The water was scalding. Evita stood under the spray in the tiny bathroom of the Brooklyn safe house, scrubbing her skin with a stiff-bristled brush until it turned raw and red. She was trying to wash him off. The scent of sandalwood, the phantom sensation of his hands on her waist-it clung to her like a second skin.

She turned off the water and leaned her forehead against the cool tiles. Tears mixed with the droplets on her face. It wasn't just fear. It was the terrifying realization that for a few hours in the dark, she hadn't been pretending. She had been real. And she had liked it.

A knock on the door made her jump.

"Cipher," a male voice called out. "You're twelve hours late. I was about to scrub the mission."

Evita wrapped a towel around her hair and pulled on a thick bathrobe. She opened the door. Harper was standing there, holding a tablet, his face pale.

She walked past him into the living room, grabbing a tube of heavy-duty concealer from her bag. She began dabbing it onto the bruise on her neck.

"Mission aborted," she signed, her hands moving sharply. "Complications."

"Complications?" Harper scoffed. He shoved the tablet at her. "Look at the news. Vanderbilt Estate is on lockdown. They're saying it's a manhunt for a corporate spy."

Evita's heart skipped a beat. She took the tablet. The headline screamed: STONE SECURITY BREACH.

"Is that you?" Harper asked.

Evita didn't answer. She walked over to the pile of clothes she had discarded on the floor. She picked up the navy jacket.

"Holy shit," Harper breathed. He reached out and touched the fabric. "Is that... Vicuña wool? That's a forty-thousand-dollar jacket."

He flipped the lapel. Embroidered in silver thread were two small letters: J.S.

"J.S.," Harper muttered. He typed furiously on his keyboard. "Jedidiah Stone? The cripple? The recluse?"

Evita sank onto the sofa. The room spun. She had slept with the Broken King.

"If it was him," Harper said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "you are in serious trouble. Stone security is Mossad-level. If he finds you..."

"He didn't see my face," Evita said. Her voice was raspy, unused to being used. "It was dark. I was careful."

Harper looked at her, surprised by the sound of her voice. He rarely heard it.

Her burner phone buzzed on the table. It was the specific ringtone assigned to the Peck family. A shrill, demanding chime.

Evita picked it up.

"Where the hell are you?" Eleanora's voice screeched through the speaker. "Cherry said you ran off last night! Do you have any idea how much damage you've caused?"

Evita didn't speak. She tapped the microphone twice with her fingernail. Tap. Tap.

"Get back to D.C. immediately," Eleanora yelled. "I have news for you. And don't you dare make me wait."

The line went dead.

Evita stared at the phone. "She wants me back."

"Don't go," Harper said. "It's a trap. Stay here. We can extract you."

Evita stood up. Her eyes were cold, the fear replaced by a steely resolve. "No. The safest place is right under their noses. Jedidiah Stone is looking for a spy. He won't be looking for the Senator's mute, broken doll."

She began to pack. She took the navy jacket, folded it carefully inside out, and placed it in the hidden bottom compartment of her suitcase.

At the Stone Estate, Quentin stood before Jedidiah's desk.

"The camera feeds weren't looped, sir. They were corrupted. A localized EM pulse fried the recorders for a ninety-second window, exactly when she would have passed the main camera bank. It's not amateur work; it's military-grade stealth tech. We only have a back profile from a distance camera." Quentin hesitated. "We did find that Evita Peck, the Senator's illegitimate daughter, left early. She fits the general build."

Jedidiah looked up from his computer. "The mute?"

"Yes, sir."

Jedidiah let out a short, derisive laugh. "A traumatized girl who can't even speak? You think she deployed an EMP, breached my security, disabled three locks, and cleaned a crime scene?" He shook his head. "Don't waste my time. Check the others."

"Yes, sir."

"But," Jedidiah added, his eyes darkening, "keep an eye on the Peck family. O'Connell was looking for someone last night. There might be a connection."

Evita stepped out of the safe house, wearing an oversized gray sweater and thick-rimmed glasses. Her posture slumped, her gaze vacant. She was Evita Peck again.

A black SUV rolled slowly past the corner. The tinted window lowered an inch, just enough for a pair of eyes to watch her get into a cab.

The Peck mansion in D.C. smelled of lilies and old polish. Evita dragged her suitcase across the marble foyer, the wheels clicking loudly in the silence. Two maids dusted a vase nearby, watching her with open contempt.

In the drawing room, Eleanora was lounging on a velvet chaise, a martini glass dangling from her fingers. Cherry sat on the floor, scrolling through her phone, looking bored.

"Look who decided to grace us with her presence," Eleanora said, her voice slurring slightly. "Who was he? Some waiter? A busboy?"

Evita lowered her head, clasping her hands in front of her. She twisted her fingers together, mimicking anxiety.

"Mom, stop asking," Cherry giggled without looking up. "She probably just got lost in the garden. She's too damaged to hook up with anyone. O'Connell definitely didn't want her."

Eleanora set her glass down with a sharp clink. She stood up and walked over to Evita. The smell of gin was overpowering.

Without warning, Eleanora's hand lashed out.

Crack.

The slap echoed in the high-ceilinged room. Evita saw it coming. She could have blocked it, could have broken Eleanora's wrist in two moves. Instead, she turned her head into the blow, letting it snap her neck to the side.

She tasted copper. Her lip was cut.

"Because of you," Eleanora hissed, "O'Connell pulled his donation! You useless little parasite!"

Evita touched her lip, staring at the blood on her finger. She kept her face blank.

"But it doesn't matter," Eleanora said, smoothing her skirt. "I found a new use for you. You're getting married next week."

Evita's head snapped up. Her eyes widened. This wasn't acting.

"It's the Stones," Cherry said, finally looking up with a malicious grin. "Grandma says they need a 'clean' wife. Someone quiet."

Evita's blood ran cold. Stone. Jedidiah.

"Not Jedidiah," Eleanora waved her hand dismissively. "Who would want that cripple? It's his cousin. Simon."

Evita let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Simon Stone. The playboy. The one with the rumors about hurting women. It was bad, but it wasn't Jedidiah.

"Go unpack," Eleanora commanded. "The attic."

Evita grabbed her suitcase and hurried up the stairs.

Meanwhile, in the Stone Estate conservatory, Victoria Stone sat in a wicker chair, listening to the rain hit the glass roof.

"The report, ma'am," Ursula, the head housekeeper, whispered, handing over a file.

Victoria opened it. It was the lab analysis of the bedsheet.

"Unidentified female DNA," Victoria murmured, reading the summary. "No match in any criminal, civil, or medical database. A ghost. And the blood itself... high concentrations of Flunitrazepam mixed with a military-grade stimulant. She was drugged, but she was also fighting it." A slow, terrifying smile spread across her face. "Jedidiah finally broke his fast."

"Master Jedidiah is looking for her, but he doesn't know who she is," Ursula said.

Victoria tapped her cane on the floor. "Help him. I want to meet the woman who managed to climb into his bed and walk out alive."

Back in the Peck attic, Evita opened her suitcase. She reached for the hidden compartment. The jacket was there, safe.

If she married Simon, she would be in the Stone family. She would be inside their perimeter. It was dangerous, yes. But it was also the closest she had ever been to the truth about her mother's death. The clues all pointed to the Stone patriarch.

She pulled out her burner phone. Text to Harper: Get me dirt on Simon Stone. Everything.

The door to the attic burst open.

Evita jumped, shoving the phone under her thigh.

Cherry stood there, eyes gleaming. "Mom said I should check your bag. Make sure you didn't steal any silver."

"No," Evita signed.

Cherry ignored her. She grabbed the suitcase and dumped it upside down. Clothes spilled everywhere. She kicked through the pile.

"Ugly. Ugly. Trash," Cherry muttered. Then she saw the zippered lining at the bottom of the case. "What's this?"

Evita lunged.

She couldn't help it. If Cherry found the jacket with the J.S. monogram, it was over.

She grabbed the suitcase, her fingers digging into the fabric. For a split second, the mask slipped. Evita glared at Cherry with the eyes of a killer-cold, dead, and promising violence.

Cherry gasped, recoiling as if she'd been burned. She stumbled back.

"You... you freak!" Cherry shrieked. "Get away from me!"

She kicked the suitcase one last time and ran out of the room, slamming the door.

Evita collapsed onto the floor, clutching the bag to her chest. Her heart was hammering. That was too close.

Evita sat on the floor of the attic for an hour, listening to the house settle. She traced the outline of the jacket through the lining of the suitcase. She was walking a tightrope over a pit of vipers.

The next morning, chaos erupted.

A maid pounded on the attic door. "Miss Evita! Come quick! It's your mother!"

Evita ran down. An ambulance was in the driveway. Eleanora was being loaded onto a stretcher, clutching her chest, wailing dramatically.

"My heart! The stress! Oh, the stress!"

It was a performance. Evita knew Eleanora's health was perfect, preserved by expensive treatments and a lack of conscience.

Two hours later, Evita stood in a private room at St. Jude's Hospital. Eleanora lay in bed, looking pale thanks to a heavy layer of powder. A dozen reporters were crammed into the hallway, held back by security but close enough to hear.

"Evita," Eleanora sobbed, grabbing Evita's hand. Her grip was iron. "I only have one wish before I die. You must marry Simon. Secure the family's future."

Flashes went off through the open door. It was a public execution. If Evita refused, she was the ungrateful daughter killing her mother.

The door opened. Simon Stone walked in. He was handsome in a slick, oily way. He held a bouquet of red roses that looked like a funeral arrangement.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Peck," Simon said, his voice smooth. He walked up to Evita and wrapped an arm around her waist. His hand slid too low, resting on her hip. "I'll take good care of her."

Evita's stomach roiled. She calculated the angle to break his elbow. It would take less than a second.

"I think there's been a misunderstanding."

The voice cut through the room like a bell.

Everyone turned. Leaning against the doorframe, wearing a white linen suit that seemed to glow under the hospital lights, was Julian Kensington.

The heir to the Kensington empire. The sworn enemy of the Stones.

Julian smiled. It was a dazzling, practiced smile. He walked into the room, ignoring Simon completely.

"Evita is already spoken for," Julian said. He stopped in front of her.

Simon bristled. "What are you talking about, Kensington?"

Julian looked down at Evita. His eyes were blue, intelligent, and full of secrets. "Tell them, darling. Tell them about that little cafe in Switzerland."

Evita froze. Switzerland. The cafe was two blocks from the orphanage. A known dead-drop location. He knew. Or he was bluffing, casting a wide net to see what he caught. How much did he really know?

She stared at him, her mouth slightly open.

"She's shy," Julian said to the room. He reached out and gently pried Simon's hand off Evita's waist. "Evita and I have been engaged privately for months. Since we connected over our mutual love for quiet European towns."

The reporters went wild. Kensington Heir Marries Peck Daughter. It was a better headline than the Stone merger.

Eleanora sat up straight, her heart attack forgotten. "Julian? You... and Evita?"

Her mind raced. The Kensingtons were richer than the Stone cousins. More political influence.

"Yes," Julian said. He took Evita's hand and raised it to his lips. He kissed her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'm sorry I'm late, my love."

Evita didn't pull away. She couldn't. He was offering her a lifeline, but she knew it was attached to a hook.

"Well," Eleanora said, her voice trembling with greed. "If... if it's true love..."

Simon threw the roses on the floor. "This is bullshit!" He stormed out, shoving a photographer aside.

Julian guided Evita out of the room, shielding her from the cameras with his body. "Clear the way, please. My fiancée is overwhelmed."

They got into the elevator. The doors slid shut, cutting off the noise.

Julian dropped her hand instantly. His smile vanished.

"You're welcome," he said, staring at the numbers counting down.

Evita backed into the corner. She pulled out her phone and typed: What do you want?

Julian glanced at the screen. He leaned in close, trapping her in the corner. He smelled of expensive cologne and danger.

"I want to annoy Jedidiah Stone," he whispered. "And you, my dear mute, are going to help me do it. Now, let's discuss the terms of our... arrangement."