The spotlight hit Aine like a physical blow.

It was blinding, white and hot, erasing everything else in the room. She turned her back to the audience. The dress was cut low, exposing the line of her spine. She stood there for a long beat, letting the silence stretch until it was uncomfortable.

Then the music started.

It wasn't the upbeat jazz they were expecting. It was a slow, haunting Irish ballad. The notes were minor key, heavy with loss.

Aine began to sing. Her voice was low, raspy.

In the VIP box, Julian Talley froze. He had a glass of champagne halfway to his mouth. He set it down.

Aine turned around slowly. The silver mask caught the light, fracturing her face into a hundred glittering pieces. She kept her eyes unfocused, looking just above the heads of the crowd. She looked like she was alone in the room, lost in a memory.

From the shadows of the opposite balcony, Augustine watched. He leaned forward, his elbows on the railing. His brow furrowed. She can actually sing?

Aine let her gaze drift. She swept the room until she found Julian. She locked eyes with him for exactly half a second. Then she looked away, widening her eyes slightly, like a startled deer.

Julian sat up straight. He pushed the blonde model next to him away. "Who is that?" he asked, his voice cutting through the music.

Aine finished the song. The last note hung in the air, vibrating.

For a second, there was silence. Then, the applause broke out. It was thunderous.

Julian stood up. He grabbed a massive bouquet of red roses from the center of his table-flowers meant for decoration-and marched toward the stage.

Aine took a bow. When she straightened up, Julian was there, at the edge of the stage. He thrust the flowers at her.

Buried in the red petals was a gold key card. A hotel room key.

Aine stared at it. The crowd went quiet. Everyone knew you didn't say no to a Talley.

Aine took a step back. She looked at the flowers, then at Julian, then at the floor. She shook her head, just barely. A tremor ran through her shoulders.

Refusal. Fear.

Julian's smile faltered. His hand stayed extended, looking foolish.

"Take them," he commanded, his charm slipping.

Aine backed away further, clutching her microphone like a shield. She turned and ran.

She sprinted off the stage, into the darkness of the wings.

"Hey!" Julian shouted. Aine heard the flowers hit the floor with a wet thud. "Manager! Get the manager!"

Aine leaned against the brick wall of the backstage corridor, breathing hard.

"Are you insane?" Lazlo, the manager, hissed, grabbing her arm. "That was Julian Talley!"

"I..." Aine made her voice shake. "I don't do that. I don't sell myself."

"You work in a club, sweetheart. Everything is for sale."

The door to the backstage area banged open. Julian stormed in, his face flushed with anger and embarrassment.

"You playing hard to get?" He marched up to Aine and grabbed her upper arm. His grip was wet and clammy.

"Let go of me," Aine said, pulling back.

"I just want to talk," Julian sneered. "And maybe teach you some manners."

"Let her go."

The voice was ice cold.

Julian froze. They both looked toward the entrance. Augustine stood there. He wasn't yelling. He didn't have to. He just occupied the space, sucking the oxygen out of the hallway. Mercer stood behind him, looking bored.

"Augustine," Julian said, his grip loosening slightly. "I was just... getting to know the staff."

"You're harassing my employee," Augustine said. He walked forward, his steps echoing on the concrete.

Julian let go of Aine immediately. He smoothed his suit jacket. The hierarchy was clear. The Haynes family owned the banks that the Talley family used to launder their money.

"Just a misunderstanding," Julian muttered. He looked at Aine, his eyes lingering on the edge of her mask. "You have good taste, Augustine. She's... spirited."

He leaned in close to Aine. "We'll see each other again."

He walked out, brushing past Augustine.

The hallway cleared out. Lazlo scurried away.

It was just Aine and Augustine.

He walked up to her, crowding her personal space. He smelled of scotch and danger.

"Publicly rejecting him," Augustine said. "Was that to drive up your price?"

Aine looked up at him. She forced tears into the corners of her eyes.

"Not everyone is like you, Augustine," she said softly. "Not everyone thinks human beings have a price tag."

He stared at Aine. He opened his mouth to say something sharp, but stopped. He looked at her arm where Julian had grabbed her. There was a red mark.

He looked annoyed. Not at Aine, but at the situation. At the fact that he had intervened.

"Don't play with fire," he said.

He turned and walked away.

Aine watched his back. She reached up and wiped the tear from her eye. Her expression went blank.

Phase one complete.

The seaside terrace of The Onyx Room was windy. The salt spray coated the railing.

Aine stood alone in the corner, away from the heat lamps and the laughing crowd. Her dress whipped around her legs. She looked small. Lonely.

She heard the footsteps before she saw him.

Julian.

He was holding two glasses of champagne. He looked confident again. The embarrassment from the stage was gone, replaced by the thrill of the hunt.

"I was too forward earlier," he said, sliding up next to her. "Drink? As an apology."

Aine turned, pressing her back against the railing. She eyed him warily.

"Mr. Talley, please leave me alone."

"Call me Julian." He stepped closer. "Take off the mask. I want to see you."

"No. I'm not with him," Aine said. "I'm nobody's."

"Everyone belongs to someone." He put the glasses down on a table and moved in. He boxed her in against the railing. "You're shivering. Let me warm you up."

Aine looked down. Below them, the water of the harbor was black and churning. It was high tide.

She shifted her weight. She knew this spot. During her audition, she'd noticed the rusted bolt on this section of the railing. A little pressure was all it would take.

Julian reached for Aine's waist. His hand was heavy.

"Don't touch me!" Aine shouted.

She shoved him. It wasn't a hard shove, but she used the momentum to throw herself backward.

Aine hit the railing.

Crack.

The wood gave way.

Aine screamed. It was a genuine scream-gravity is terrifying, even when you plan for it.

She tumbled backward into the void.

"Siren!" Julian yelled.

Aine hit the water.

It was freezing. The shock punched the air out of her lungs. The cold was like a thousand needles stabbing her skin. She sank.

She didn't swim up immediately. She forced herself to stay under. One second. Two seconds. Three.

Up on the terrace, chaos erupted. Glass shattered. People screamed.

Julian stared at the black water. His face went pale. This wasn't a game anymore. If she died... the press... the police...

He didn't think. He jumped.

From the window of the VIP lounge above, Augustine watched the splash. He didn't move. He just tapped his finger against the glass.

"Idiot," he muttered.

Julian hit the water. He flailed until he found Aine. He grabbed her arm and hauled her to the surface.

They gasped for air, coughing up salt water.

Security guards were already at the dock, pulling them out. Aine collapsed onto the wooden planks, shaking violently. Her teeth chattered so hard her jaw ached.

Julian was panting, his expensive suit ruined. He stripped off his jacket and wrapped it around Aine's shoulders.

"Call an ambulance!" he roared at the guards.

Aine grabbed his wet shirt. Her fingers were blue.

"No," she wheezed. "No police... please... I can't lose this job. Please."

Julian looked down at Aine. She looked like a drowned rat. Pathetic. Fragile. And she was worried about her job after almost dying.

Something broke in his eyes. The predator vanished. The savior appeared.

"Get my car," he ordered the valet. "No ambulance. No police."

He scooped Aine up in his arms.

"You're not going to lose your job," he promised. "I've got you."

From the shadows, Sierrah, the headliner vocalist, watched with eyes full of hate. Her nails dug into her palms.

Augustine watched from the window as Julian carried Aine to his car.

"Should we stop them?" Mercer asked.

"No," Augustine said, turning away. "Let's see how long she can keep the act up."

Inside Julian's sports car, the heater blasted hot air. Aine curled into the passenger seat, wrapped in his jacket.

Julian looked at Aine. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I... I didn't mean for that to happen."

Aine looked at him through wet lashes.

Guilt, she thought. The strongest leash in the world.

She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the seat.

"I'm taking you to Mount Sinai," Julian said, swerving through traffic.

"No," Aine said, her voice raspy. "I don't have insurance. I can't afford the ER copay."

"I have a private doctor. I'll pay for it."

"I don't take charity." Aine pulled his jacket tighter around her. "Just take me home. Please."

He looked at Aine, frustrated. But he nodded. "Where?"

Aine gave him an address. Deep in Brooklyn. A decoy address. A neighborhood where the streetlights didn't work and the cops didn't go unless they were in a squad of four.

Julian frowned. He typed it into the GPS. He didn't say anything, but Aine saw his grip on the steering wheel tighten.

In the dashboard, a small red light blinked. Augustine was watching. He was listening.

In his penthouse, Augustine looked at the map on his tablet.

"She's lying," he said. "That's a slum."

Julian's car pulled up to the curb. A group of men were standing around a burning trash can on the corner. The building looked like it had been condemned ten years ago.

Julian looked out the window, then at Aine. There was horror in his eyes. Genuine shock.

"You live here?"

Aine unbuckled her seatbelt. "This is my life, Mr. Talley. It's not a game for people like me."

She opened the door.

"Wait," he said. He reached out. "Keep the jacket."

Aine paused. She looked at the expensive fabric, then at him.

"Thank you," she whispered.

She ran into the building. The door didn't even lock.

Aine waited in the dark hallway until she heard his engine rev and fade away.

She didn't go upstairs. She went out the back exit, into the alley.

A black sedan was waiting there.

Aine opened the back door and slid in.

Mercer was in the driver's seat. He didn't look back.

"Mr. Haynes requested I bring you to your actual residence," Mercer said. "This area is unsafe."

Aine leaned back, closing her eyes. "He's watching me?"

"He is protecting his asset."

The drive back to Manhattan was silent. When Aine walked into the penthouse, Augustine was sitting on the leather sofa. He had a glass of whiskey in his hand.

He looked Aine up and down. She was still wet, her hair matted, wearing Julian's oversized suit jacket.

"Take it off," he said.

"What?"

"The jacket. It's filthy." His lip curled in disgust.

"It's warm," Aine said, clutching the lapels. "And he gave it to me."

Augustine stood up. He crossed the room in three strides. He reached out and ripped the jacket off Aine's shoulders. He walked to the fireplace and threw it in.

"I bought you new clothes," he said, gesturing to a pile of boxes on the table. Chanel. Dior.

"I don't want your clothes," Aine said. "I'm not a doll."

"You are a reflection of me," he said coldly. "My assets don't dress like refugees."

He was trying to control her. He was trying to buy her.

Aine looked at the boxes. Then she looked at him.

She smiled. She reached down and grabbed the hem of her ruined dress. She pulled it up and over her head, standing there in her wet underwear.

"Since the boss is so generous," Aine said, kicking the wet dress aside. "I suppose I should accept."

Augustine's breath hitched. His eyes raked over Aine's body. For a second, the control slipped.

He turned his back on her.

"Put something on," he growled. "And sleep in the guest room."

Aine watched his rigid back.

Got you.