Victoria stood by the mahogany bar, her back to the poker table. She could feel Julian's gaze on her shoulder blades. It felt like a laser burn. She ordered a sparkling water, her hands trembling slightly as she accepted the glass.

She took a sip and surveyed the room. In the corner, near the humidor, stood a group of young men. They were Hosts. Beautiful, paid companions that the club kept on retainer for the bored wives or the lonely widows who frequented the afternoon tea sessions.

Victoria pulled out her phone. She typed a message to Zoe.

Plan B. Now.

Three dots appeared instantly. Then a reply. He is outside. Green tie.

Victoria waited. Two minutes. Three.

The elevator doors opened. Zoe walked in, looking like a chaotic storm of red hair and designer silk. Trailing behind her was a man who looked like he had been sculpted out of caramel and sin.

Leo.

He was tall, with eyes the color of amber and a smile that could melt glaciers. He spotted Victoria and immediately corrected his course.

Victoria! Zoe shouted, waving frantically. What a coincidence!

The poker table quieted down again. Julian didn't turn around, but his shoulders stiffened.

Victoria turned, putting on her best surprise face. Zoe! And... Leo?

Leo reached her in three strides. He took her hand and kissed the knuckles. Mrs. Sterling. You look... damp.

I got caught in the storm, Victoria said, laughing. It was a light, tinkling sound that felt foreign in her throat.

Leo frowned. He took off his velvet blazer without asking and draped it over her shoulders. It was warm and smelled of expensive cologne.

Better? he asked.

Much, Victoria said. She leaned into him, letting the jacket envelope her. Why don't you join me?

She led him not to a quiet corner, but to the railing that separated the bar area from the poker pit. She hopped up onto a high stool, and Leo stood between her knees, leaning against the railing.

From this angle, Julian had a direct line of sight to them.

Victoria signaled the bartender. Champagne. Two glasses.

Leo leaned in close. Is that him? he whispered.

Just smile, Leo, Victoria murmured, reaching up to adjust his tie. Laugh at everything I say.

Leo grinned. Got it.

Victoria reached out and ran her finger down Leo's lapel. I love this fabric, she said, her voice pitched just loud enough to carry. It's so refined. Unlike some of the cheap polyester you see these days.

At the table, Julian's hand froze over his chips.

Elena, sensing the shift in atmospheric pressure, tried to intervene. Julian, baby, it's your bet. You have a pair of Queens showing.

Julian ignored her. He was staring at Victoria's hand on Leo's chest.

Victoria leaned forward, whispering a joke into Leo's ear. It was a terrible joke about a lawyer and a shark, but Leo threw his head back and laughed. It was a rich, baritone sound that filled the room.

Julian shoved a stack of chips into the center. Raise. Fifty thousand.

The other players exchanged looks. The pot was already huge.

Victoria took a sip of champagne. She looked over the rim of the glass at Julian. He was looking at her, not his cards.

You know, Leo, she said, twirling a lock of hair. I've always thought intelligence is the sexiest trait in a man. Someone who knows when to fold.

Julian's jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered in his cheek.

All in, Julian said.

The dealer paused. Sir, the bet is-

I said all in. Julian pushed his entire stack forward. Two million dollars in plastic discs.

It was suicide. Everyone at the table knew it. He hadn't even looked at his river card.

Elena gasped. Julian, no!

Call, said the man across from him, a shark named Sebastian who had been waiting for Julian to tilt all night.

Sebastian flipped his cards. A Full House. The unbeatable hand in this round.

Julian looked down at his own cards. He held the Ace-King of spades. He had the nut flush draw. He had missed. He had been staring at Victoria's hand on Leo's chest instead of calculating the odds.

It wasn't stupidity; it was distraction. It was a two-million-dollar lapse in judgment caused by the woman he claimed to hate.

The dealer cleared his throat. The house wins. Mr. Sterling loses.

Two million dollars. Gone in a second of testosterone-fueled recklessness.

Elena looked like she was going to be sick. Julian, that was... that was the trust fund dividend for the quarter.

Victoria clapped. A slow, sarcastic applause.

Bravo, she said. She raised her glass. To bad investments.

Julian stood up. The chair scraped against the floor with a screech that set everyone's teeth on edge.

He walked toward them. He moved with the predatory grace of a panther that had decided to stop stalking and start killing.

Leo stopped laughing. He straightened up, instinctively trying to shield Victoria.

Mr. Sterling, Leo began. I think-

Move, Julian said.

He didn't wait for Leo to move. He shoved him. It wasn't a playful shove. It was a blow to the chest that sent Leo stumbling backward into a service cart filled with crystal decanters.

The crash was deafening. Glass shattered. Amber liquid sprayed across the white carpet.

The room went dead silent.

Julian didn't look at the mess. He didn't look at the bouncers who were starting to move toward them. He only looked at Victoria.

He stepped into her personal space. He was so close she could see the flecks of gold in his gray eyes. She could smell the whiskey on his breath, mixed with the metallic tang of pure adrenaline.

Are you done? he asked. His voice was terrifyingly calm.

Victoria looked up at him. Her heart was racing so fast she thought she might pass out, but she didn't flinch. She held his gaze.

I don't know, Julian. Are you coming home?

Julian stared at her mouth. For a second, she thought he was going to hit her.

Instead, he reached out and grabbed her wrist.

His grip was iron. It wasn't the tentative hold of a lover; it was the shackle of a warden. Julian didn't pull her; he towed her.

Leo scrambled up from the wreckage of the bar cart, glass crunching under his boots. Hey! You can't just-

Julian's personal security detail materialized from the shadows, two large men stepping in front of Leo like a human wall. They didn't speak. They didn't have to. Leo stopped, looking at Victoria with helpless apology in his eyes.

Victoria didn't look back. She was too busy trying to keep her footing as Julian dragged her toward the private VIP lounge at the back of the room.

Julian! Elena's voice was shrill. Where are you going?

Julian didn't break stride. Go home, Elena.

But-

I said go home! he roared, not turning around.

He kicked the door of the private lounge open. It banged against the wall with a violence that made Victoria jump. He shoved her inside.

She stumbled, her hip checking the edge of a leather sofa. One of her damp heels slipped off, leaving her half-barefoot on the Persian rug.

Julian slammed the door and threw the deadbolt. The click echoed in the small, soundproofed room like a gunshot.

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. The air conditioner hummed, but the room felt hot.

Julian turned to face her. His chest was heaving. He ripped his tie off and threw it on the floor.

You want a show? he asked, his voice low and dangerous. You want to parade your boy toys in front of my business partners?

Victoria kicked off her other shoe. She stood taller, despite the height difference. He was my guest. Unlike your... assistant.

Julian closed the distance between them in two strides. He grabbed her upper arms, his fingers digging into the wet trench coat.

Do not compare her to you, he spat. She is loyal. You are a leech.

Victoria laughed. It was a bitter, jagged sound. Loyal? She's a parrot, Julian. She repeats whatever she thinks you want to hear. She dresses like a ghost to keep you happy.

Julian froze. His hands tightened painfully. Don't you dare talk about Seraphina.

I didn't say her name, Victoria whispered. You did.

The truth hung there, vibrating between them.

Julian's eyes darkened. The gray turned to black. He pushed her backward. Victoria's knees hit the sofa, and she fell onto the cushions.

Before she could scramble up, Julian was over her. He planted his hands on either side of her head, caging her in. He leaned down, his face inches from hers.

You think you're so smart, he said. You think because you have my mother's ear, you own me?

I own half your assets if you file for divorce without cause, Victoria shot back. That's the prenup.

Money, Julian sneered. Always money with you.

He looked at her lips. His gaze dropped to her throat, then lower, to where the wet silk of her dress clung to her chest.

Victoria saw the shift. She saw the anger bleed into something else. Something darker. Something hungry.

She smelled him. Beneath the whiskey and the anger, there was the scent of him-sandalwood and rain. It made her stomach flip.

Julian lowered his head. His nose brushed against her neck. He inhaled sharply.

You smell like him, he growled. That cheap cologne.

I wouldn't have to seek company if my husband wasn't busy playing house with his secretary, Victoria said, her voice trembling.

Julian pulled back slightly. His eyes searched hers. You're jealous.

I'm disgusted, Victoria corrected.

The word snapped something inside him.

He crashed his mouth onto hers.

It wasn't a kiss. It was a collision. It was teeth and anger and frustration. He bit her lower lip, hard enough to taste copper.

Victoria gasped, and he used the opening to deepen the kiss. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming it, branding it. His hand moved from the sofa to her hair, tangling in the wet strands, tilting her head back to give him better access.

For a second, Victoria froze. Her body betrayed her. Her pulse skyrocketed. She felt a jolt of electricity zip down her spine.

She raised her hands to push him away, but instead, her fingers curled into his shirt. She pulled him closer.

Julian groaned, a low sound in his throat. He pressed his hips against hers, the friction sending a shockwave through her.

Then he stopped.

He froze.

He pulled back as if he had been burned. He stared down at her, his lips red and swollen, his breathing ragged.

He looked at her, but he wasn't seeing her. His eyes were glazed, looking at something in the past. Or someone.

Seraphina.

He scrambled off her. He backed away until he hit the opposite wall. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a look of utter revulsion crossing his face.

Get up, he rasped.

Victoria lay there for a second, her chest heaving, her lips throbbing. She felt exposed. Raw.

Julian turned his back to her. He braced his hands against the wall, his head hanging low.

Cover yourself, he said. You look pathetic.

Victoria sat up. She pulled the edges of her trench coat together. Her hands were shaking so bad she couldn't button it.

We have to go, she said. Her voice sounded foreign to her ears. Eleanor is waiting.

Julian punched the wall. The drywall cracked.

Get in the car, he said without turning around. I'll be there in a minute.

Victoria grabbed her shoes. She walked to the door barefoot. She paused with her hand on the lock.

She looked at his back. The tension in his shoulders.

You can wipe your mouth all you want, Julian, she said softly. But you kissed me back.

She unlocked the door and walked out, leaving him alone with the ghosts.

The interior of the Maybach was silent as a tomb. The partition between the driver and the passenger cabin was raised, sealing them in a bubble of leather and tension.

Julian sat on the far right, staring out the window at the blurred lights of the highway. He was holding an ice pack from the car's mini-fridge against his knuckles. They were bruised and swelling from where he had punched the wall.

Victoria sat on the far left. She had kicked off her heels again. Her feet ached.

Her phone buzzed.

She looked at it. Eleanor. Again.

She pressed speakerphone. She didn't have the energy to hold it to her ear.

Are you en route? Eleanor's voice filled the cabin.

We are, Victoria said.

Good. The herbalist prepared the tonic. It's on the entry table. Make sure you drink it hot. And Victoria?

Yes?

Don't disappoint me. This month is crucial. The trust fund committee meets in six weeks. If there is no announcement by then, they will freeze the liquid assets again.

I understand, Victoria said.

She hung up.

She heard a sound from the other side of the seat. A dry, humorless chuckle.

Julian didn't look at her. You're efficient, I'll give you that. You take orders like a soldier.

It's a partnership, Julian. We both want the money released.

I don't need the money, he said. I have my own.

Victoria looked at him. That was true. Julian had made millions on his own in tech investments before he took over the family conglomerate. But the family trust held the controlling shares of Sterling Corp. Without an heir, his control was tenuous.

You need the shares, she said.

He turned to look at her then. His eyes were cold, dead things. Is that what you tell yourself when you spread your legs? That it's for the shares?

Victoria flinched. It was a microscopic movement, but he saw it.

Whatever helps you sleep at night, she said.

The car slowed. The massive iron gates of the Sterling Manor swung open. They drove up the long, winding driveway lined with ancient oaks that looked like grasping skeletal hands in the headlights.

The car stopped. The driver opened the door.

Julian got out first. He didn't wait for her. He walked up the stone steps two at a time.

Mrs. Jiang, the housekeeper, was waiting in the foyer. She held a silver tray with a ceramic bowl on it. The steam rising from it smelled of dirt and bitter roots.

Mr. Julian, Mrs. Sterling, she greeted them. Her eyes darted between their disheveled appearances.

Julian walked right past her. I'm going to my study.

Mrs. Jiang looked at Victoria. Madam? The tonic?

Victoria sighed. She picked up the bowl. It was warm. She brought it to her lips and drank it in one go. It tasted vile. Like licorice and old pennies. She gagged slightly but forced it down.

Thank you, Mrs. Jiang.

She handed the empty bowl back and walked up the grand staircase. Her legs felt heavy.

She went to the master bedroom. It was a cavernous room, decorated in shades of cream and gray. It was beautiful and utterly devoid of life.

Julian wasn't there.

She went into the bathroom. She stripped off her ruined clothes and stepped into the shower. She turned the water up as hot as she could stand it. She scrubbed her skin until it was pink, trying to wash off the smell of the club, the smell of Elena's perfume, the phantom sensation of Julian's hands.

She dried off and walked into the walk-in closet. She pushed aside her comfortable flannel pajamas and reached for the section of lingerie that Eleanor insisted she buy.

She chose a black lace slip. It was sheer, uncomfortable, and undeniably sexy.

She walked back into the bedroom.

Julian was there. He had changed into sweatpants, no shirt. He was standing by the window, pouring a glass of scotch.

He heard her enter and turned around.

His eyes swept over her body. For a second, she saw the heat flare again. The same heat from the club. But then he blinked, and it was gone, replaced by a wall of ice.

What are you doing? he asked.

Victoria walked to the bed. She pulled back the duvet. I'm doing my job, Julian. It's the fourteenth day of the cycle.

She sat on the edge of the bed.

Julian laughed. It was a harsh, barking sound. You think I'm going to touch you? After tonight?

You kissed me an hour ago, Victoria reminded him.

That was a mistake, he said. He took a sip of his drink. A moment of weakness. It won't happen again.

Victoria felt a lump form in her throat. She swallowed it down. Julian, please. Let's just get this over with. I'm tired.

You're tired? He walked toward the bed. He loomed over her. You think this is a chore?

Isn't it? she asked. For you?

He looked at her. He looked at the lace, at her bare shoulders, at the curve of her legs.

You're beautiful, Victoria, he said softly.

Her heart skipped a beat.

On the outside, he continued. But inside? You're hollow. You're just a vessel waiting to be filled so you can cash a check.

He threw the rest of his scotch into the fireplace. The flames roared up, blue and orange.

He turned and walked toward the door.

Where are you going? Victoria asked, her voice small.

Guest room, he said. Sleep with your checkbook. It'll keep you warmer than I will.

The door slammed.

Victoria sat alone in the middle of the king-sized bed. The lace itched. The room was silent.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She didn't cry. She had promised herself she wouldn't cry over him anymore.

She just stared at the empty space where her husband should have been, and wondered how much longer she could endure being the villain in his story.