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."

Victoria Stone snipped the head off a prize-winning orchid. The flower fell to the tiled floor of the conservatory with a soft thud.

"Nothing?" she asked, not looking up.

Quentin shifted his weight. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the climate-controlled cool of the room. "No, ma'am. We've scrubbed the city. The woman doesn't exist. No prints, no face match."

"She exists," Victoria snapped. She pointed the shears at him. "A woman doesn't leave a bloodstain and vanish into thin air unless she is trained."

"We checked the guest list again," Quentin said. "The only anomaly was Evita Peck leaving early."

Victoria paused. "The mute."

"Yes."

"Julian Kensington just announced his engagement to her," Victoria mused. "On live television."

She set the shears down. Her mind worked like a trap snapping shut. Evita Peck. The silent, abused girl. The perfect cover. And now, Julian-who never did anything without a motive-had scooped her up.

"Why would Julian want a mute wife?" Victoria asked the air. "Unless her silence is an asset."

"Ma'am?"

"Find out where she was that night. Exactly where. I want a timeline."

Down in the basement level, the sounds of grunting and metal clanking filled the rehab gym.

Jedidiah was doing pull-ups. His wheelchair sat empty nearby. He was strapped to the bar, his upper body heaving, muscles coiling like steel cables under his sweat-slicked skin. His legs hung dead weight, dragging him down.

Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine.

Every rep was a battle against gravity and his own broken body.

He dropped from the bar, landing heavily on the mat. He dragged himself toward his chair, refusing the help of the therapist standing nearby.

"Get out," he growled.

The therapist left.

Jedidiah hauled himself into the chair. His arms burned. His chest heaved.

He picked up the tablet Quentin had left on the bench. The news was playing. Julian Kensington, holding Evita Peck's hand, smiling that fake, charming smile.

"Since we connected over our mutual love for quiet European towns..."

Jedidiah stared at Evita's face on the screen. She looked terrified. Her eyes were wide, darting around like a trapped animal.

Wait.

He zoomed in on the video. The way she held her shoulders. The tension in her neck.

It reminded him of something. The woman in the dark. The way she had tensed before...

"No," he muttered. "It can't be."

But Julian was involved. And if Julian wanted her, it meant she was valuable.

Quentin entered the gym. "Sir, your grandmother is asking for a background check on Evita Peck."

Jedidiah looked up. "Why?"

"Because of the engagement. She thinks... she thinks there's a connection to the breach."

Jedidiah looked back at the screen. Julian looked smug. Like he had won a prize.

A cold, competitive rage filled Jedidiah's chest. Julian had been in Beirut the day the car bomb went off. Julian had always wanted what was Jedidiah's.

"Prepare the car," Jedidiah said.

Quentin blinked. "Sir? You haven't left the estate in three years."

"I said prepare the car," Jedidiah snapped. He wiped the sweat from his face with a towel. "I think it's time I congratulated the happy couple. I want to meet my future... neighbor."

He looked at the image of Evita again.

"If she's the spy," Jedidiah whispered to the empty room, "I'm going to break her."