Iona's throat felt like sandpaper. She reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as she pressed the call button.

A nurse hurried in, her shoes squeaking on the linoleum. "Miss Crane? You're awake!"

"Water," Iona rasped. She kept her face pale, her eyes wide and vulnerable. The perfect victim.

The nurse held a cup with a straw to her lips. The cool water was a shock to her system. "I'll notify your family right away."

"No," Iona said quickly, her voice weak. "Please. My head... it hurts too much. Just let me rest."

The nurse nodded sympathetically, patting her hand. "I'll let them know you're awake but need quiet."

As soon as the nurse left, Iona reached for the phone on the nightstand. She didn't dial the Harmon estate. She didn't dial Eric's number. Her fingers moved from memory, punching in the number for the Vance family estate.

"Hello?" Eleanor Vance's voice was warm, rich with concern.

"Eleanor," Iona breathed. Her eyes stung. This was the only genuine emotion she had felt since waking up. "It's Iona."

"My dear girl! Are you alright? I heard about the accident-"

"I'm sorry," Iona interrupted, her voice catching perfectly. "I don't think I can make it to your gallery showing this weekend."

"Nonsense! I'm coming to you right now."

Thirty minutes later, the door swung open. Eleanor Vance swept in, wrapped in a fur coat, her assistant Arthur Finch trailing behind her. Eleanor rushed to the bed, grabbing Iona's cold hands in her warm ones.

"Look at you," Eleanor whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Where is your family? Why are you alone?"

"They're busy," Iona said softly. She looked down, letting her hair fall forward to hide her face.

Eleanor's jaw tightened. She wasn't stupid. She saw the neglect. She gently stroked Iona's hair back from her face, her expression a mixture of pity and fury. "That family... I never trusted them. To leave you like this, after what happened..." She took a deep breath, composing herself. "Arthur, wait outside."

Once the door clicked shut, Eleanor leaned closer. "Iona, listen to me. I know how they treat you. I've watched it for years. I won't let them discard you now that you're inconvenient for them. Your life is in danger here."

Iona's face remained a mask of weary resignation, but her thumb rubbed against her index finger, a tiny, secret motion of calculation. "What can I do? They control everything."

Eleanor's eyes hardened. "We take that control away. I have a proposal. It might sound crazy, and believe me, it is a last resort. But it could get you out of this hell."

Iona kept her face neutral. "What is it?"

"My grandson, Kevan. He needs a wife to secure his position at Vance Group. You need a fortress. A marriage of convenience."

Iona's heart hammered against her ribs. This was better than she had hoped. It was the ultimate shield.

"Kevan Sanders?" Iona widened her eyes, feigning shock. "But he's... I'm not..."

"You are a good person, Iona. That's all that matters to me. Kevan is a good man, he will respect you, and the Vance name will protect you from the Harmons."

Iona looked up, letting a single tear fall. "If Kevan agrees... I'll do it."

Eleanor smiled, pulling her into a hug. "Oh, my dear. You won't regret this."

The door pushed open. Arthur stepped back in, apologizing, but he wasn't alone.

A man stood in the doorway. He was tall, his shoulders filling the frame. His suit was cut perfectly, not a single wrinkle. His face was a mask of stone, his eyes dark and assessing. They swept over the room, landing on Iona like a physical weight.

Eleanor turned, beaming. "Iona, this is my grandson, Kevan Sanders."

Kevan Sanders didn't move from the doorway. His gaze locked onto Iona, dissecting her. He didn't offer a smile, a nod, or a single word of comfort.

"What do you want from the Vance family?" His voice was low, flat. It wasn't a question from a potential husband; it was an interrogation.

Iona met his stare. She didn't flinch. "A name. A safe place to live." She paused, her thumb pressing hard into her index finger. "In return, I will play the role of Mrs. Sanders perfectly. I will make Eleanor happy, and I will stay out of your way. Completely."

Kevan's eyebrow lifted a fraction of an inch. He had expected tears, demands, or a sob story. He hadn't expected a business pitch.

"Kevan!" Eleanor scolded. "Don't be rude."

Kevan ignored his grandmother. "My lawyers will draft the agreement. The terms will be strict."

"I accept," Iona said instantly.

The silence stretched for three seconds. Kevan nodded once. "Fine. When you're discharged, we go to City Hall." He turned and walked out, his footsteps fading down the hall.

Eleanor sighed, squeezing Iona's hand again. "He's not as cold as he seems. Give him time." She promised to handle the legal details and hurried after him.

The door closed. Iona let out a long, slow breath. Step one was complete.

She picked up the phone again. This time, she dialed Eric's number. It rang twice.

"Iona?" Eric sounded annoyed. "Look, I'm busy, can we-"

"We're done, Eric."

There was a beat of silence. Then a condescending laugh. "Baby, don't be dramatic. I know you're upset about the river thing. I'll come by later."

"You don't seem to understand," Iona said, her voice deadpan. "The engagement is off. My lawyer will contact you tomorrow regarding the five hundred thousand dollars you took from me for your 'investment'."

The amusement vanished from Eric's voice. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? That was a joint venture!"

"I'm pulling out. Have the money ready." She hung up. She didn't slam the phone down; she placed it gently on the receiver.

She dialed the Harmon estate. Martha answered.

"Martha. Pack my things. Send them to the Hollis house. Tell Preston and Miranda I'm moving out."

Before the housekeeper could respond, Iona disconnected the call.

A nurse walked in, holding Iona's personal cell phone. "Your former family's assistant brought this."

As soon as the screen lit up, it exploded with notifications. Texts from Eric, ranging from wheedling to threats. Voicemails from Veronica, sickly sweet and probing.

Iona's thumb moved methodically across the screen. Block. Block. Block. Delete all.

She leaned back against the pillows, closing her eyes. The girl who had craved their love was dead. She was Silas now. And she had work to do.

One week later, Iona stood on the curb outside the hospital. A black Bentley idled at the curb. Kevan Sanders sat in the back seat, reading a document. He didn't look up as she approached.

Arthur Finch held the door open for her. She slid into the leather seat. The air inside the car was cold, smelling of expensive cologne and ozone. Kevan didn't say a word. He just continued reading.

Iona glanced at the front seat. Arthur was typing on his phone, his left hand resting on the steering wheel. The Roman signet ring caught the sunlight.

A cold finger traced down Iona's spine. She saw flashes of it-blood, smuggling routes, a body falling from a cliff. The ring was a beacon of bad luck. A cursed object that attracted disaster, specifically falls from heights.

She looked away, staring out the window. She would warn him. For Eleanor.

At City Hall, Kevan's lawyer handed her a thick stack of papers. The prenuptial agreement. It stated clearly: no claim on Vance assets, separate residences, a generous payout if they divorced.

Iona didn't read the details. She grabbed the pen and signed her name at the bottom. Iona Crane became Iona Sanders in less than ten minutes.

Outside the steps, Kevan stopped. "My apartment is on Central Park West. Arthur will take you. I have a meeting."

"Mr. Sanders," Iona called out.

He turned, his expression impatient.

Iona looked past him, focusing on Arthur. "Mr. Finch, take that ring off. Don't wear it anymore."

Arthur blinked, his hand instinctively touching the ring. "Excuse me?"

Kevan stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous chill. "What did you say?"

"I recognize the motif from my mentor's historical archives," Iona said evenly. "It was the sigil of a secret society. According to the records, several key members died in falls from great heights. From a historical and statistical perspective, the correlation is unusually high. I'd advise against wearing it, for safety's sake."

Arthur laughed nervously. "Mrs. Sanders, that's impossible. I bought this from a dealer-"

"Mind your own business," Kevan snapped. "I don't have time for your superstitions." He turned and got into a waiting town car, the door slamming shut.

Arthur gave her an awkward smile. "Shall we, Mrs. Sanders?"

Iona got into the car. She had delivered the warning. It was out of her hands.

Halfway to the apartment, Arthur's phone rang. He answered, his face draining of color. "What? The server room elevator dropped? Is the data compromised?"

Iona stared out the window, her face blank.

Arthur hung up, his hand trembling slightly. He glanced in the rearview mirror at Iona, then down at the ring on his finger. He looked terrified. He quickly typed out a text to Kevan.

Miles away in a boardroom, Kevan glanced at his phone. He read the message, his eyes narrowing. Coincidence, he told himself. He tossed the phone onto the table.