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."

Le Bernardin was quiet, the lunchtime rush having settled into a low murmur of business deals and affairs.

Evita sat across from Julian, picking at a lobster salad she couldn't eat. Her stomach was in knots.

"Relax," Julian said, slicing his steak with surgical precision. "You're doing fine. Just look adoring."

Evita caught his eye, then subtly angled her head toward the window, her expression a mask of vacant confusion. It was a pre-arranged signal. Why me?

Julian took a sip of wine. "Because you're a blank slate, Evita. Your file in Zurich is empty. No records, no history. That's rare. It means you're either nobody, or you're somebody very interesting."

Evita's hand tightened on her napkin. He was fishing.

Suddenly, the hum of the restaurant died. Silence rippled from the entrance like a wave.

Evita turned.

Jedidiah Stone was rolling through the dining room.

He was imposing, even sitting down. He wore a charcoal suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. His face was a mask of cold indifference, but his eyes were scanning the room like a predator. Quentin walked a step behind him.

Evita's fork clattered onto her plate. The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet room.

It was him. In the light.

He was more handsome than she remembered, and far more terrifying.

He rolled straight to their table. He didn't look at Julian. He looked at Evita.

Evita lowered her head, letting her hair fall forward to curtain her face. Don't look at him. Don't react.

"Jedidiah," Julian said, not standing up. "To what do we owe the honor? I thought you were allergic to sunlight."

"I heard the news," Jedidiah said. His voice was deep, resonating in Evita's chest. "I wanted to see the woman who finally got you to settle down."

He turned his chair slightly, facing Evita. "Miss Peck. Look at me."

It was a command.

Evita forced herself to lift her head. She made her eyes go unfocused, her mouth slightly slack. She adopted the vacant expression she had perfected over years of abuse.

Jedidiah stared into her eyes. He was searching for the spark he had seen in the dark. The fire.

But there was nothing. Just a dull, empty gaze.

He felt a pang of disappointment. Was he wrong?

"Congratulations, Julian," Jedidiah said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I heard you picked up my leftovers. The Peck family was desperate to offload her to my cousin."

"One man's trash is another man's treasure," Julian replied smoothly. "Besides, you never really... had her, did you?"

Jedidiah's jaw tightened. The double meaning hung in the air.

"Do you mind if I join you?" Jedidiah didn't wait for an answer. He signaled a waiter. "Bring a bottle of the '96 Château Margaux."

Evita froze. That was the wine. The wine O'Connell had forced her to drink. The smell alone would trigger her gag reflex.

The waiter poured three glasses. The aroma wafted across the table-earthy, rich, and terrifying.

Evita went pale. A sheen of sweat broke out on her upper lip.

Jedidiah watched her closely. "Is something wrong, Miss Peck? You look... unwell."

"She doesn't drink," Julian said quickly, placing a hand over Evita's glass. "Allergies."

"Is that so?" Jedidiah swirled his glass. "I heard O'Connell bought her a very expensive drink the other night. She seemed to enjoy it then."

Evita reached under the table and pinched the skin of her thigh, hard. The sharp pain grounded her. She kept her face blank, staring at the tablecloth.

"She has a delicate constitution," Julian said, his eyes narrowing at Jedidiah.

"Pity," Jedidiah said. He took a sip, his eyes never leaving Evita's face. "I prefer women with a bit more... tolerance."

Evita felt like she was being dissected. He was testing her. Pushing buttons to see if the machine would react.

She needed to get away.

She stood up abruptly, knocking her knee against the table leg. She pointed to the restroom sign.

"Go ahead, darling," Julian said.

Evita hurried away, her limp slightly exaggerated.

Jedidiah watched her go. He noticed the way she moved. It was clumsy, yes. But her stride... the length of her step... it matched the woman on the security footage.

"Excuse me," Jedidiah said. He spun his chair around and followed her.