The door slab flew across the room, knocking Silas into a pile of dirty laundry.

Four men in tactical gear swarmed the room. They moved with a terrifying efficiency that made the street thugs look like children.

The man with the knife didn't even have time to raise his weapon. Thwip-crack. A taser probe hit him in the chest. He convulsed and dropped like a stone.

The second thug reached for a gun in his waistband. A rifle butt smashed into his face, shattering his nose with a sickening crunch. He went down screaming.

Ines was pressed into the corner, the shard of glass held out like a dagger. Her eyes were wide, unseeing. She was in a fugue state, her brain disconnected from reality.

Dorian walked in.

He stepped over the twitching body of the first thug. He was still wearing his immaculate suit, but his tie was gone, and his collar was unbuttoned.

He scanned the room. He saw the blood on the floor. He saw the bruise blooming on Ines's cheek.

His eyes went black.

He walked straight to her. He crouched down, ignoring the filth on the floor.

"Ines," he said.

She didn't lower the glass. She slashed at the air, a feral sound escaping her throat. She didn't recognize him.

Dorian didn't flinch. He reached out and wrapped his hand around the jagged glass she was holding.

"It's me," he said.

The glass sliced into his palm. Blood-bright red-welled up between his fingers, dripping onto her knee.

Ines stared at the blood. The color shocked her back to the present. She gasped, dropping the shard.

"Dorian?" she mouthed.

He didn't answer. He took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her, covering her torn dress. Then he scooped her up into his arms.

He stood effortlessly, holding her against his chest.

Silas was trying to crawl toward the door. "Dorian! Mr. Mcclain! I'm her uncle! I was just-"

Dorian stopped. He looked down at the pathetic man.

"Preston," Dorian said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Make him disappear."

"Understood, sir," Preston said.

Ines shuddered in his arms. She buried her face in his shirt. The smell of cedar and blood filled her nose. It was the safest smell she had ever known.

Dorian carried her down the stairs, past the gawking neighbors, and out into the night.

He didn't put her in the seat. He sat in the back, keeping her on his lap.

"Don't move," he growled when she tried to shift. "You're bleeding."

The car pulled away smoothly.

Dorian opened a first aid kit from the console. He took an alcohol wipe.

"This will sting," he warned.

He dabbed the cut on her neck. Ines hissed, shrinking away.

Dorian frowned. He leaned down and blew gently on the wound. The cool air soothed the burn.

Ines looked up at him. His face was inches from hers. He was focused, intense, treating her skin like it was precious.

"Why didn't you speak?" he asked quietly. "Why didn't you ask for help?"

Ines looked down. She couldn't explain that her voice wasn't a choice. It was a casualty of war.

Dorian sighed. He pulled her tighter against him, his wounded hand staining the back of her dress.

"Never mind," he said. "Rest."

The elevator opened directly into the penthouse.

It was a cavernous space. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the Tribeca skyline. The furniture was sparse, modern, and cold. Gray velvet, black marble, chrome. It looked like a museum, not a home.

Dorian carried Ines to the massive sofa and set her down.

He walked to the wet bar and poured two fingers of amber liquid. He downed it in one swallow. He needed to burn away the image of that knife at her throat.

He returned with an ice pack and the medical kit.

He knelt on the floor in front of her.

"Legs," he commanded.

Ines hesitated. Her dress was ruined, riding up her thighs.

Dorian rolled his eyes. "I've seen it all before, Ines. Don't be shy now."

She extended her legs. Her knees were scraped raw from the fall.

He cleaned them with efficiency. His hands were gentle, despite his rough words. He bandaged the worst of the cuts.

"Shower," he said, pointing to a hallway. "There are clothes on the rack. Use the guest bath."

Ines nodded. She limped to the bathroom.

It was larger than her entire apartment. The shower was a rainfall style with six jets. She stood under the scalding water for twenty minutes, scrubbing the smell of the projects and the thugs' hands off her skin.

She dried off and found the clothes. There was no dress. Just a white button-down shirt. His shirt.

She put it on. It hung to her mid-thighs, the sleeves swallowing her hands. She rolled them up.

When she walked back out, Dorian was on the balcony, talking on the phone. The glass door was open.

"...freeze all of Silas's accounts. I want him destitute before he leaves the state," Dorian was saying. "And get me the number for Dr. Aris. The throat specialist."

Ines froze. He was looking for a doctor for her?

Dorian hung up and turned. He saw her.

His eyes swept over her, taking in the wet hair, the oversized shirt, the bare legs. His gaze darkened.

He walked back inside, sliding the door shut.

He picked up a new phone from the coffee table and handed it to her.

"It's encrypted," he said. "My number is the only one saved."

Ines took it. She typed quickly. Thank you. I will pay you back.

Dorian let out a harsh laugh. "Pay me back? With what? Maid wages?"

Ines flushed. She typed: That is my problem.

Dorian stepped closer. He placed his hands on the wall on either side of her head, trapping her.

"Silas said you belong to me," he murmured. "Since I'm absorbing your debts, that makes you my asset. Assets don't have problems. They have owners."

Ines glared at him. She pushed against his chest. He didn't budge.

He leaned down. His lips hovered a breath away from hers.

"Tell me," he whispered. "Why did you run three years ago? Tell me the truth, and I wipe the debt."

Ines's breath hitched. She remembered the night. The file she had found. The conversation she had overheard between his father and the senator. The reason her family had been framed.

If she told him, it would destroy him. Or he would kill her to protect the family.

She couldn't take that risk.

She looked away and shook her head.

Dorian pulled back. The heat in his eyes vanished, replaced by a wall of ice.

"Fine," he said. "Guest room is down the hall. Don't make a sound."

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, waking Ines.

She was in a bed that felt like a cloud. For a second, she forgot where she was. Then the smell of cedar hit her, and it all came rushing back.

She walked out into the living area.

Dorian was sitting at the dining table, reading news on a tablet. A spread of pastries and fruit sat untouched.

"Eat," he said without looking up. "Preston brought clothes. They're on the sofa."

Ines saw the bags. Chanel. Dior. Prada. Thousands of dollars of silk and wool.

She sat at the table and picked up a piece of toast. She felt like an imposter.

Her old, cracked phone buzzed on the table where she'd left it.

It wasn't the new, secure one he'd given her. It was her link to the world he'd just saved her from.

Ines picked it up.

It was an alert from the nursing home's patient portal. An official notification.

Ines dropped her fork. Clatter.

Dorian looked up, his eyebrow raised.

Ines hung up immediately.

A text came through. An image.

It was her grandfather, hooked up to machines in the nursing home. But the oxygen tube was loose.

The message wasn't from Silas. It was an automated payment demand from the facility for a sudden, unscheduled "emergency medication," costing exactly $6,000. The subtext was brutally clear. This was a dead man's switch. A trap Silas had set before he was taken, a network of corrupted staff still loyal to him.

Ines felt the blood drain from her face. Silas was gone, but his poison remained. She thought about her own accounts, the crypto wallets and offshore funds she hadn't touched in three years. A ghost network holding millions. But they were watched. She knew it. The moment she moved a single dollar, alarms would sound in Langley. She would be trading her grandfather's life for her own freedom, and they would find her in hours. She was trapped.

"Who was that?" Dorian asked.

Ines typed on her new phone: Spam call.

Dorian narrowed his eyes. He didn't believe her.

Ines checked the time. 11:00 AM. She had one hour.

She looked at Dorian. He was a billionaire. Six thousand dollars was pocket change to him.

But she had just rejected his money yesterday. She had just refused to tell him the truth.

She swallowed her pride. It tasted like ash.

She typed on the phone and slid it across the table to him.

Lend me $6,000. I will sign an IOU.

Dorian read it. He laughed, a cold, humorless sound.

"Six grand? You tore up a blank check yesterday that could have bought the nursing home."

He stood up and walked around the table. He stood behind her chair, leaning down so his mouth was by her ear.

"Ask me, Ines. Properly."

Ines trembled. She turned in her chair to face him. She grabbed the lapel of his robe. Her eyes pleaded with him.

Please.

"Not with looks," he whispered. "With an action. An act of submission."

Ines froze. She understood.

She stood up on her tiptoes. She placed her hands on his shoulders. She leaned in and pressed her lips to his cheek.

It was soft. Tentative. Humiliating.

Dorian went still. He hadn't expected her to actually do it. He felt the tremor in her lips against his skin.

He pulled back, looking at her. Her eyes were wet.

He felt a sudden, sharp pang of guilt. He felt like a monster.