By the time she got back to the manor, the video of the boutique incident was viral. But Jed had edited it. He had cut out his aggression, his slurs. He had only kept the part where Elsie splashed him and threatened him.

The headlines were brutal.

GOLD DIGGER GOES WILD: ELSIE WATKINS ASSAULTS EX.

HUNTER BRIDE: VIOLENT AND UNSTABLE?

Elsie sat in her room, scrolling through the comments.

She's crazy.

She did it for the money.

Poor Jed.

Her phone rang. It was Hardin. He was in the house, probably down the hall, but he was calling her.

"Come to the library," he said. Click.

Elsie walked to the library. Her head was held high, but inside, she was crumbling.

Hardin was waiting. He threw a tablet onto the desk.

"Explain," he demanded.

"He attacked Debbi," Elsie said. "I defended her."

"You made a scene," Hardin said coldly. "The Hunter name does not do 'scenes' in mid-town boutiques. My mother is having palpitations."

"I didn't ask for him to be there!"

"You attracted him," Hardin said. "Drama follows you, Elsie. And I don't have the energy for drama. My lawyers are drafting a separation agreement."

Elsie felt the blood drain from her face. "You can't. The contract-"

"The contract has a morality clause," Hardin lied. "Public embarrassment is grounds for termination."

"I need the money," Elsie said, her voice cracking. "My mother's house..."

"Not my problem."

Elsie looked at him. He was sitting in that damn wheelchair again, looking bored. Looking cruel.

She realized something. He was bullying her. He was pushing her to see if she would break.

She thought about the mother-in-law clause. Clause 22: All marital dissolutions must be arbitrated by Constance Hunter.

Elsie took a deep breath. She pulled out her phone.

"What are you doing?" Hardin asked.

"Calling your mother," Elsie said.

Hardin's eyes widened. "You wouldn't dare."

"Watch me." She put the phone to her ear. "Hello, Constance? It's Elsie. Yes, I'm crying... oh, it's terrible. Hardin is being so cruel... yes, Jed attacked me and Hardin wants to divorce me for it... I just feel so unsafe..."

Hardin lunged forward in his chair. "Hang up the phone!"

Elsie turned away, sobbing fake tears into the receiver. "He's yelling at me now, Constance! He's so stressed... I'm worried about his heart..."

She could hear Constance's voice screeching on the other end.

"Okay... okay, thank you, Constance."

Elsie hung up. She turned to Hardin. Her face was dry. Her expression was smug.

"Your mother says you are absolutely not allowed to divorce me," Elsie said sweetly. "And she's coming over. Tomorrow."

Hardin looked like he wanted to strangle her. His jaw worked furiously.

"You play dirty," he said.

"I learned from the best," Elsie replied.

Hardin stared at her for a long, tense moment. Then, slowly, the anger faded into something else. Respect?

He reached into his desk drawer. He pulled out a box.

He slid it across the desk.

"What is this?" Elsie asked.

"A new phone," Hardin said. "New number. Encrypted. Jed can't find this one. The press can't find this one."

Elsie opened the box. It was the latest iPhone, sleek and black.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because if you're going to be my wife," Hardin said, turning his wheelchair away, "you need to be unreachable by trash like Jed Reeves. I've already transferred your contacts, but I've blocked everyone except your friend Debbi and the family office."

Elsie picked up the phone. It was already set up.

She looked at him. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Hardin grumbled. "Just get out of my sight before I change my mind."

Elsie walked to the door. She paused.

"Hardin?"

"What?"

"You're not as mean as you pretend to be."

"I'm worse," he said. "Goodnight, Elsie."

---

The next morning, a convoy of cars pulled up. Constance, a woman in her sixties with hair like a steel helmet and pearls the size of golf balls, swept into the foyer.

Hardin and Elsie stood waiting. Hardin was in the wheelchair. Elsie was standing next to him, her hand resting tentatively on the handle.

"Mother," Hardin said dutifully.

"Don't you 'Mother' me," Constance snapped. She marched over and kissed Elsie on both cheeks. "You poor dear. The press is awful. But don't worry, we bought the boutique's security footage. We're leaking the full version to TMZ in an hour. You'll be a hero."

Elsie blinked. "Oh. Thank you."

"Now," Constance said, turning to Hardin. "About this living arrangement."

"It's fine," Hardin said quickly.

"It is not fine. You are in the West Wing. Elsie is in the East Wing. It's ridiculous."

"We like space," Hardin said.

"You need medical monitoring!" Constance announced loudly. "The doctor said your arrhythmias are unpredictable at night. You cannot be alone in that wing. If you have an episode, who calls 911? The ghost of your grandfather?"

"I have a panic button," Hardin argued.

"Buttons fail. Wives don't," Constance said with a glare that could freeze lava. "Elsie, you are moving into Hardin's suite. Today. You will be his nurse at night. It is your duty."

Hardin looked at Elsie. Do something, his eyes pleaded.

Elsie shrugged. She's your mother.

Moving into Hardin's suite was like moving into a Bond villain's lair. It was all black marble, chrome, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean.

The bedroom was massive. The bed was a king-sized slab of dark wood and grey silk.

"I'll sleep on the sofa," Elsie said, putting her bag down.

"You will not," Hardin said. He was standing now, the door locked. "My mother has cameras in the hallway. If the maids see you sleeping on the sofa, she'll know."

"So what? We share the bed?"

"It's big enough," Hardin muttered. "Just stay on your side. If you cross the middle, I'll push you off."

"Chivalry is dead," Elsie noted.

She went into the bathroom to unpack her toiletries. She placed her bright pink face wash next to his clinical, grey shaving kit. It looked like a neon sign in a graveyard.

Hardin walked in. He saw the pink bottle. He scowled.

"What is that?"

"Face wash."

"It's... loud."

"It's pink, Hardin. It won't bite you."

He reached for it, intending to move it into a drawer. Elsie reached for it at the same time, defensive of her small territory.

"Don't touch my stuff!"

They bumped into each other.

Hardin lost his balance-or pretended to. He stumbled back, pulling Elsie with him.

They landed against the vanity counter. Elsie was pressed against his chest. His arms came around her instinctively to steady her.

The bathroom was filled with the steam from the shower he had just run. It was hot. Intimate.

Elsie looked up. Hardin was looking down. His face was inches from hers.

She felt it again. That heartbeat. Racing.

And something else.

Hardin wasn't leaning on her for support. He was holding her. His hands were firm on her waist. His thumb grazed the bare skin where her shirt had ridden up.

The air shifted. It wasn't about the contract anymore. It was about the man and the woman and the undeniable magnetic pull between them.

Hardin's gaze dropped to her lips.

Elsie's breath hitched. She didn't pull away.

"Hardin..." she whispered.

The sound of his name on her lips seemed to snap him out of it.

He released her abruptly, backing away until he hit the shower door. His eyes were wild, but he forced a mask of coldness over his face.

"Clause Four," he rasped, pointing a shaking finger at the door. "Distance. Keep your distance, Elsie. For both our sakes."

He turned and slammed the bathroom door in her face.

Elsie stood there, touching her waist where his hands had been. Her skin was tingling.

"He wants me," she realized. "He hates me, but he wants me."

---

They lay in the massive bed, separated by three feet of mattress that felt like a minefield. Elsie could hear Hardin's breathing. It was rhythmic, controlled, but she knew he wasn't asleep.

"Hardin?"

"Go to sleep, Elsie."

"Why do you hate me?"

Silence. Then: "I don't hate you. You're just... inconvenient."

"I'm a person," she said. "Not a problem to be solved."

"In my world, people are problems," he said. "Goodnight."

The next morning, Hardin was gone when she woke up.

He had left a note: Don't come to the office. Don't call me. Stay in the house.

Elsie crumpled the note. "Watch me."

She checked her new phone. There was an email from Debbi sent to the secure address Silas had set up. Gallery opening in Chelsea tonight. I'm showcasing a piece! Please come, Silas said it was cleared.

Elsie put on the red dress again. It was her armor now.

She took a car to the city. She slipped into the gallery, keeping her head down. She just wanted to see Debbi, say congratulations, and leave.

The gallery was crowded. Champagne flowed.

Elsie found Debbi near a sculpture made of twisted metal.

"Elsie! You came!" Debbi hugged her. "Is it safe?"

"I'm fine," Elsie said. "Hardin is... managing."

"Speaking of Hardin," Debbi said, her voice dropping. She pointed across the room toward a velvet-roped VIP alcove.

Elsie turned.

There, sitting on a plush velvet bench, was Hardin. He wasn't in a wheelchair, but he looked exhausted, his long legs stretched out as if standing was impossible. He was holding a glass of water, not champagne.

But he wasn't alone. A woman was leaning over him, her hand resting familiarly on his knee. She was blonde, tall, and painfully beautiful.

She was whispering something in Hardin's ear, and he was leaning in to listen. He wasn't pushing her away. He wasn't snarling. He looked... normal. Even if he was sick, he was sharing his limited energy with her.

"Who is that?" Elsie asked, her stomach churning.

"Bridgette Sweet," Debbi whispered. "His ex. The love of his life. She just moved back from Paris."

Elsie felt cold.

So that was it. The reason he wanted Elsie to stay away. The reason he hated her. She was the placeholder. Bridgette was the reality.

Hardin wasn't just hiding his illness; he was hiding his heart.

Elsie felt a tear slip down her cheek. She angrily wiped it away.

She turned to leave. She needed to get out before she screamed.

But as she turned, a waiter walked by with a tray of empty glasses.

Elsie, blinded by tears, walked right into him.

CRASH.

The tray hit the floor. Twenty crystal glasses shattered. The sound was like a bomb going off.

Every head in the room turned.

Including Hardin's.

His eyes found hers across the room. For a moment, she saw shock. Then, she saw him start to rise, pushing himself up from the bench with visible effort.

But Bridgette placed a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back down.

Elsie didn't wait. She turned and ran.

---