The silence in the car was heavier than the rain outside. Eleonora tried to check her phone, but the signal bars were empty. A jammer. Of course.

She looked at Kristopher. He had his eyes closed, his head resting against the leather seat. He looked peaceful, which was infuriating.

The car slowed. They passed through a massive wrought-iron gate. A long, winding driveway lined with ancient oaks led up to a house that looked more like a museum than a home.

The Schaefer Estate.

"Is this a hotel?" Chloe whispered.

Arthur, from the front seat, turned slightly. "This is the Schaefer family residence, Miss."

Eleonora felt a cold knot in her stomach. She was trapped.

The car stopped under the portico. A phalanx of staff with umbrellas waited.

Kristopher got out. He didn't look back. He walked up the stairs with the easy arrogance of a king entering his castle.

A footman opened Eleonora's door. "Madam."

Chloe's eyes went wide. "Madam?"

Eleonora gave her a look that said later. She stepped out into the humid night air.

They entered the foyer. It was cavernous, with a chandelier the size of a small car.

"Well, well. If it isn't the internet sensation."

The voice was sharp, cracking like a whip.

An elderly woman in a wheelchair rolled forward. Her silver hair was coiffed to perfection. She held an iPad in her lap.

"Grandmother," Kristopher said, pausing. "You should be asleep."

Beatrice Schaefer tapped the screen of her iPad. Eleonora's voice tinny and distorted, echoed in the marble hall. "This is a man who relies on other people's money..."

Beatrice cackled. "I haven't laughed this hard since your grandfather fell into the koi pond in '98."

Kristopher sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "She is destroying the company image, Grandmother."

"Oh, pish," Beatrice waved a hand. "The stock took a nosedive, but the trading volume is through the roof! People think you're relevant again. They think you have a scandalous personal life. It makes you human."

Eleonora stood there, dripping water onto the priceless rug. She didn't know whether to bow or run.

Beatrice beckoned her. "Come here, child."

Eleonora walked over. Beatrice grabbed her hand. Her skin was paper-thin but her grip was iron.

"You have guts," Beatrice said. "Kristopher needs someone with guts. He's become a bore."

"Grandmother," Kristopher warned.

"She's soaking wet!" Beatrice shouted at the staff. "Get her to the master suite. Draw a bath. Use the rose oil."

" The guest room," Kristopher corrected. "She is staying in the guest room."

Beatrice clutched her chest. She let out a dramatic gasp. "My heart... the palpitations... knowing my family is estranged under my own roof..."

Kristopher gritted his teeth. His jaw muscle jumped. He looked at the butler.

"Fine," he snapped. "The suite. The adjoining room."

Beatrice winked at Eleonora.

Eleonora was ushered up the grand staircase. She glanced back. Kristopher was watching her.

His eyes were dark. Predatory.

This isn't over, his look said.

Eleonora shivered, and it wasn't from the cold.

The bathroom was larger than Eleonora's entire safe-house apartment. Steam filled the air, carrying the scent of expensive roses.

Eleonora turned off the shower. She felt scrubbed raw. She reached for the towel rack.

Empty.

The maid had taken her wet clothes. There was nothing left. Just one large, fluffy white towel on a hook, and...

She looked at the vanity. Beatrice had sent up a "nightgown."

It was a slip of vintage silk and lace. It was translucent. It was something a bride would wear on her wedding night in 1950.

"Old bat," Eleonora muttered. "She's trying to set us up."

She wrapped the towel around herself, tucking it securely over her chest. She would find her suitcase. Arthur had said he would bring it.

She opened the bathroom door and peeked out.

The bedroom was dim.

She stepped out, her bare feet sinking into the plush Persian rug. She made a break for the door leading to the hallway.

The door handle turned.

Eleonora skid to a halt.

Kristopher walked in. He was on the phone, his tie undone, the top buttons of his shirt unfastened.

He stopped.

Eleonora stood there, clutching the towel. A droplet of water ran down her neck, over her collarbone.

Kristopher slowly lowered the phone. He didn't speak. His eyes traveled down her legs, then back up to her face.

Eleonora squeaked. She took a step back, tripped on the edge of the rug, and flailed.

Kristopher moved. It was a blur of motion. He caught her by the waist before she hit the floor.

His arm was hard, unyielding. He pulled her flush against him.

The towel slipped an inch.

Eleonora's hands slammed against his chest to steady herself. She could feel the heat radiating through his shirt. She could smell the whiskey on his breath, mixed with that cedarwood scent.

For a second, nobody breathed.

Kristopher looked down at her. His eyes were dilated. He wasn't looking at her like a nuisance anymore. He was looking at her like a man who had been starving and didn't realize it until he saw a feast.

Eleonora's heart hammered against her ribs. Thump. Thump. Thump.

She pushed him away. "Pervert!"

Kristopher stumbled back a half-step. He regained his composure instantly, masking the hunger with a sneer.

"This is my room," he said. "And you fell on me."

"Where are my clothes?" Eleonora demanded, pulling the towel tighter. "Your grandmother is insane."

"She's romantic," Kristopher corrected. He walked to his walk-in closet. He disappeared for a moment and came back holding a white dress shirt.

He tossed it to her.

"Wear this. That lace thing... it's not appropriate."

"Appropriate?" Eleonora caught the shirt.

"Just put it on," Kristopher said, turning his back. He walked to the mini-bar and poured himself a drink. His hand trembled slightly as he lifted the glass.

He watched her reflection in the darkened window as she ran back to the bathroom.

He took a long swallow of the scotch. It burned, but not as much as the image of her bare shoulders.

The bathroom door opened.

Eleonora stepped out. She was wearing his shirt. It engulfed her, the hem hitting mid-thigh. She had rolled up the sleeves.

She looked small. Vulnerable. And incredibly sexy.

Kristopher gripped the glass until his knuckles turned white.

A knock at the door broke the tension.

Arthur entered, pushing a silver Rimowa suitcase. "Madam's luggage. Retrieved from the apartment."

Eleonora's eyes widened. She lunged for the suitcase. "Thank you!"

Kristopher narrowed his eyes. "Why are you so jumpy?"

"I'm not jumpy. It's my private property."

"In this house, nothing is private." Kristopher stepped closer. "What's in there? More broadcasting equipment to slander me with?"

"No!"

Kristopher reached for the handle. Eleonora grabbed it at the same time.

They wrestled for a second. The latch, damaged from the hasty packing, popped open.

The suitcase fell over.

Contents spilled across the floor. Not wigs and microphones, but burner phones, encrypted hard drives, and several manila folders.

A thick report slid across the floor and stopped at Kristopher's feet. The cover page read: "Schaefer Media Group – Q3 Financial Analysis – CONFIDENTIAL."

Silence stretched out, thin and brittle.

Kristopher bent down and picked it up. He flipped through the pages, his expression hardening with each turn. They were riddled with her notes, red ink circling manipulated revenue streams and hidden debts.

He looked from the damning report to Eleonora. A slow, arrogant smirk spread across his face, but this time it held no humor, only a chilling understanding.

"You call me a scumbag," he said softly. "While you're planning to gut my company from the inside?"

Eleonora's face burned. It was one of her working copies, something she'd grabbed in the rush.

"It's... research," Eleonora lied. "For my next exposé."

Kristopher held up a page detailing a shell corporation he'd thought was buried forever.

"Liar," he whispered. He stepped closer, tossing the report onto the nightstand. "This isn't journalism. This is a corporate raid. All this outrage... is it because I ignored you?"

"You are delusional," Eleonora spat. "I hate you."

"Hate is just love with nowhere to go." Kristopher trapped her against the wall. He placed a hand next to her head. "Now. Tell me everything."

The shift was sudden. The seduction vanished, replaced by the cornered CEO.

Eleonora blinked. "What?"

"Your plan. Your endgame. I need to know the liability."

Eleonora swallowed. She gave him a heavily redacted version. The over-leveraged assets. The coming debt crisis. She left out her short position, her network of informants, and her ultimate goal: a seat on the board.

Kristopher listened, his face impassive. When she finished, he pulled out his phone and typed a message.

"Done," he said.

"What's done?"

"I've postponed the quarterly earnings call. It buys me two weeks."

Eleonora stared at him. "You can just... do that?"

"I have resources you can't imagine." Kristopher leaned in. "I've contained your little fire. Now you solve mine."

"What do you want?"

"Play the wife. Convince Beatrice we are happy. Help me secure the OmniCorp merger, and I won't turn you over to the SEC for attempting to manipulate the market."

Eleonora looked up at him. He was a monster. But tonight, he was her monster.

"Fine," she whispered.