Sera walked to the door and engaged the deadbolt. She checked the signal detector app on her phone-a hidden program she'd coded herself. The cameras were video only, no audio.

She walked back to Harrison and sat on the ottoman in front of him.

I know your blindness is toxicological, not traumatic, she said.

Harrison's knuckles turned white on the head of his cane. Who sent you?

No one. I'm a doctor. A real one. Not the quack you have on payroll.

Harrison scoffed. You're twenty-three. You're a college dropout.

"I won a full, anonymous scholarship to Johns Hopkins at fifteen. The Quinns never knew. They thought the checks they sent were for a low-tier state college. I lived a double life, Harrison. The money they thought was for rent and books? It paid for my burner phones and encrypted hard drives. I graduated at nineteen under a name they'd never find. I'm a ghost. The Quinns just paid for the sheets I used to disappear."

She leaned in. Your symptoms. Photophobia. Muscle spasms. The sweet smell on your breath. It's a cumulative neurotoxin. Dr. Lewis is poisoning you.

Harrison went very still. He had suspected it. But hearing it said aloud made the rage boil in his gut.

What do you want?

My mother's trust fund. The Quinns stole it. And her necklace. It's the key to the account. You help me get those, and I give you your eyes back.

Harrison turned his face toward her voice. You're insane.

Give me seven days, Sera said. If you don't see light-just light-in seven days, you can throw me to the wolves. Or into the ocean. I don't care.

Harrison weighed the odds. He was dying anyway.

Fine. But if you're lying... I will kill you myself.

Deal.

Sera stood up. She took his hand. His palm was rough, calloused.

She went to work immediately. She retrieved the leather roll from the hem of her dress and selected several needles.

Lie down on the floor. In the corner. The cameras can't see the floor there.

Harrison hesitated, then lowered himself onto the carpet. Sera knelt beside him.

She smelled of rain and cheap drugstore shampoo. It was... clean.

She touched his face. Her fingers were cool, professional.

This will sting.

She inserted the first needle into the temple. Then the bridge of the nose. Then the sensitive skin under the eye.

Harrison flinched, but didn't make a sound.

Sera worked fast. She could feel the tension in his facial muscles.

Relax, she whispered. Her breath fanned across his cheek.

For twenty minutes, silence. Harrison focused on her breathing. It was steady.

Okay. I'm taking them out.

She removed the needles. Open your eyes.

Harrison opened them. The darkness was still there. But... in the center of his vision, the impenetrable black had turned to a dark, muddy gray.

It wasn't sight. But it wasn't nothing.

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Sera saw the shock on his face.

Don't tell anyone, she warned. Especially Sophia. To them, you're still blind.

Harrison sat up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, black metal card. He tossed it onto her lap.

Buy some decent clothes. You look like a beggar. And get whatever medical supplies you need.

Sera picked up the card. It was heavy. Unlimited limit.

She smiled. It was the first real smile she'd had in years.

Pleasure doing business with you, husband.

The Quinn mansion was under siege.

Beatrice Sterling didn't knock. She didn't ring the bell. Her security team simply pushed past the sputtering maid.

Jerome and Lydia were in the living room, drinking champagne, celebrating the "sale" of Sera. They froze as Beatrice swept in, bringing the cold air with her.

Mrs. Sterling! Lydia stood up, plastering a nervous smile on her face. What a lovely surprise. We were just-

Beatrice picked up the champagne bottle and smashed it onto the coffee table. Glass and expensive bubbles exploded everywhere.

Jerome yelped and jumped back.

You think I'm a fool? Beatrice hissed. You sent me a defective product. A lying, manipulative little stray.

Lydia went pale. Sera? What did she do?

She's an embarrassment! Beatrice shouted. But she's a Sterling now. And because she's a Sterling, her shame is my shame. And I blame the source.

Tiffany walked in, chewing gum. What's going on? Did the blind freak send her back already?

The room went dead silent.

Beatrice turned slowly to look at Tiffany.

What did you call him?

Tiffany rolled her eyes. Harrison. The blind freak. Everyone knows it.

Beatrice snapped her fingers.

The bodyguard closest to Tiffany stepped forward. He didn't hesitate. He swung his hand-a heavy, open-palm slap that connected with Tiffany's cheek like a thunderclap.

Tiffany spun around and hit the floor. She screamed, clutching her face. Blood trickled from her lip.

My baby! Lydia shrieked, dropping to her knees beside her daughter.

Beatrice looked down at them with absolute disgust.

Disrespect the Sterling name again, and she loses the tongue.

She turned to Jerome, who was shaking so hard his knees were knocking together.

For the insult of sending me that girl, and for raising such a vulgar creature as this one... Beatrice pointed at Tiffany.I'm taking five percent of Quinn Enterprises. Transfer the shares by morning, or I pull all Sterling capital from your accounts. You'll be bankrupt by noon.

Jerome gasped. Five percent? That's... that's millions!

Consider it a penalty fee.

Beatrice turned and marched out.

Lydia held Tiffany, rocking her. Her eyes were filled with venom.

Sera did this, Lydia hissed. She turned them against us.

She grabbed her phone. She dialed a number.

Hello? Is this The Daily Mail? I have a scoop. The new Mrs. Sterling... she's abusing her disabled husband. I have proof.

At Sterling Manor, Sera was sitting on the floor of the bedroom, surrounded by delivery boxes. She was humming.

Harrison was in his chair, listening to an audiobook at double speed.

You're cheerful, he noted.

Sera checked her phone. A contact named "Ghost" had just texted her: Quinn stock dropped 5%. Tiffany Quinn admitted to ER with facial contusion.

Just reading the news, Sera said. It seems karma has a really quick delivery service.

Harrison smirked. Beatrice?

Beatrice.

Good, Harrison said.

We're going back, Sera said.

She stood in front of Harrison the next morning. She was wearing a tailored black dress she'd bought with his card. It fit like armor.

Harrison frowned. To the Quinn house? Why?

I need the necklace. The Beloved. My mother wore it every day. It has the access key to the trust.

I'll send a guard.

No. They'll hide it. I have to go.

Then I'm coming with you.

Sera paused. You never leave the estate.

I'm not letting my wife go into a den of vipers alone. It looks bad for the brand.

Sera smiled. Right. The brand.

When the car pulled up to the Quinn mansion, it was a circus. Reporters were swarming the driveway. Lydia had done her work well.

Is it true you hit him? a reporter shouted, shoving a microphone at the window.

Are you only here for the money?

Sera stepped out. The flashes were blinding. She walked around to the other side and opened the door. She unfolded the wheelchair.

Harrison transferred himself into it. He put on his sunglasses. He looked like a king on a throne of chrome and leather.

Sera pushed him toward the door. The reporters crowded in.

Mrs. Sterling! Look here!

Harrison raised one hand. It was a small gesture, but it commanded absolute silence.

Move, he said.

The reporters parted like the Red Sea.

Inside, the mood was funeral. Jerome looked ten years older. Tiffany's face was swollen and purple on one side.

Sera didn't waste time. Give me the necklace.

Lydia sniffed. We lost it. Years ago.

Sera's eyes scanned the room. She looked at Tiffany. There was a silver chain peeking out from under the collar of her high-necked sweater.

Liar.

Sera marched over to Tiffany.

Don't touch me! Tiffany shrieked, backing away.

Sera grabbed the collar of Tiffany's sweater and ripped it down. The silver pendant-a teardrop diamond-glinted in the light.

Sera didn't ask. She reached behind Tiffany's neck and unclasped it. Tiffany tried to scratch her, but Sera caught her wrist and twisted.

Ow! Let go!

That's mine, Sera said coldly.

Jerome stepped forward. That's enough! Get out of my house!

Harrison tapped his cane on the floor. Thud.

Jerome, Harrison said, his voice bored. Do you want me to buy your company just to fire you?

Jerome froze.

Let her take it, Harrison said. Whatever she wants.

Sera clasped the necklace around her own neck. The metal was warm from Tiffany's skin, which made her skin crawl, but the weight of it was grounding.

She turned to Harrison. I'm done.

They walked out. The reporters were still there, but they stayed back.

In the car, Sera took the necklace off. She ran her thumb over the back of the setting. There was a tiny groove. She pressed it with her fingernail. The intricate silver filigree on the back shifted, a section sliding aside to reveal not a memory card, but a small, uniquely shaped piece of metal. A custom-made vault key.

Harrison heard the click.

Got it? he asked.

Sera held the key tight. Got it.

Thank you, she said softly. For coming.

Harrison shrugged. I just hate it when people touch my property.

Sera looked at him. Property.

She slid the key back in. It didn't matter what he called her. As long as he protected her.