The glass door of the Silva Art Gallery wouldn't budge. Kate shoved it again, panic rising in her chest, before she realized the lock had been changed. She pounded on the glass.

"Open the door!" she screamed, her voice hoarse.

Inside, men in cheap suits were moving boxes. Chloe, her assistant, came running to the door, fumbling with the latch. When the door finally swung open, the smell of dust and defeat wafted out.

"Kate, thank God," Chloe said, her face pale and streaked with mascara. "They froze everything. The credit line, the operating accounts. The bank says there's an irregularity."

Kate walked past her, stepping over a pile of files dumped on the floor. The walls, usually adorned with promising contemporary pieces, were half-empty. The spots where the paintings had hung looked like missing teeth.

A man with a clipboard stepped in her path. "Ms. Silva? IRS audit. We have a report of money laundering through offshore accounts linked to this business."

"That's a lie," Kate spat, her hands balling into fists. "This is a family business. We barely break even."

"We're just following protocol based on the evidence provided." The man handed her a piece of paper.

Kate snatched it. The complaint itself was sterile bureaucracy, but stapled to the back was a list of alleged shell companies. One of them was an obscure holding company with a name only she and Lucas would recognize-the private joke name they'd given to an account he used to hide his gambling wins from his father years ago. It was Lucas. He was using his connections in finance to suffocate her.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out, expecting another taunt from Lucas.

It was Nate, her younger brother.

"Kate..." His voice was a wet gurgle. "Don't... don't come to the warehouse."

The world tilted on its axis. "Nate? What happened? Where are you?"

"They're here," he gasped. Then the line went dead.

Kate dropped the IRS notice. "Chloe, call the police. Send them to the Brooklyn warehouse. Now!"

She didn't wait for an answer. She sprinted out of the gallery, ignoring the pain in her feet. There were no cabs. She ran toward the subway entrance, her high heel catching in a metal grate. She yanked her foot up, hearing the snap of the stiletto. She kicked the shoes off, running in her stocking feet down the concrete stairs.

People stared. A woman in a torn evening gown running barefoot through the subway station. Kate didn't care. The train ride felt like it took a century, every stop an agonizing delay.

When she burst out into the Brooklyn sunlight, she ran toward the old industrial park where they stored the overflow art. The roll-up door to their unit was half-open.

The sound of crashing wood echoed from inside.

"Stop!" Kate shrieked, rushing into the dim space.

Nate was curled on the concrete floor, clutching his right hand. Blood masked half his face. Two men in black leather jackets stood over him. One of them had his boot raised, poised to stomp on Nate's fingers.

The fingers of a painter.

Kate grabbed a loose 2x4 leaning against a crate and swung it with everything she had. "Get away from him!"

The wood connected with the man's shoulder with a dull thud. He barely flinched. He turned to look at her, a lazy, cruel smile spreading across his face.

"Mr. Sterling sends his regards," the man said. He didn't attack her. He didn't need to. The message was delivered.

The thugs walked past her, bumping her shoulder, and strolled out into the daylight as if they were leaving a grocery store.

Kate dropped the wood and fell to her knees beside her brother. "Nate, oh god, Nate." She pulled a handkerchief from her purse, pressing it to the gash on his forehead.

Nate hissed in pain, his eyes squeezing shut. "Kate... look." He pointed with his good hand toward the corner.

Kate turned. Her breath left her body.

The Ashes. Her father's final painting. The piece that was supposed to be their retirement fund, their safety net. The canvas was slashed to ribbons. It hung from the frame like flayed skin.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

An hour later, Kate stood in the hallway of the ER, watching the red "Surgery in Progress" light. She went to the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. Her dress was ruined, her feet were black with grime, and there was a smear of Nate's blood on her cheek.

She looked like a victim.

She pulled out her phone and dialed Lucas.

He answered on the first ring. "Did you like the redecorating?" His voice was smooth, rich with satisfaction.

"What do you want?" Kate asked. Her voice was ice.

"Tonight. My engagement party at The Pierre. Come and kneel in front of Estelle. Beg her forgiveness for trying to seduce me five years ago. Do that, and I might let Nate keep his fingers."

Kate hung up. She looked at her reflection again. The fear in her eyes was hardening into something else. Something brittle and sharp.

Begging wouldn't work. Lucas was a shark; blood only made him hungrier. If she wanted to survive a shark, she needed a bigger monster.

The entrance to the private club was flanked by security guards who looked like they were carved from granite. Kate walked straight toward them. She had cleaned the blood off her face and pinned the tear in her dress with a sterile safety pin she'd begged from a nurse at the front desk. She looked deranged, but she held her head high enough to balance a crown.

"Invitation?" the guard asked, stepping in her path.

"Tell Lucas Sterling his past is here," Kate said, her voice steady.

The guard hesitated, then touched his earpiece. A moment later, he stepped aside.

The ballroom was a sea of silk and diamonds. The air smelled of expensive perfume and hypocrisy. Estelle, Lucas's fiancée, was holding court near the center, laughing at something a senator's wife said. Lucas stood beside her, swirling a glass of scotch, looking like the king of the world.

The room went quiet as Kate walked in. The crowd parted, not out of respect, but out of the sheer spectacle of her ruin.

"Well, well," Estelle's voice carried over the silence. "If it isn't the bankrupt gallery girl. Did you come to bus tables?"

Laughter rippled through the room. Kate didn't blink. She walked until she was toe-to-toe with Lucas.

"Kneel," Lucas whispered, loud enough for the inner circle to hear. "And maybe I'll call off the dogs."

Kate reached into her clutch. Lucas smirked, expecting a tissue for her tears.

Instead, she pulled out a folded document. It wasn't the original-she wasn't stupid-but a copy of a bank transfer record from five years ago.

"The money laundering complaint," Kate said clearly. "You forged Nate's signature. But you forgot that I kept the records from when you were skimming off the Sterling family trust."

Lucas's smile vanished. His eyes darted to the paper, then to the people around them. "You're delusional."

"Am I?" Kate unfolded the paper. "Board of Directors meeting is Tuesday, isn't it? I wonder what they'd think about the Vice President funneling company assets into his personal gambling debts."

Lucas lunged. He grabbed her wrist, his fingers digging into her tendons with bruising force. "Give me that."

"Let go," Kate warned.

"You think a piece of paper scares me?" Lucas leaned in, his breath hot and smelling of scotch against her ear. "I can bury you. And that little bastard you're hiding in Queens? Leo? Maybe he needs an accident too."

The world stopped. The noise of the party faded into a high-pitched ring. He threatened Leo. He called him a bastard.

Kate didn't think. The reaction was visceral, ancient. She wrenched her wrist free and swung her hand.

Crack.

The sound of her palm connecting with Lucas's cheek echoed like a gunshot.

Lucas's head snapped to the side. A collective gasp sucked the air out of the room. A bright red handprint bloomed instantly on his pale skin.

Kate stepped closer, her voice trembling with rage. "You touch a hair on his head, and I won't just ruin your career, Lucas. I will burn your entire life to the ground."

Estelle shrieked, rushing forward. "Security! Get this psycho out of here!" She tried to shove Kate, but Kate sidestepped. Estelle stumbled, crashing into a waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes. Glass shattered.

Kate turned on her heel. She walked toward the exit, her back straight, though her legs felt like jelly.

"You're dead, Silva!" Lucas roared behind her, humiliation cracking his voice. "You hear me? You're finished in this city!"

Kate pushed through the heavy doors and out into the night. As soon as the cool air hit her, the adrenaline crashed. She leaned against the brick wall of the alley, gasping for air, her hand throbbing from the impact.

She had bought herself maybe twenty-four hours. Lucas would come for her now with everything he had. The blackmail file was thin; she had bluffed about how much proof she really had.

She needed a shield. An impenetrable, diamond-hard shield.

She looked up. Across the skyline, the Emerson Tower pierced the clouds, its logo glowing like a beacon.

Kate pulled out her phone. Her fingers shook as she scrolled to a contact she hadn't touched in five years, a ghost in her machine. Armond - Do Not Call. It was his old private number, one she suspected was long disconnected. But last night, in a moment of reckless curiosity while he slept, she had seen his new number on his phone screen and memorized it. She'd keyed it in under a new, anonymous entry: V.

She stared at the screen, at the new, dangerous entry. Calling him was suicide. It was walking back into the lion's den with a steak tied around her neck. But Leo was in danger.

Kate pressed call.

The reception desk at Emerson International was a slab of black obsidian that looked more like an altar than a workspace. The receptionist, a woman whose bone structure seemed aerodynamic, didn't even look up from her screen.

"Mr. Emerson is not accepting walk-ins. Do you have an appointment?"

"No," Kate said, gripping her phone. Armond hadn't answered last night. "But it's urgent."

"Please leave your card."

Kate turned away, frustration clawing at her throat. She couldn't leave. She saw the private elevator lights ding. The doors slid open, and a man in a sharp grey suit stepped out, checking his tablet.

Sebastian. Armond's right hand. The man who had handed her the NDA five years ago.

Kate lunged across the lobby. "Seb!"

Security started to move, but Sebastian looked up. His eyes widened slightly behind his rimless glasses. He held up a hand to halt the guards.

"Ms. Silva," Sebastian said, his voice neutral. "You shouldn't be here."

"I need five minutes," Kate pleaded. "Please."

"The boss is... in a mood. And you know the rules. No contact."

"Tell him it's about the watch," Kate whispered, leaning in. "Tell him I'm here to settle the debt for 'V'."

Sebastian stiffened. He looked at her, really looked at her, seeing the desperation in her eyes. He tapped his earpiece. "Sir? She's here... Yes. She mentioned the watch." A pause. "Understood."

He looked at Kate. "You have five minutes. Don't make me regret this."

The elevator ride was silent and suffocating. When the doors opened to the penthouse office, the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.

Armond sat behind a desk that was large enough to land a plane on. He didn't look up from the documents he was signing.

"If you're here for a payout for last night's services, talk to legal," Armond said. His voice was a deep baritone that vibrated in Kate's chest.

The insult stung, but Kate swallowed her pride. It tasted like ash. She walked up to the desk.

"I don't want your money. I want protection. Lucas Sterling is destroying my gallery and physically attacking my family."

Armond finally looked up. His eyes were the color of steel, cold and impenetrable. "Why should I care about the fate of a small-time curator? Or Sterling? He's an insect."

"Because," Kate placed her hands on the desk, leaning forward, "you need a fiancée. The Board is jittery about the rumors of your instability. They think your OCD is getting worse. They want a family man."

Armond's eyes narrowed. "You've been listening to gossip."

"I've been doing my homework," Kate lied. Chloe had found the rumors on a deep-web forum. "You need a respectable, harmless image to close the merger with the Japanese tech firm. I can be that."

Armond stood up. He moved around the desk with the grace of a predator. He stopped inches from her. Kate forced herself not to flinch. He smelled of sandalwood and power.

He reached out, his fingers gripping her chin, tilting her face up. "You want to be my shield? Do you know what that entails?"

"It means I smile at your dinners, ignore your affairs, and deal with Evette Duncan trying to stab me in the back with a salad fork," Kate said, meeting his gaze.

"You have a sharp tongue," Armond murmured. His thumb brushed her lower lip, a touch that was possessive, not affectionate. "But how do I know you won't run away again? You seem to be good at disappearing when things get real."

"Draw up a contract," Kate said. "If I leave, you can put me in jail for corporate espionage. I'll sign anything."

Armond released her, turning to look out the floor-to-ceiling window. "Lucas Sterling..." he said the name like it was a foul taste. "He annoyed me at the gala."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic card. He slid it across the polished wood of the conference table. It spun and stopped right in front of Kate.

"The Four Seasons. Penthouse Suite," Armond said, his back to her. "Wait for me there tonight. If you can prove you're... committed to this arrangement, I'll consider it."

Kate stared at the key card. It was a proposition. A test. A humiliation.

It was Leo's safety.

She picked up the card. It felt heavy. "Deal."

She walked out without looking back.

Armond watched her reflection in the glass. He didn't care about the Board. He owned the Board. But Kate Silva had run from him once, leaving a void he refused to acknowledge. Now, she was back in his trap.

Sebastian walked in. "Sir? Sterling is calling about the acquisition."

"Ignore him," Armond said. "But keep an eye on him. I want to see just how desperate she is."