merger negotiation.

The moment the motorcade cleared the front gates, Cora sprang into action. She found the butler in the kitchen.

"I'm doing yoga in the master bedroom," she said coldly. "Do not disturb me under any circumstances."

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked upstairs. She kicked off her shoes and walked silently barefoot down the hall, slipping into Kendrick's private study.

The room was suffocating. Dark mahogany furniture and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves made the space feel like a tomb.

Cora needed her passport and her ID. If she was going to run, she needed her documents.

She tore through the drawers of his massive desk. Nothing. Just corporate contracts and financial reports.

She turned around and spotted it. Hidden behind a row of leather-bound books was a flush-mounted German high-frequency electronic safe.

Cora knelt in front of it. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She punched in Kendrick's birthday.

BEEP. ERROR.

She bit her lip and typed in their wedding anniversary. The red light flashed again.

BEEP. ERROR. ONE ATTEMPT REMAINING. SYSTEM LOCKDOWN IMMINENT.

Cora wiped the cold sweat from her forehead. If the alarm triggered, the guards would be in the room in seconds.

She closed her eyes in despair. Then, she remembered the black business card Cayden had slipped into her dress.

She pulled it out of her pocket. She flipped it over. In the top right corner, barely visible under the light, was a six-digit number written in UV ink.

With trembling fingers, she punched the numbers into the keypad.

CLICK.

The heavy steel door popped open.

Cora let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She reached inside. There were no passports. There was only a thick manila envelope stamped with the logo of a top-tier private hospital in Palo Alto.

She ripped the seal open and pulled out a stack of medical documents.

There was no patient name on the file. But at the top of the page was the exact same hematology research code she had seen on the needle wrapper.

Cora's eyes scanned the dense medical jargon. Her gaze slammed into a bolded sentence at the bottom of the page:

EXTENSIVE BONE MARROW AND RARE ANTIBODY EXTRACTION FEASIBILITY: EXTREMELY HIGH. TOTAL HEMATOPOIETIC STEM CELL DEPLETION PROTOCOL APPROVED.

A bucket of ice water poured over her head. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed onto the hard wood floor.

She kept reading. It detailed the surgical extraction plan and the post-operative immunosuppressant schedule.

Her mind scrambled to make sense of it. Kendrick was sick. Kendrick had some kind of catastrophic blood disease. That's why he was drawing her blood. That's why he was so obsessed with her health. He was going to drain her bone marrow and strip her of her stem cells to save his own life, a procedure so invasive it would leave her permanently crippled, if not dead.

A wave of profound grief and absolute terror hit her all at once. She slapped both hands over her mouth to muffle the sob tearing up her throat.

Heavy footsteps thudded in the hallway. The security captain was doing his rounds.

Cora snapped out of her shock. She frantically shoved the papers back into the envelope, threw it into the safe, and slammed the heavy metal door shut. It locked with a loud click.

She dove behind the thick velvet curtains covering the floor-to-ceiling windows just as the brass doorknob turned.

The security captain stepped into the study. His sharp eyes scanned the empty room.

Cora stood pressed against the glass, her hands clamped over her nose and mouth. She didn't dare breathe. Her heart was beating so violently she was sure he could hear it.

The captain tapped his earpiece. "Study is clear," he muttered. He stepped back out and locked the door behind him.

Cora slid down the wall, her back soaked in cold sweat. She stared at the locked safe. She had the proof, but she needed to know for sure. She had to get to that hospital.

The next afternoon, Cora stood in the grand foyer, her face set in stone. She looked at the head of security.

"Kendrick asked me to select a piece for the charity auction," she lied smoothly. "Take me to the Castille's Auction House. Now."

The guards exchanged a look, but without Kendrick there to explicitly deny it, they escorted her to the car.

Cora walked into the opulent, classical lobby of the Castille's Auction House, flanked by two massive guards. She desperately looked around for a backdoor or a bathroom window she could use to escape and run to the hospital.

Before she could make a move, a woman in an elegant, understated Chanel suit walked up to her with a warm, maternal smile.

It was Dr. Karen Parker, the wife of Bayard Yates. Since Kendrick's late mother was a Yates, that made Karen his aunt by marriage. She was also a senior board member of the auction house.

Karen waved the hovering floor manager away. She reached out and gently linked her arm through Cora's. "Cora, darling. Come up to my private lounge. Let's have some tea."

Cora felt a rush of relief. Everyone in the family knew Karen was a saint. She endured her husband Bayard's violent bipolar outbursts with quiet grace. Cora felt a deep, instinctual sympathy for her.

They sat in the sunlit penthouse lounge. Karen poured a cup of premium Darjeeling tea and slid it across the glass table.

"How are you adjusting to the estate, sweetheart?" Karen asked, her voice dripping with concern. "Is Kendrick treating you well? He can be... difficult."

Cora's eyes burned. She wanted to scream the truth. She wanted to tell Karen about the safe and the medical report. But the survival instinct kicked in, and she swallowed the words.

"I'm fine," Cora lied softly.

Karen smiled, reaching out to pat Cora's hand. As she did, her fingers expertly pressed against the inside of Cora's wrist, feeling her pulse. Her eyes scanned the color of Cora's skin and the whites of her eyes.

"You look a bit tired," Karen noted gently. "Are you eating well? Taking your vitamins?"

Cora, completely disarmed by the maternal affection, nodded. "Kendrick gives me nutritional supplements every night."

A flash of profound sorrow crossed Karen's gentle face. Karen squeezed her hand.

"Kendrick carries a lot of trauma, Cora. His obsession with control... it comes from a place of fear. You just have to be patient with him."

The words perfectly reinforced Cora's delusion that Kendrick was just a sick, traumatized man.

Suddenly, the lounge doors burst open. Bayard Yates stormed in, his eyes wild and manic. He pointed a shaking finger at Karen.

"You stole the offshore accounts file!" Bayard screamed, spit flying from his lips. "You lying bitch!"

Karen immediately shrank back into the sofa, pulling her knees to her chest, her face a mask of pure terror.

Cora's blood boiled. She jumped to her feet, placing her body between the massive man and the cowering woman.

"Back off!" Cora shouted, glaring at Bayard. "Don't you dare touch her!"

The commotion drew the guards from the hallway. They rushed in and physically dragged the screaming Bayard out of the room.

Karen burst into tears. She grabbed Cora's hands, kissing her knuckles. "You are such a brave, sweet girl, Cora. Thank you."

Before Cora left, Karen walked over to her desk and pulled out a beautifully carved rosewood box.

"Take this," Karen said softly. "It's a rare, custom-blended aromatherapy wax. It will help you sleep and ease your anxiety at the estate."

Cora took the box, her heart swelling with gratitude. In this terrifying world, she had finally found an ally.

The moment the lounge doors closed behind Cora, Karen collapsed back onto the sofa. She buried her face in her trembling hands, letting out a long, ragged sob. She reached for her phone with shaking fingers and dialed her therapist's number, her voice breaking as she pleaded for an emergency session to deal with her husband's latest abusive outburst.

The SUV pulled away from the auction house. Cora leaned forward and tapped the glass partition.

"I need to stop at the private hospital on 5th Avenue," she told the guard. "Women's health issue. It's private."

The guard frowned but nodded. When they arrived, the guards waited outside the gynecology wing. Cora walked into the restroom, climbed out the ground-floor window, and sprinted across the courtyard to the main outpatient building.

She pulled a surgical mask over her face and put on her sunglasses. She navigated the maze of corridors, clutching her phone with the photo of the medical report, desperately searching for the hematology department.

She pushed open the door to a consultation room at the end of the hall.

She froze. Sitting behind the heavy oak desk, wearing a pristine white doctor's coat and gold-rimmed glasses, was Cayden.

He looked up from his charts. A flash of genuine shock crossed his face, but he instantly stood up and locked the door behind her.

Cora ripped off her mask. She marched up to his desk and shoved her phone in his face.

"What does this mean?" she demanded, her voice shaking uncontrollably. "Is Kendrick sick? Does he need my bone marrow? Is he going to drain me dry?"

Cayden looked down at the screen. When he saw the matching codes, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. He couldn't believe Kendrick had left a paper trail.

But he couldn't tell her the truth. If she knew she was a farm animal for the Yates family, she would panic and get herself killed.

Cayden pushed his glasses up his nose. He leaned back in his chair, adopting the cold, detached tone of a medical professional reviewing a stranger's file.

"This is a standard preventative health evaluation, Cora," Cayden lied smoothly. "Nothing more."

"You're lying!" Cora yelled, pointing at the screen. "It says 'stem cell depletion'! Why are you lying to me?!"

Cayden slammed his hands flat on the desk. He leaned over the wood, invading her space. The playful arrogance was gone, replaced by a terrifying, lethal intensity.

"Stop using your pathetic, microscopic brain to dig into consortium secrets," Cayden hissed, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "If you keep asking questions about this report, you won't just ruin your marriage. You will end up in a body bag."

The pure murder in his eyes made Cora's breath catch. She stumbled backward, her spine hitting the heavy wooden door.

Cayden saw the raw terror in her eyes. His chest tightened painfully, but he forced his face to remain a mask of stone.

He grabbed a prescription pad, scribbled an address on it, and shoved it into her trembling hand.

"If the day comes when you realize you can't survive in that house anymore," he whispered, "go to this address. Ask for Joe."

Before Cora could process the words, violent pounding shook the door.

"Madam! Open the door!" the security captain roared from the hallway.

Cayden moved instantly. He grabbed Cora by the shoulders, pulled her close, and violently messed up her perfectly styled hair. He ripped her dress slightly off her shoulder.

The door burst open. The guards flooded into the room, drawing their stun guns.

They stopped dead in their tracks, staring at the highly compromised, intimate position of the doctor and the billionaire's wife.

Cayden threw his hands up in the air, a sleazy grin spreading across his face. "Whoa, boys! The beautiful lady walked into the wrong room and practically threw herself at me. I'm innocent."

Cora realized what he was doing. He was using a moral scandal to cover up the fact that she was investigating the medical report. She bit her tongue, lowering her head to play the part of the caught, panicked wife.

The security captain glared at Cayden with disgust. He grabbed Cora roughly by the bicep and dragged her out of the room.

As she was pulled down the hallway, Cora looked back over her shoulder. Cayden was watching her. The sleazy grin was gone, replaced by a look of profound, agonizing regret.

The guards shoved her into the back of the SUV. The captain immediately keyed his radio. "Mr. Pope. We have a situation at the hospital."

Cora clutched the crumpled prescription slip in her fist. Her mind was a chaotic, terrifying mess.