"Wait."

Victoria's voice stopped them at the door.

Ingram turned. "You need rest, Grandmother."

"I need to secure the line," Victoria said. She pointed to a small, antique-looking lockbox on her bedside table. "The key is in the safe. Code 1945."

Ingram hesitated, then keyed in the code on the wall safe. The heavy door swung open. Inside sat a single, ornate silver key.

"Bring it here."

Ingram brought the key to the bed. Victoria took it and opened the box. Inside lay a simple, heavy signet ring. It was ancient, a deep, burnished gold, carved with the Holmes crest.

Ingram stiffened. "Grandmother, that is the Head of Household's Ring."

"It's the key to the family trust's primary vault," Victoria corrected him. "Put it on her."

Elmira's heart skipped a beat. She knew about this ring. It wasn't just jewelry. It was a legal instrument. Possession of it granted certain non-transferable proxy rights. The key to the vault where the black ledgers were.

"It's too much," Elmira said, feigning modesty.

"Put it on her, Ingram," Victoria commanded. "Unless you plan on defying my direct order?"

Ingram took the ring. He took Elmira's left hand. He slid the cold metal over her knuckle. It was a perfect fit.

"Now," Victoria said, her eyes gleaming. "This changes things. The NDA is void. You will draw up a new contract, Ingram. A prenuptial agreement. She will live at the manor. Under your protection. As the mother of the next Holmes heir."

Elmira looked at Ingram. He looked at her.

Do it, his eyes said. For the shares.

Elmira looked back at Victoria. "Thank you, Mrs. Holmes." There was no kiss. No performance.

Ingram's expression was unreadable. He had been outmaneuvered.

Victoria cackled softly.

"She's a keeper, this one," she said.

Ingram grabbed Elmira's hand-the one with the ring. He pulled her toward the door.

"Rest, Grandmother."

They walked to the elevator in silence. The air between them was thick, charged with static.

As the elevator doors closed, Elmira flexed her fingers, feeling the weight of the ring.

"A good day's work," she said, her voice shaking slightly.

Ingram looked straight ahead at the metal doors. He adjusted his tie.

"Silas is drawing up the contract now," he said roughly. "Don't think this means you've won."

But he reached out and took her hand again. He ran his thumb over the gold crest on her finger. He didn't let go.

The ride back to the estate was silent. The rain had started, drumming against the roof of the Rolls Royce.

"Name your price," Ingram said suddenly.

Elmira looked away from the window. "Excuse me?"

"You saved her. You proved my mother incompetent. You solidified my position." Ingram looked at her. "The million-dollar settlement is off the table. You have leverage now. What do you want?"

Elmira's mind raced. She touched the signet ring. She had the key. Now she needed the location.

"I want access to the library," she said.

Ingram's eyes narrowed. "The library? Why?"

"Your grandfather's private collection," Elmira lied. "It contains legal and financial archives from the Gilded Age. First editions. I want to study them."

It was a risky lie. The library was also where the safe was hidden.

Ingram studied her. He was calculating risk.

"Fine," he said. "But there is a condition."

"What?"

"You report to me every night. On Victoria's health. In person."

"I can email you."

"No." Ingram leaned back. "I want to see your face when you report. I want to know if you're hiding anything."

He was keeping her on a leash.

"Deal," Elmira said.

Ingram reached into his briefcase. He pulled out a tablet and handed it to her.

"Also, we need to fix your public profile."

Elmira looked at the screen. It was a press release draft. It had her photo. It listed her as a reclusive prodigy, a former recipient of the Holmes scholarship who had continued her postgraduate research in private, under the family's direct patronage.

"My PR team drafted it," Ingram said casually. "It explains your sudden appearance. If anyone asks, you didn't just read books. You were a private scholar, focused on your work."

Elmira stared at him. He had just handed her the perfect cover. He thought he was protecting his reputation. He was actually protecting her spycraft.

"You're packaging me like a new asset."

"I protect my assets," Ingram said. "I can't have the press thinking I associate with unknowns."

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes," she said, the word dripping with sarcasm.

"You're welcome, Ms. Moran."

The car turned through the massive iron gates. Holmes Manor rose out of the mist, a sprawling gothic beast of stone and ivy.

Elmira swallowed. She was inside the fortress.

The staff was lined up in the foyer. A dozen people in uniforms.

Mrs. Landers, the housekeeper, stood at the front. She was a round woman with a stern face and eyes that were cold and assessing.

"Welcome home, Mr. Holmes. And the... guest."

Ingram helped Elmira out of the car. He kept his hand on her lower back.

"Mrs. Landers," Ingram said. "Is the room ready?"

"Oh, yes sir!" Mrs. Landers said, her voice devoid of warmth. "I prepared the Master Suite. I moved the young lady's things in."

Elmira froze. "The Master Suite?"

She looked at Ingram. My contract will stipulate separate rooms.

Ingram leaned close to her ear. "Landers reports to my grandmother. If we sleep apart, Victoria will know by breakfast. The trust will be contested again."

Elmira gritted her teeth. She smiled at Mrs. Landers. "Wonderful."

They walked up the grand staircase. The house smelled of lemon polish and old money.

Mrs. Landers opened the double doors to the Master Suite.

It was enormous. A fireplace. A balcony.

And one bed.

It was a four-poster King, draped in heavy velvet. But it was definitely just one bed.

Mrs. Landers closed the door, leaving them alone.

Elmira immediately stepped away from him. "I'll take the floor."

She looked around. There was no sofa. Just two stiff armchairs by the fire.

"I'm not sleeping in a chair," Ingram said, taking off his jacket. "And neither are you. It's a King. Stay on your side."

He walked into the bathroom and shut the door. The shower turned on.

Elmira went to the closet. She needed anything familiar.

She opened the doors and gasped.

Her clothes were gone. The jeans, the t-shirts-vanished.

In their place were rows of silk. Lace. Sheer chiffon.

Mrs. Landers had "unpacked." And apparently, she had decided the newest acquisition needed a new wardrobe.

Elmira pulled out a slip. It was black lace and practically transparent. She pulled out another. Red silk, backless.

The bathroom door opened. Steam billowed out.

Ingram walked out. He had a towel wrapped low around his hips. Water droplets clung to his chest hair. His abs were defined, hard ridges of muscle.

He stopped. He saw Elmira holding the scrap of black lace.

His eyebrows went up. "Trying to live up to the morality clause?"

Elmira threw the lace back into the closet. Her face burned. "Landers took my clothes."

Ingram smirked. It was the first time she had seen him look almost... human.

"Well," he said, walking toward the bed. "You have two choices. Wear the silk. Or wear nothing."