The guest room was cold. It was decorated in muted beiges and creams, impersonal and stiff.

The moment the maid closed the door, Heda locked it.

She ripped the burner phone from her bag. A red alert flashed on the screen.

WARNING: Counter-attack on short position. Source IP masked.

Roxy's text followed: They are squeezing us, Heda. I can't hold the line from here. I need the server access.

Heda cursed. She needed an untraceable connection. The Wi-Fi here was monitored; Gustavus would see every keystroke.

She stripped off the pink suit, kicking it into the corner. She pulled on her faded jeans and a grey hoodie. She opened the french doors to the balcony.

She knew the layout. She had studied the blueprints of this house for three years before she ever met Gustavus.

She swung her legs over the railing, finding the sturdy trellis hidden by the ivy. She climbed down, silent as a shadow.

She avoided the main drive, slipping through the blind spot of the perimeter cameras near the rose garden. She headed for the old, dilapidated boathouse at the edge of the property, a place no one had visited in years.

Inside, hidden beneath a loose floorboard, was a Pelican case. She opened it, revealing a satellite modem and a ruggedized laptop. This was her real office.

Her fingers were a blur. She routed her connection through three different countries. She saw the buy orders-clumsy, aggressive. Someone was trying to artificially inflate the stock.

Not today.

She executed a complex algorithm, a "ladder attack" that made it look like the market was losing faith. The stock dipped. Then it dived.

She locked in the profit.

Heda exhaled, leaning back against the damp wood. She checked the trace. The counter-attack IP... it ended in .eng.grp. It was coming from inside the house.

She packed up, her heart rate finally slowing. She was hungry. A sandwich. She needed a sandwich.

She slipped out of the estate through a break in the fence she'd created months ago and walked into the small, exclusive village of East Hampton.

She walked out of a small deli, blinking in the afternoon sun, a sandwich wrapper crinkling in her hand.

A black Bentley rolled up to the curb, silent and menacing. It cut off her path.

The back window rolled down.

Gustavus sat in the shadows. His face was a mask of fury.

Heda froze.

Gustavus got out. He didn't care about the tourists watching. He marched up to her, backing her against the quaint, shingled wall of the deli.

"Who gave you permission to leave the estate?" he hissed.

"I... I have an online class," Heda stammered, hugging her tote bag which now held her laptop. "It's required. If I miss the submission deadline, I get expelled."

Gustavus snatched the bag from her. He ripped the zipper open.

He pulled out a textbook. Principles of Macroeconomics. It was dog-eared and used.

He laughed, tossing it back at her. "Macroeconomics? You? What's the point? You think you're going to work on Wall Street?"

"I just want to get a good job," Heda whispered, looking at her shoes. "To pay you back."

The anger in Gustavus's eyes faltered. It was replaced by a smug satisfaction. She was trying to pay him back. She was pathetic.

"You are my wife. My asset. You go where I say you go."

He grabbed her arm, dragging her toward the car. "Get in. We have a charity gala tonight."

"But I don't have a dress..."

"I'll have one sent. Now."

He shoved her into the backseat.

As the car pulled away, Heda looked out the rear window.

Standing across the street, exiting a boutique with a shopping bag in hand, was a man in a casual suit.

Caspian.

He was smiling. A knowing, shark-like smile. He lifted his hand in a small, mocking wave.

Heda felt the blood drain from her face. He had seen her. He had seen her being manhandled into Gustavus's car.

Gustavus saw her shiver. "Save the tears," he said coldly. "You have a performance tonight."

The next morning, Gustavus was gone before she woke up. The driver dropped her at the campus gate.

Heda met Roxy in the back of the lecture hall.

"Jesus, Heda," Roxy whispered, staring at Heda's neck. "Is that concealer?"

Heda pulled her hoodie up. "Don't ask. It's a disaster."

"Well, distract yourself," Roxy said, leaning in. "We have a guest lecturer today. Rumor is he's big finance. And hot."

The heavy oak doors opened.

Caspian English walked in.

He wasn't wearing a suit today. He wore a cashmere sweater and slacks, looking approachable and deadly.

Heda dropped her pen. It clattered loudly on the floor.

Caspian scanned the room. His eyes locked on hers. He held the gaze for a fraction of a second too long, his smile widening.

He turned to the chalkboard. Caspian English. Business Ethics.

"Ethics," Heda muttered. "That's rich."

"Today," Caspian said, his voice smooth like velvet, "we are going to discuss the ethics of land development. Specifically, the displacement of non-profit organizations for commercial gain."

Heda stopped breathing.

"Let's say," Caspian continued, walking up the aisle, "there is an orphanage on prime real estate. The developer wants to build a mall. What is the ethical move?"

He stopped right in front of her row.

"You. The girl hiding in the hoodie. Miss... Roman, is it?"

Every head turned.

Heda stood up. Her legs felt like jelly.

"I would..." She cleared her throat. "I would prioritize the children. Human life is worth more than profit."

Caspian chuckled. It was a dark sound.

"How naive, Miss Roman. That is why you will always be... a victim."

The bell rang.

Heda grabbed her bag and bolted. She needed air. She needed to get away from him.

She turned the corner near the lockers and slammed into a solid wall of chest.

Caspian.

He boxed her in, his hands resting on the lockers on either side of her head.

"Long time no see, 'Wildcat'," he whispered. "Or should I call you 'Sister-in-Law'?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Professor," Heda said, her voice shaking.

Caspian reached out, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. "I remember a girl from that trailer park... one who was remarkably good at picking locks. Does Gustavus know about your... special talents?"

Heda slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me."

Caspian's eyes went cold. "Drop the act. I know you married him for the money. Work with me, Heda. I can give you more than he can."

"I am loyal to my husband," she spat.

"Loyalty?" Caspian laughed. "In the English family, loyalty is the cheapest commodity."

Heda's phone rang. It was the special ringtone for Gustavus.

Caspian glanced at the screen. He stepped back, straightening his sweater.

"Answer it. Tell him I'm looking forward to the family dinner tonight."

Heda answered.

"Wait at the gate," Gustavus ordered. "I want to check on your 'studies'."

Heda hung up. She watched Caspian walk away, whistling. She was trapped between a monster who wanted to own her and a monster who wanted to destroy her.

The Maybach was waiting at the curb. Passersby stopped to stare at the gleaming black metal.

Heda climbed in. Before the door even clicked shut, Gustavus threw a paper bag into her lap.

Grease stains were already seeping through the bottom. The smell of old fryer oil and cheap meat filled the luxury cabin.

"Hungry?" Gustavus asked, not looking up from his tablet. "I remember your kind loves this garbage."

Heda's stomach churned. She had eaten at Le Bernardin last week with a client under her alias. This smell was revolting.

But she had a role to play.

Her eyes lit up. She ripped the bag open. "Double Cheese! Oh my god, thank you, honey!"

She unwrapped the burger. The cheese was congealed. She took a massive bite, forcing herself to chew. Grease smeared on her lip.

"Mmm," she moaned. "So good."

Gustavus watched her from the corner of his eye. His lip curled in disgust, but his shoulders relaxed.

She was gross. She was simple. She was safe.

Bzzt.

The burner phone in her tote bag vibrated against her leg.

Gustavus's head snapped up. "What was that?"

Heda swallowed a lump of barely chewed bun. "Alarm," she mumbled. "Reminding me of my shift."

"Shift?" Gustavus frowned.

"At the diner," she lied.

"I gave you a card. Is it not enough?"

"It is!" Heda said quickly. "But... you see every transaction. I wanted to send some money to the orphanage fund. I didn't want you to think I was wasting your money."

Gustavus stared at her. The mention of charity seemed to pacify him. It fit the narrative. The poor girl trying to be good.

"Fine," he said. "Just don't let anyone know Mrs. English is scrubbing tables."

Heda wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She checked the phone under the table.

Text from Caspian: See you tonight, Wildcat.

She felt sick.

"How was class?" Gustavus asked suddenly. "Meet anyone... interesting?"

Heda froze. He was testing her.

"There was a new professor," she said, keeping her voice light. "He was mean. Picked on me."

"Oh? What was his name?"

"Professor... French? Or English? Something like that." She blinked, looking at him with wide, vacant eyes.

Gustavus searched her face. He saw nothing but grease and stupidity.

"If it's English," he said, his voice dropping an octave, "stay away from him. He's a snake."

"Okay, Gustavus."

He handed her a silk handkerchief. "Wipe your face. I don't want my car smelling like poverty."

Heda took the silk. She wiped the grease away. Tonight, she would short his stock again. The profit would buy a thousand of these cars.