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.

Evita splashed cold water on her face. She stared at herself in the mirror. Her pupils were normal sized today. Her skin was pale.

"Get it together," she mouthed.

She dried her face and stepped out of the restroom.

The hallway was narrow, lined with dark wood paneling.

Jedidiah was there.

His wheelchair was positioned horizontally across the corridor, blocking her path.

Evita stopped. She pressed her back against the wall, shrinking away from him.

Jedidiah rolled forward, closing the distance until his knees were inches from her legs. He trapped her between the chair and the wall.

"Cut the act," he said quietly.

Evita shook her head, her eyes wide.

"I know you can speak," he whispered. He reached up. His hand, large and calloused, cupped her cheek. His thumb brushed over her bottom lip.

Evita's breath hitched. The touch was electric. It brought back the memory of the dark room, the heat, the desperation.

"That night," Jedidiah murmured, leaning in. "The woman in my room. She tasted like you."

Evita let the tears come. It was easy. She was terrified. She let a single tear roll down her cheek and onto his thumb.

Jedidiah paused. He looked at the tear. It seemed genuine.

He leaned closer, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He inhaled deeply.

He was looking for the scent. The scent of rain and something clean, almost sterile, like the soap from a convent.

Instead, his nose was filled with the overpowering, powdery smell of roses. Evita had bathed in Eleanora's perfume this morning.

Jedidiah pulled back, wrinkling his nose. "You smell like a funeral home."

Evita let out a shaky breath. She had anticipated this.

Jedidiah looked at her face again. The fear was there, but the fire was missing. The woman in his room had been a fighter. This girl... this girl was a rabbit.

He dropped his hand. Disappointment washed over him.

"Stay away from Julian," he said, his voice rough. "He'll eat you alive. He doesn't collect broken things to fix them. He collects them to put on a shelf."

He spun his chair around and wheeled away, leaving her trembling against the wall.

Evita watched his broad back disappear around the corner. Her expression shifted instantly. The fear vanished, replaced by a cold, hard glare.

You're the one who's going to get eaten, you arrogant prick, she thought.

She returned to the table. Julian was paying the bill.

"Did he say anything?" Julian asked, looking at her red eyes.

Evita looked at him, then touched her own throat, a sign for he warned me, and then pointed at Julian, a sign for about you.

Julian laughed. It was a dark, delighted sound. "Good. That means I'm getting under his skin."

They walked out to the curb. Eleanora was waiting by the limo, looking anxious.

"Evita is coming to stay at Kensington Manor," Julian announced. "For her safety. Until the wedding."

Evita looked up sharply. That wasn't the plan.

"Of course!" Eleanora beamed. "Whatever you say, Julian!"

Evita looked at Julian. He was smiling, but his eyes were cold.

"It's better this way," he whispered to her. "Closer to me. Closer to the truth."

Evita nodded slowly. Going to Kensington Manor was walking into a lion's den. But it also meant she would have access to Julian's private servers. If he was the one who bombed Jedidiah three years ago, the proof would be there.

She got into the car.