The iron gates of the Melton estate were twelve feet high.

Camille stood in front of them, alone. The white suit gleamed in the morning sun.

She pressed the intercom button.

A camera whirred, focusing on her face.

"Name," a voice demanded. It was Jennings, the head butler.

"Agent X," Camille said calmly. "Tell Horatio I'm here."

There was a pause. "Mr. Melton is not accepting visitors without an appointment. Please leave, or I will release the dogs."

The intercom clicked off.

Camille sighed. "Hard way it is."

She pulled out her phone. It was a burner she had modified the night before. She leaned against the iron bars and started tapping.

She found the estate's local network. The firewall was expensive, but it had a flaw. It hadn't been patched for the latest smart-home update.

Camille executed the script.

Inside the manor, chaos erupted.

The sprinkler system in the pristine gardens exploded to life, drenching the three security guards patrolling the perimeter.

In the main house, the polite classical music playing over the speakers cut out. A split second later, heavy metal death rock blasted at maximum volume.

WAKE UP! WAKE UP!

In his study, Horatio flinched as the music shook the walls.

Blake rushed in, covering his ears. "Sir! The system! Someone hijacked the main server!"

Horatio grabbed his phone. A text message appeared on his private, unlisted number.

Open the gate. Or I raise the temperature in your wine cellar by thirty degrees. Goodbye, 1945 Mouton Rothschild.

Horatio walked to the window. He looked down at the monitor showing the front gate.

The woman in the white suit was leaning casually against the bars, checking her nails.

It was her. The driver. The fighter.

Horatio felt a strange sensation in his chest. It wasn't anger. It was amusement.

"Let her in," Horatio said.

"But sir-"

"Let. Her. In."

The music cut off instantly. The gates groaned and swung open.

Camille pocketed her phone. She walked up the long driveway, her heels clicking on the pavement.

Jennings opened the front door. He looked flustered.

"Mr. Melton is in the library," he said stiffly.

Camille walked past him. "I know the way."

She didn't, but she walked with enough confidence that no one questioned her. She found the double doors at the end of the hall and pushed them open.

Horatio stood by the fireplace. He was taller than he looked from a distance. Broad shoulders. Eyes that were the color of cold steel.

"Camille Haynes," Horatio said. "Race car driver. Martial artist. Hacker. You're a woman of many talents."

"Survival skills," Camille corrected.

Horatio stepped closer. The air between them crackled. "Where is Dr. X?"

Camille reached into her briefcase. She pulled out a slim, encrypted tablet, not the battered medical textbook.

"He's dead," Camille lied. "But I have everything he was working on." She tapped the tablet screen, bringing up a complex molecular model. "And everything he knew is in here." She tapped her temple.

Horatio's eyes narrowed. He reached out, his hand closing around her jaw. His grip was firm, testing.

"Are you playing games with me, Camille?" he asked softly. "My grandfather doesn't have time for games."

Camille didn't flinch. She leaned into his touch, challenging him.

"You can kill me," she said. "And your grandfather dies. Or you can listen to my price."

Horatio stared at her. He felt the pulse in her neck against his thumb. It was steady.

He released her.

"You have five minutes," Horatio said. "Convince me."

The hospital room inside the manor was more advanced than most ICUs.

Arthur Melton lay on the bed, hooked up to a dozen machines. He was frail, his skin translucent.

Dr. Evans, the family physician, stood by the bed, arms crossed. He looked at Camille with open disdain.

"This is ridiculous, Mr. Melton," Evans said to Horatio. "She's a convict, not a doctor. She doesn't even have a degree."

Camille ignored him. She had already hacked the hospital's private servers and reviewed every test and scan conducted on Arthur over the last year. She knew more about his condition than Evans did. She walked to the bed.

She didn't look at the monitors. She peeled back Arthur's eyelids. She checked his fingernails. She pressed her fingers against the lymph nodes in his neck.

"Did he travel to South America before the symptoms started?" Camille asked.

Horatio frowned. "No one knows about that trip. It was off the books."

"It's not Parkinson's," Camille said, turning to face them. "It's Aztec Neurotoxin poisoning. A very rare, very slow-acting derivative. It mimics degeneration. Your own blood panels showed anomalous peptide markers, but you misidentified them."

Dr. Evans opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked shocked.

"Can you cure it?" Horatio asked. His voice was tight.

"Yes," Camille said. "But I need three months. And I need access to the Lazarus Protocol compounds."

"Name your price," Horatio said immediately. "Fifty million? One hundred?"

Camille shook her head. "I don't want your money."

She took a step toward Horatio.

"I want a name," she said. "I want to be Mrs. Melton."

The silence in the room was absolute. The only sound was the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor.

Horatio stared at her. His face was unreadable. "You want to marry me?"

"I want the protection your name provides," Camille said. "And the power it unlocks. The Haynes family trust has a covenant. A married heir with a child gains controlling interest. Your name makes my child untouchable and gives me the weapon I need to destroy the people who put me in prison."

She paused. "It's a business merger. Three years. Then we divorce. I take nothing. No alimony. No assets. Just the safety of the name."

"And in exchange?" Horatio asked.

"I save your grandfather. And I keep the gold diggers away from you. I know you hate the dating scene. I'll be the perfect shield."

Horatio looked at her. He was calculating. Risk versus reward.

Suddenly, the heart monitor spiked. A rapid, high-pitched alarm filled the room. Arthur's body began to convulse.

"He's crashing!" Dr. Evans yelled, reaching for the defibrillator paddles.

"Don't shock him!" Camille shouted. "It's a neuro-storm! You'll fry his brain!"

She shoved Evans aside. She grabbed Arthur's hand and pressed her thumb hard into a specific nerve cluster between his thumb and index finger. She used her other hand to press a point behind his ear.

Ten seconds.

The convulsions stopped. The heart rate smoothed out.

Camille stepped back, breathing hard.

Horatio looked at his grandfather, then at Camille.

He pulled out his phone. He dialed a number.

"Get the lawyers," Horatio said. "Draft a prenuptial agreement. I'm getting married."

Camille let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"One more thing," Camille said. "I'm moving in today. I need to collect my last remaining belongings from the Haynes penthouse, but I refuse to walk back into that snake pit alone."

"Blake will send a car," Horatio said, putting his phone away.

"No," Camille said. "I want you to escort me. Personally."

Horatio raised an eyebrow. "Pushing your luck?"

"It's brand management, fiancé," Camille said. "If we're doing this, we do it loud."

Horatio looked at her. A corner of his mouth twitched upward.

"Fine," he said. "One hour. I'll meet you at that rat hole."

The Haynes penthouse smelled of lilies and denial.

Camille walked in. Her mother and Mia were in the living room, looking at fabric swatches for Mia's engagement party.

"You're back," Victoria said without looking up. "Did you beg for money on the street corner? That card is cancelled, you know."

Camille walked past them to her old bedroom.

She pushed the door open.

It wasn't her room anymore. It was a walk-in closet for Mia. Racks of designer dresses filled the space.

In the corner, a single black garbage bag sat on the floor.

Camille walked over and opened it. Inside were a few old photos and a stuffed bear she had since she was five. That was it. Her entire life, reduced to trash. She carefully placed the contents into the new leather briefcase she had bought.

Rage, cold and sharp, filled her chest.

"Oh, good, you found your luggage," Mia said from the doorway. She was leaning against the frame, smirking. "It suits you."

Camille picked up the briefcase. She turned around.

"Move," she said.

Mia stuck her foot out, trying to trip Camille.

Camille didn't trip. She stomped down hard, her heel pressing onto Mia's foot.

"Ow!" Mia shrieked, hopping on one leg. "You ruined my Manolos!"

Victoria came running. "What did you do? You animal!"

She raised her hand to slap Camille.

Camille caught her wrist in mid-air.

"I'm done being the punching bag," Camille said. Her other hand instinctively clenched into a fist, a gesture so subtle no one would notice, but to her it was a shield of steel.

She twisted Victoria's arm. She applied pressure to the shoulder joint.

Pop.

It was a wet, sickening sound.

Victoria screamed. It was a primal sound of pain. She dropped to her knees, clutching her dangling arm.

"My shoulder! You broke my shoulder!"

Mia grabbed a glass of red wine from the table and threw the contents at Camille.

Camille dodged. The wine splashed across the wall, staining the silk wallpaper like blood.

Camille took a step toward Mia. Mia backed up until she hit the wall, trembling.

Camille pulled out her phone. She tapped the screen.

Recording playing.

Victoria's voice filled the room. "You are a stain on this family... sign or starve..."

"If I send this to the tabloids," Camille said calmly, "Haynes stock drops ten points by morning."

"Get her!" Victoria wailed from the floor. "Maria! Call security!"

The maid, Maria, stood in the kitchen doorway, shaking. She didn't move.

Suddenly, a low rumble vibrated through the floor.

It was the sound of engines. Many of them.

The doorbell rang. Then a heavy, authoritative knock.

Maria ran to open it.

A wall of black suits stood in the hallway. Six bodyguards.

They parted.

Horatio Melton walked through. He filled the doorway. He looked at the scene-the screaming mother, the terrified sister, the wine on the wall.

His eyes landed on Camille. She was holding a leather briefcase, standing tall amidst the wreckage.

"Ready to go?" Horatio asked.