Elsie sat at her end. The soup in front of her-some kind of cold cucumber puree-was untouched.

The chair at the head of the table was empty.

Godfrey poured her wine. "Mr. Hunter will be dining in his study tonight. He is feeling... indisposed."

Elsie looked at the empty chair. "Indisposed. Right."

She ate quickly, the silence of the house pressing against her ears. She finished her wine in one gulp.

"Where is the study?" she asked Godfrey.

"The West Wing, Madam. But Mr. Hunter gave strict instructions-"

"I'm his wife," Elsie said, standing up. "I don't follow instructions from the staff. No offense, Godfrey."

"None taken, Madam," Godfrey said, though he looked terrified.

Elsie marched toward the West Wing. The corridors here were darker, the air cooler. She found the double oak doors at the end of the hall. She didn't knock. She was tired of the games. She wanted to know why he was avoiding her after dragging her into this gothic nightmare.

She pushed the door open.

"Hardin, we need to-"

She froze.

Hardin was standing by the window. He wasn't in the wheelchair. He was leaning heavily against the heavy oak desk, his knuckles white as he supported his weight. He held a tumbler of whiskey in his other hand, looking out at the moonlit grounds.

He spun around fast, but the movement made him sway. He gripped the desk tighter to steady himself, his face tightening in what looked like pain.

"Do you not know how to knock?" he snarled, though his voice lacked the booming power of a healthy man.

Elsie paused, processing. He was standing, yes, but he looked like a strong wind would knock him over. "You skipped dinner," she said.

"I wasn't hungry."

"We have a deal," Elsie said, walking into the room. "The deal involves appearances. Eating dinner alone on my first night doesn't look like a happy marriage."

"There is no audience here, Elsie," Hardin said. He took a sip of whiskey. "Just you and me. And I don't like looking at you."

The insult landed like a slap.

"Why?" Elsie asked. "Because I remind you that you're dying?"

"Because you remind me of everything I hate," Hardin said. "Greed. Desperation. You're a gold digger, Elsie. Let's not pretend you're here for my sparkling personality."

"I'm here because I had no choice," Elsie shot back.

"Everyone has a choice. You chose the money." He opened a drawer and pulled out a checkbook. "How much? How much to leave me alone for the rest of the night? Five thousand? Ten?"

Elsie stared at him. "I don't want your money."

"Bullshit," Hardin laughed. It was a cruel sound. "That's all you want. You want the payout. You want to be the tragic Widow Hunter in black Chanel."

He pushed off the desk and walked toward her. His steps were slow, measured, as if he were calculating the energy cost of each one. He stopped inches from her. He smelled of sandalwood and expensive scotch.

"Prove it," he whispered.

"Prove what?"

"Prove you're earning your keep." His eyes dropped to her chest, then back to her face. "If you're really my wife, then perform."

Elsie's face burned. "What are you talking about?"

"Jed said you were boring," Hardin said. He saw the flinch in her eyes and pressed harder. "He said you were a prude. Maybe that's why he cheated. Maybe if you were more... adventurous, he wouldn't have looked elsewhere."

It was a low blow. It was beneath him. But Hardin needed her to hate him. He needed her to run away, to keep her distance, because every time she got close, his heart did something that had nothing to do with failure and everything to do with want.

Elsie's hands clenched into fists. The shame washed over her, hot and stinging. But then, something snapped.

She looked at this arrogant, cruel man. She saw the challenge in his eyes. He wanted her to cry. He wanted her to flee.

No.

Elsie raised her chin. A cold smile touched her lips.

"You want a show, Hardin?" she asked softly. "Is that it? You're too sick to do anything but watch?"

Hardin's eyes narrowed. "Careful."

"You want to see if I'm worth the money?" Elsie reached for the top button of her blouse. "Fine."

She undid the first button.

Hardin's breath hitched. He hadn't expected her to call his bluff.

She undid the second button. Her collarbone was exposed, pale and smooth in the dim light.

"Is this what you want?" she asked, stepping closer. She was invading his space now. "Do you want to see what Jed gave up?"

She reached for the third button.

Hardin didn't move. He was frozen, his eyes locked on her fingers. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the gold irises. The air in the room grew thick, charged with a static electricity that made the hair on Elsie's arms stand up.

She wasn't scared anymore. She was furious. And she was powerful.

"Well?" she challenged, her fingers lingering on the fabric. "Are you going to stop me, or are you going to watch your investment?"

---

Hardin's gaze was heavy, a physical weight on her skin. He wasn't sneering anymore. His lips were parted slightly, his breathing shallow.

Elsie didn't stop. But she didn't continue undressing, either. Instead, she reached out.

She grabbed the lapels of his black shirt.

Hardin stiffened. "What are you doing?"

"Verification," Elsie whispered.

She yanked him forward. He stumbled a step, caught off guard by her strength. They were chest to chest now. She could feel the heat radiating off him.

Her hands slid up his chest, flattening over his heart.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

It was strong. Steady. Powerful.

"Funny," Elsie murmured, looking up into his eyes. "For a heart that's failing, it sure beats hard."

Hardin's panic was instant. He realized his mistake. He had let her get too close. He had let her touch the engine that was supposed to be broken.

Reaction overrode logic. He grabbed her shoulders. His grip was bruising.

"Get off!"

He shoved her. Hard.

Elsie flew backward. Her hip slammed into the edge of the heavy oak desk. Pain exploded in her side, sharp and blinding. She gasped, doubling over.

Hardin froze. He looked at his hands, then at her wincing form. Horror flashed across his face. He took a step toward her, his hand reaching out. "Elsie, I-"

He stopped himself. He couldn't care. He couldn't be the husband who checked for bruises. He had to be the monster.

He clenched his fist and dropped it to his side, leaning back against the wall as he gasped for air, clutching his chest. "Clause Four," he choked out, his voice strained. "No physical contact. You breached the contract."

Elsie straightened up, rubbing her hip. She saw him leaning against the wall, pale and sweating. "I breached the contract? You just assaulted me!"

"I protected... my health," Hardin lied, his voice ragged. "Stress... is fatal. Get out. Now."

Elsie rubbed her hip, wincing. Her eyes were wet, but not with tears. With shock.

She looked at him. Really looked at him.

"You're a maniac," she said breathlessly. "You're not just sick, Hardin. You're broken."

She saw the checkbook on the desk. The check he had written to make her leave.

She picked it up.

"Here's what I think of your money," she said.

She ripped the check in half. Then in quarters. She threw the confetti of paper at his feet.

"I'm staying," she said. "Not for the money. But because I signed a contract. And unlike you, I keep my word. I'll wait until you die, Hardin. But don't expect me to mourn."

She turned and limped out of the room.

Hardin watched her go. When the door slammed, the sound echoed like a gunshot in the silent room.

He slumped against the desk, burying his face in his hands. His heart-his perfectly healthy, surgically repaired heart-was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

"Dammit," he whispered.

The shadows in the corner of the room shifted. Silas stepped out. He had been there the whole time, silent as a ghost.

"That was... messy," Silas observed dryly.

"She touched me," Hardin said, his voice ragged. "She felt it, Silas. She felt the heartbeat."

"She thinks it was adrenaline," Silas said soothingly. "Or anger. She doesn't know about Zurich. But you have to be more careful. If you shove her again, she might not just tear up a check. She might tear up the NDA."

"I didn't mean to shove her," Hardin said, looking at the torn paper. "She was just... too close."

"We need to keep her closer," Silas countered. "We found chatter on the dark web. Jed is looking for leverage. If we push her away, she becomes a target. If we keep her here, under the guise of this marriage, she's safe."

Hardin looked at the door where Elsie had exited.

"She hates me," Hardin said.

"Good," Silas said. "Hate is safer than love. Especially for her."

Elsie lay in the massive guest bed, staring at the ceiling. Her hip throbbed. A bruise was already forming, a dark purple bloom on her pale skin.

She pulled the duvet up to her chin. The house was quiet, but it felt alive. Watching her.

She picked up her phone. No messages from Jed. The lawyer had done his job.

But there was a text from Debbi.

How is he? Is he a crypt keeper?

Elsie typed back: He's a nightmare. But he's alive.

She deleted it.

She typed: He's just a job.

She sent it.

She rolled over, closing her eyes. But every time she drifted off, she felt the phantom sensation of Hardin's heartbeat against her palm. It didn't feel like a dying heart. It felt like a drum of war.

---

"I am," Elsie said. "My own."

It was the next afternoon. Debbi had insisted on dragging Elsie out of the gloomy manor and into the city for "retail therapy." They were in a boutique on Fifth Avenue, surrounded by racks of clothes that cost more than a Honda.

"Use the card," Debbi whispered, nudging her. "The Black Card. Punish him."

Elsie fingered the heavy titanium card in her wallet. Hardin had had it sent to her room that morning via Godfrey, with a note: Buy something to cover the bruise.

He knew.

"Fine," Elsie said. She grabbed a red dress off the rack. Backless. Dangerous. "I'm trying this on."

She went into the changing room. The silk felt cool against her skin. She turned to look at her back in the mirror. The bruise on her hip was hidden, but the memory of his shove made her wince.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted outside the curtain.

"Where is she? I saw her come in!"

Elsie froze. Jed.

She threw the curtain open.

Jed was standing in the middle of the boutique, looking disheveled. He was drunk again. He had grabbed Debbi by the arm.

"Let go of her!" Elsie shouted, stepping out.

Jed turned. His eyes widened when he saw her in the red dress. Lust and rage warred on his face.

"Look at you," he sneered. "Spending your old man's money? Does he even can get it up, Elsie? Or do you have to perform for him?"

The shoppers gasped. Phones were raised. The red light of recording.

Elsie felt the blood drain from her face. But then, she remembered the pepper spray in her purse. She remembered the look in Hardin's eyes when he challenged her.

Prove it.

She wasn't weak anymore.

She walked up to Jed. He smirked, expecting her to cry.

"You're pathetic, Jed," she said calmly.

"I'm pathetic? You're a whore!"

Elsie didn't hesitate. There was a display of complimentary champagne on a silver tray next to them. She grabbed a flute.

Splash.

For the second time in three days, Jed got a face full of alcohol.

He screamed, blindingly wiping at his eyes.

"You bitch!" He raised his hand to strike her.

Elsie didn't flinch. She didn't step back.

But before Jed's hand could connect, a massive shape tackled him. The store security guard slammed Jed into the carpet.

"Get off me!" Jed howled.

Elsie stood over him. She looked like a queen in the red dress.

"If you ever come near me or my friends again," she said, her voice low and dangerous, "I won't use champagne next time. I'll use acid."

The police arrived minutes later. They dragged Jed out, kicking and screaming.

Elsie stood trembling in the middle of the store. The adrenaline was fading, leaving her knees weak.

"Are you okay?" Debbi asked, hugging her.

"I... I think so."

Elsie walked to the counter. She pulled out the Black Card. Her hand was shaking.

"I'll take the dress," she whispered.

The sales clerk looked at the card, then at the computer screen. Her eyes widened.

"Um, Mrs. Hunter?" the clerk said respectfully. "The bill has already been taken care of."

Elsie frowned. "What?"

"We received a call from the Hunter Family Office. They were monitoring the... transaction. They said they have been tracking Mr. Reeves since the incident at the Plaza. They wanted to ensure your safety." The clerk lowered her voice. "They said Mr. Hunter is very proud of your aim."

Elsie spun around. She looked out the front window.

Across the street, parked in the loading zone, was the black SUV. The window was rolled down an inch.

She couldn't see him, but she felt him.

Hardin was watching.

It wasn't just a coincidence. He had been following her. Or rather, guarding her.

She wasn't sure if it was creepy or comforting. But as she walked out of the store with the red dress, she clutched the bag a little tighter.

In the back of the Maybach, Hardin watched Elsie exit the store. She looked fierce. Beautiful.

"Did you see that slap, sir?" Silas asked from the front seat.

"I saw it," Hardin said. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "She's got fire."

"Jed Reeves is going to be a problem," Silas noted.

"Not for long," Hardin said. His face darkened. "Destroy him, Silas. Legally, financially, socially. I want him to wish he had drowned on that boat."

"Consider it done."

Hardin rolled up the window. "Take us home. My wife will be needing a ride."

"You're not going to offer her one?"

"No," Hardin said, leaning back and closing his eyes. "If I'm nice to her, she'll get suspicious. Let her hate me. It's cleaner."

---