The fluorescent lights of the CVS aisle were blinding. Bronwyn stood in line, clutching the small box of emergency contraception like it was a grenade. She wore oversized sunglasses she found in the bottom of her purse to hide her red-rimmed eyes.

The woman in front of her was arguing about a coupon for fabric softener. Bronwyn tapped her foot, her anxiety spiking with every second.

When she finally reached the counter, the clerk scanned the box. Fifty dollars.

Bronwyn swiped her debit card.

Declined.

She felt the heat rise up her neck. "Try it again," she whispered.

Declined.

"Insufficient funds, honey," the clerk said loudly.

Bronwyn dug through her wallet, finding a credit card she kept for emergencies. It went through. She grabbed the bag and practically ran out of the store.

On the sidewalk, she ripped the box open. She didn't have water. She popped the pill into her mouth and swallowed it dry, the chalky taste sticking in her throat.

Her phone buzzed.

She pulled it out. Unknown number.

Save your fifty dollars. I don't have a fetish for vomit.

Bronwyn froze. The box slipped from her fingers and hit the concrete.

A second text followed immediately.

Your clothes were changed by a female police matron. Also, the bill for the rug cleaning at my club will be mailed to you.

Shame, hot and intense, flooded her system. He hadn't touched her. He had let her panic, let her run out to buy a pill she didn't need, just to teach her a lesson. He had watched her, or had her watched. The detail about her phone's data being copied slammed back into her mind. He knew everything.

But beneath the shame was a massive, overwhelming wave of relief. Nothing had happened.

She bent down, picked up the empty box, and tossed it into a trash can. She exhaled, a long, shaky breath.

Okay. Crisis averted. Now she just had to deal with her life.

She dialed her brother, Leo. He should be out of his morning classes by now.

It rang. And rang. And rang.

Voicemail.

"Leo, call me back. I'm worried."

She hung up. Leo never ignored her calls. Even when he was mad, he'd text.

She called the landline at their apartment. Nothing.

She called Chloe, their neighbor.

Chloe picked up on the first ring. She was crying.

"Bronwyn! Oh my god, where are you? The police... they took Leo!"

Bronwyn's world stopped spinning. The noise of the street faded out.

"What? Why?"

"They said he assaulted Jennings Bowen," Chloe sobbed. "Bronwyn, they said it's a felony charge."

Jennings.

Bronwyn felt the blood drain from her face.

"I'm coming," she said.

She hailed a cab, ignoring the cost. "The 19th Precinct. Drive fast."

In the back of the cab, she Googled "Felony Assault New York sentencing." The results made her nauseous. Up to seven years.

When the cab pulled up to the precinct, there was a crowd. Cameras. Microphones. Jennings had called the press. Of course he had.

Bronwyn pushed through the mob. A flash went off in her face, blinding her.

"Miss Brewer! Is it true your brother attacked Mr. Bowen over your broken engagement?" a reporter shouted, shoving a microphone into her cheek.

Bronwyn kept her head down, using her shoulder to shove past a cameraman. She burst into the precinct lobby.

It was chaos. But in the corner, sitting on a wooden bench like a king on a throne, was Jennings.

He had a bandage across his nose. His eye was slightly swollen. But he was smiling.

He saw her and stood up.

Bronwyn marched over to him. "Drop the charges. You know Leo is just a kid."

Jennings smoothed the lapel of his jacket. "He's nineteen, Bronwyn. He's an adult in the eyes of the law. And he broke my nose."

"He was defending me!" Bronwyn hissed. "He saw what you posted."

Jennings stepped closer. He smelled of expensive cologne and malice.

"He has a temper. Just like his sister." Jennings leaned down, his voice dropping to a whisper so the officers nearby couldn't hear.

"You want to save him?" Jennings smiled. "Sign the NDA. Disappear. And beg me."

Bronwyn forced herself to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The way she did before making an incision.

"What do you want, Jennings?" Her voice was ice.

Jennings looked at her, his eyes traveling down her body with a familiarity that made her skin crawl. "I want you to remember your place. You were a project. An amusing diversion. You seem to have forgotten that."

"You're engaged," she said. "To my cousin."

"Tiffany is a merger," Jennings waved his hand dismissively. "She's boring. You... you have fire. It's a shame that fire is attached to such a worthless background."

"I would rather die," Bronwyn said.

Jennings' smile vanished. "Then watch Leo go to prison. I have the best lawyers in the city. We'll bury him."

A man in a sharp grey suit walked over to them. He handed Jennings a file folder.

"Mr. Bowen," the lawyer said, not even glancing at Bronwyn. "The arraignment judge has set bail. We argued for the maximum due to the flight risk and the severity of the injury."

"How much?" Bronwyn asked.

The lawyer looked at her then, his eyes flat. "Fifty thousand dollars."

Bronwyn felt the floor drop out from under her. She had four thousand dollars in her savings account. Maybe five if she sold her car.

Fifty thousand was impossible.

Jennings tapped the folder against his palm. "If you change your mind, my office will accept your signature at any time."

He turned and walked out, his lawyer trailing behind him like a shark's pilot fish.

A young female officer approached Bronwyn. She looked sympathetic. "You can see him for five minutes."

Bronwyn followed her into a small holding room. Leo was sitting at a metal table, his hands cuffed. His face was bruised, his lip split.

"Bron," he whispered. He looked so young. "I'm sorry. I saw the picture... I just saw red."

Bronwyn sat down and reached across the table, gripping his hands. "Don't apologize. I'm going to get you out."

Leo shook his head. "Don't ask him. Please, Bron. Don't beg him. I'd rather rot in here."

"I won't," she promised. "I'll find a lawyer. A real one."

The officer knocked on the door. "Time's up."

Bronwyn walked out of the precinct into the blinding afternoon sun. She pulled out her phone and called Chloe again.

"Put your brother on," Bronwyn said. "I know he's a defense attorney."

There was a muffled conversation on the other end. Then Chloe came back on.

"Bron... he says he can't."

"Why?"

"The Bowen family made calls," Chloe whispered. "They've blackballed the case. He says no firm in New York will touch it. It's a conflict of interest trap."

Bronwyn lowered the phone.

She was blocked. Everywhere.

She scrolled through her contacts. Desperation clawed at her throat. Her thumb hovered over a picture she had saved five years ago. A blurry shot of a man's back.

The contact was simply labeled 'Ghost'. Her own call sign in a world she had tried to escape.

No. She couldn't. That world was worse than Jennings. It was a different kind of monster.

A sleek black sedan pulled up to the curb right in front of her. The back window rolled down.

Victoria Bowen sat inside. Jennings' mother. She wore oversized sunglasses and a look of permanent disdain.

"Mrs. Bowen," Bronwyn said, stiffening.

"Get in," Victoria said. "We need to talk."

Bronwyn didn't move. She stood on the sidewalk, putting the car door between them.

"Say what you have to say from there," Bronwyn said.

Victoria lowered her sunglasses. Her eyes were cold, calculating. "I thought you understood five years ago that you aren't fit for my son."

"Your son is the one harassing me," Bronwyn shot back.

"Jennings is... spirited," Victoria said. "But I won't have you ruining his reputation or his engagement. This trial will be public. Messy."

"Then drop the charges."

"No," Victoria said. "Here is the deal. Make your brother plead guilty. I'll pull some strings with the judge. He'll go to a minimum-security facility upstate. Two years. Maybe eighteen months with good behavior."

"He's innocent of assault! It was a fight!"

"It doesn't matter what the truth is, Miss Brewer. It matters what we can prove. And we can prove whatever we want."

The window started to roll up.

"That's the best offer you'll get," Victoria said through the glass. "Reject it, and I'll make sure he gets ten years."

The car pulled away, spraying exhaust over Bronwyn's legs.

Bronwyn stood there, shaking. Two years. Leo would be destroyed in prison. He was soft, artistic. He wouldn't survive a week.

She needed money. She needed power.

Her phone rang. It was St. Jude's Hospital. The name sent a jolt through her; the Bowen Wing of St. Jude's was where she'd done her residency before they'd kicked her out.

"Miss Brewer? This is the ER. Your uncle... there was an accident at the construction site. He's listed as your emergency contact."

Her uncle. The man who had stolen her inheritance and kicked her out when she was sixteen.

But he was family. Technically. And maybe, just maybe, he knew something about her mother's papers.

She took the subway to the hospital. The ER was a war zone. A multi-car pileup on the I-95 had flooded the trauma bay. Doctors were shouting, nurses running.

Bronwyn pushed through the doors, looking for the intake desk.

And then she saw him.

Jennings Bowen.

He was standing near the nurses' station, wearing a dark suit, looking out of place amidst the blood and chaos. He was talking to the Hospital Administrator, looking bored.

He looked up and saw her. His eyes narrowed. He took in her disheveled hair, her pale face.

He said something to the Administrator, who stopped talking immediately. Jennings walked over to her.

"Here to sell alcohol to the patients?" he asked.

Bronwyn didn't have the energy to fight. "Move, Bowen."

He stepped in front of her, blocking her path. "Did you get my bill? Three thousand dollars for my shoes."

Bronwyn looked up at him. Her eyes were dry, burning. "I'll pay you. I'll sell my blood if I have to. Just get out of my way."

Something in her voice-the raw, unfiltered exhaustion-made him pause. The mockery slipped from his face.

"Who is Brewer?" a nurse shouted, running out of a trauma room. "Patient is crashing! We need a signature for surgery!"

Bronwyn shoved Jennings aside and ran toward the voice.

Jennings stood there, watching her go. He didn't leave. He followed.