The zipper of the suitcase screamed in the quiet room. It was cheap plastic, snagging on the frayed fabric of Alivia's old hoodie.

She shoved the last of her clothes inside. It didn't take much space. Eighteen years of life in the Clemons estate, and she could fit her entire existence into a carry-on.

"Leaving so soon?"

Alivia didn't turn. She knew that voice. It was the sound of sugar-coated poison.

Kacy leaned against the doorframe, looking like a page out of Vogue. Her Chanel tweed suit was immaculate, a stark contrast to the peeling wallpaper of Alivia's attic room.

"I heard he eats raw meat," Kacy said, examining her cuticles. "And that he likes to use knives in bed. Hope you have thick skin, sis."

Alivia kept her head down, her fingers white-knuckling the suitcase handle. "Get out, Kacy."

"Is that how you talk to your betters?" Kacy pushed off the wall. She walked over and kicked the suitcase.

It wasn't a hard kick, but the latch was broken. The lid popped open. Clothes spilled out onto the dusty floor.

A small, framed photograph slid across the wood. It was black and white-a beautiful woman laughing in a garden. Alivia's mother.

Kacy's heel came down on it.

Crack.

The sound of the glass breaking snapped something inside Alivia's chest.

"Oops," Kacy smiled.

Alivia moved. It wasn't a conscious decision. It was a reflex. She shoved Kacy. Hard.

Kacy stumbled back, her eyes widening in genuine shock. She hit the doorframe with a dull thud.

"You little bitch!" Brenda's voice screeched from the hallway.

The stepmother appeared like a wraith, hand raised to strike. Alivia flinched, bracing for the sting.

"Mrs. Clemons! They're here!" Alfred, the butler, shouted from the bottom of the stairs, his voice trembling. "Blackburn is here!"

Brenda's hand froze in mid-air. She lowered it slowly, her eyes narrowing into slits. "Saved by the bell. Fix your face. You look like a corpse."

Downstairs, the atmosphere had shifted. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of ozone and money.

Alivia descended the stairs, clutching her taped-up suitcase. She had shoved her oversized black glasses back onto her face, hiding behind the thick frames.

Through the front window, she saw them. Three black Cadillac Escalades, idling like beasts in the driveway.

The driver of the middle car opened the rear door.

A man stepped out. He was balding, slightly paunchy, wearing a suit that cost more than this house but fit him poorly. He had a sneer plastered on his face.

"That's him?" Kacy whispered from the landing, stifling a giggle. "Oh my god, he really is a troll. I don't get it, though. That's the guy who supposedly uses knives in bed? He looks like he'd struggle with a butter knife."

Alivia felt a wave of nausea. This was her husband?

Then, the front passenger door opened.

A mountain of a man unfolded himself from the vehicle. He was dressed in a black tactical suit, an earpiece coiled behind his ear, dark aviators covering his eyes. He stood a head taller than everyone else.

He didn't move like a driver. He moved like a weapon.

Clay rushed forward, shaking the balding man's hand. "Mr. Blackburn! An honor. Truly."

The balding man-Finn-didn't take off his leather gloves. He just grunted. "Let's get this over with. This place smells like desperation."

Alivia stood by the stairs, trying to make herself invisible.

She felt it before she saw it. A gaze. Heavy. Physical.

She looked past the "husband" to the bodyguard.

He was standing by the car, arms crossed over a chest that looked like it was carved from granite. Even through the sunglasses, she knew he was looking at her. Not at her father. Not at Kacy. At her.

They moved into the living room. The "husband" sprawled onto the antique sofa, putting his muddy shoes on the coffee table. The bodyguard stood silently in the corner, blending into the shadows.

"Tea, Alivia!" Clay barked, snapping his fingers.

Alivia hurried to the silver service tray. Her hands were shaking. The proximity to the "husband" made her skin crawl.

She picked up the teapot. As she turned, her foot caught on the edge of the rug.

The tray tipped. Boiling water and fine china plummeted toward the floor.

A hand shot out from the shadows.

It was a blur of motion. The bodyguard caught the tray inches from the ground with one hand, effortlessly stabilizing it.

His other hand gripped her forearm to steady her.

Zap.

The contact sent a jolt of electricity straight up her arm, seizing her heart. It wasn't static. It was recognition.

Alivia gasped, looking up.

She was inches from the bodyguard's face. Up close, he smelled of rain. And cedar. And ice.

The smell from the hotel room.

He didn't let go. His thumb pressed into the soft skin of her inner arm, right over her pulse point.

"Careful," he whispered.

The voice. It was the same deep, gravelly baritone that had threatened to kill her last night.

Alivia stared at her own reflection in his aviators, her mouth falling open.

"Is this swill?" Finn spat, pushing the teacup away so hard it rattled against the saucer. "I thought the Clemons family had taste. Apparently, bankruptcy takes everything, including the ability to brew tea."

Clay turned a shade of purple usually reserved for bruised fruit. "My apologies, Mr. Blackburn. I'll have the staff-"

"Forget it," Finn waved a gloved hand dismissively. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick document, slapping it onto the coffee table. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the silent room. "Sign. The funds transfer upon signature."

Alivia stood frozen near the fireplace, clutching the handle of a worn, vintage leather suitcase-her mother's. Its scuffed corners told more of a story than anything new ever could. She could feel the bodyguard's presence behind her like a heat source. She hadn't dared to look at him since the tea incident. Her mind was a chaotic whirlpool.

The voice. The smell. Why is the bodyguard the man from the hotel?

Clay didn't even read the first page. He flipped to the back, uncapped his fountain pen, and scribbled his name. He was selling his daughter for a liquidity injection, and he looked relieved.

"And the girl?" Finn asked, leaning back, his eyes raking over Alivia with deliberate, exaggerated lewdness. "Come here. Let me see what I bought."

Alivia's stomach churned. She didn't move.

"Alivia!" Clay hissed. He grabbed her shoulder and shoved her forward. "Show some respect!"

She stumbled, the heels of her worn-out boots skidding on the hardwood. She was going to fall right into Finn's lap.

A hard arm banded across her stomach, arresting her momentum instantly.

She was hauled back against a chest that felt like a steel plate. The bodyguard. Again.

This time, he didn't release her immediately. He held her there, his arm a solid bar across her midsection, her back pressed against him. She could feel the slow, powerful thud of his heart against her shoulder blades.

"She's not a dog," the bodyguard said.

The room went dead silent.

Clay looked affronted. "Excuse me? You're just the help. Speak when spoken to."

Finn, surprisingly, didn't reprimand his employee. He just smirked. "He gets protective of my property. Don't mind him."

The bodyguard leaned down. His lips brushed the shell of Alivia's ear.

"Breathe," he commanded. It was barely a sound, just a vibration of air. "They can't hurt you anymore."

Alivia looked up at him, her eyes wide behind her glasses. He wasn't looking at her. He was staring at Clay with a look of such concentrated malice that Alivia feared for her father's life.

"Right," Finn stood up, dusting off his suit. "We're done here. Grab your trash bag, sweetheart. We're leaving."

"Alivia," Brenda called out, her voice dripping with fake syrup. "Be a good wife. Don't embarrass us."

Alivia looked at the people who had raised her. The father who sold her. The stepmother who hated her. The sister who tormented her.

She felt the bodyguard's hand shift to the small of her back. A gentle, guiding pressure.

"Let's go," he said.

And for the first time in her life, Alivia obeyed a command without hesitation. Not because she was afraid, but because the man issuing it was the only thing standing between her and the abyss.

She walked out the front door, the cool autumn air hitting her face. She climbed into the back of the middle Escalade.

The bodyguard didn't get in the front. He climbed into the back seat, right next to her.

Finn took the jump seat opposite them.

As the heavy door slammed shut, sealing them in, Alivia pressed herself against the window, as far away from both men as possible.

She was trapped.

The convoy rolled out of the iron gates of the Clemons estate. As soon as they hit the main road, a mechanical whir filled the cabin. The privacy partition between the driver and the passenger compartment slid up, locking into place.

Silence descended.

Alivia watched, paralyzed, as the dynamic in the car shifted instantly.

The "husband," Finn, slumped in his seat, ripping off the leather gloves. "Jesus, Boss. That guy is a slimeball. I wanted to punch him."

"Boss?" Alivia whispered.

Next to her, the bodyguard moved.

He reached up and pulled the earpiece from his ear, letting it dangle. Then, he took off the aviator sunglasses.

Alivia stopped breathing.

Eyes. The bluest eyes she had ever seen. Like the center of a gas flame. They were framed by thick, dark lashes that made his gaze intense, almost predatory.

He wasn't just handsome. He was devastating.

He unbuttoned his tactical jacket, revealing a bespoke dress shirt underneath that strained against his shoulders.

Finn opened a mini-fridge and handed a bottle of Evian to the bodyguard. "Water, Gideon?"

Gideon.

Alivia's head snapped toward him. "You..."

Gideon Blackburn took a sip of water, his throat working. He turned those blue eyes on her. The intensity was physical, like a weight on her chest.

"You're not the bodyguard," she said, her voice trembling.

"No," he said. His voice was smooth now, the pain from the migraine gone, leaving only authority.

"And he..." She pointed at Finn.

"Finn Thomas. My COO," Gideon said calmly.

"But... the rumors. The monster. The bald..." Alivia gestured vaguely at Finn's receding hairline.

Finn chuckled. "Hey, I'm sensitive about the hair."

"Why?" Alivia demanded. Anger began to override her fear. "Why the lie?"

"Because I wanted to see who I was buying," Gideon said. He leaned forward, invading her personal space. "And I wanted to see if you were like them."

"And?"

"You're not."

The car slowed, turning into an underground garage in Tribeca. They bypassed the lobby, taking a private elevator that opened directly into a penthouse that spanned the entire 55th floor.

The view was staggering. Manhattan lay spread out below them like a bed of diamonds.

But Gideon didn't look at the view. He backed Alivia up until her legs hit the edge of a velvet sofa.

"Welcome home," he said.

"This is crazy," Alivia shook her head. "I can't... I don't know who you are."

"I told you last night," Gideon stepped closer. He reached out.

Alivia flinched, expecting a blow.

Gideon paused. His jaw tightened. "I will never hit you, Alivia. Do you understand?"

He reached out again, slower this time. His fingers hooked around the stems of her thick, black glasses.

"And you don't need to hide from me."

He pulled the glasses off her face and tossed them onto the sofa.

Alivia felt naked. Exposed. Without the frames, her face was open to him.

Gideon stared at her. His gaze dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes.

"I am Gideon Blackburn," he said, his voice low and rough. "I am your husband. And in this house, there is only one rule."

He placed his hands on the sofa back, caging her in.

"Never lie to me."

Alivia looked up at him, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. This man was dangerous. More dangerous than the monster she had imagined, because the monster she could hate.

This man... this man she could want.

"I won't," she whispered.

"Good." Gideon pushed off the sofa. "Alfred will show you to your room. Dinner is at eight."

He turned and walked toward a set of double doors, his stride long and commanding.

Alivia let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, her knees finally giving way as she sank onto the velvet cushions.