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.

It was midnight. The Stone Estate was silent.

Jedidiah sat in his study, the glow of the monitors illuminating his face. He was looking at the list of guests from the gala again.

He scrolled down.

Julian Kensington.

Julian hadn't attended. But his car-a distinct silver Maybach-had been logged by security cameras two blocks away at 11:00 PM.

The exact time the intruder entered the estate.

Jedidiah leaned back. The pieces were starting to fit, but the picture they formed was ugly.

What if the woman was a plant sent by Julian? What if the "mute" fiancée was just a way to legitimize her presence in their social circle?

But Evita... she seemed so pathetic. So broken.

Unless that was the point. The perfect disguise.

Meanwhile, at Kensington Manor, Evita was under the covers of a guest bed. She held a small device in her hand-a bug detector.

The red light was blinking furiously.

Four cameras. Two audio bugs. Julian was watching her every move.

She had poured the glass of warm milk he offered her down the toilet. She didn't trust him. Not for a second.

She pulled out her encrypted phone.

Evita: I'm in. But he's watching me.

Harper: Be careful. I found a link between Julian and the Beirut bombing. A money transfer to a shell company in Lebanon two days before the explosion.

Evita's blood ran cold. Julian tried to kill Jedidiah. And now she was sleeping in his house.

Back at the Stone Estate, Jedidiah made a decision.

He picked up the phone. "Quentin. Get the legal team up. Now."

"Sir? It's midnight."

"I don't care. Draft a letter to the Peck family."

Jedidiah stared at the photo of Evita on his screen.

"Pull up the file on the Stone-Peck joint media venture from the nineties," Jedidiah said. "I want to invoke Section Four, Sub-clause B. The Hostile Asset Acquisition clause."

Quentin gasped on the other end of the line. "The marriage protocol? Sir, that's a poison pill designed to prevent a takeover. It gives the Stone family the right to absorb any 'key family asset'-including a direct heir-if the Peck family enters a strategic alliance with a direct competitor. An engagement to a Kensington qualifies."

"Exactly," Jedidiah said. His voice was ice. "Julian thinks he can steal from me? He thinks he can plant a spy in my bed and then parade her around as his wife?"

"But sir, the penalty for them refusing is that we get a controlling interest in their network. They'll fight it."

"Let them fight. But first, they'll get the offer," Jedidiah said. "If she's a spy, I want her where I can see her. In my house. In my bed. Under my control."

He looked at his legs. The legs Julian had taken from him.

"Send the letter," Jedidiah commanded. "Evita Peck is marrying me."

Evita lay in the dark at Kensington Manor, shivering. She felt a sudden, overwhelming sense of dread. The net was tightening. She had escaped the wolf only to run to the tiger, and now... the wolf was coming to drag her back.