Flavia sat at a desk that was too small, in an office that was too cluttered. This was BioGenix, a startup teetering on the edge of oblivion.

She wasn't a simple consultant here. She was the acting CFO and lead auditor. And she knew BioGenix wasn't just a biotech firm; it was a shell company used by the Fitzpatrick family to hide problematic assets. Her job was to find the leverage hidden in its books.

A stack of financial reports lay before her. She was hunting for a cash leak. Her eyes moved across the spreadsheets, identifying patterns that others missed.

Chloe, a junior researcher with purple hair, poked her head in. She was holding two coffees in styrofoam cups.

"Hey. How was the birthday? What did the Prince get you?"

Flavia looked up. She forced a smile.

"A surprise. It was... unforgettable. I'm still processing it."

Chloe sighed, leaning against the doorframe. "Must be nice. Meanwhile, we're all wondering if the paychecks are going to bounce next week."

Flavia looked back at the numbers. The cash flow situation was critical. If the company folded before she found the evidence, her primary leverage over the Fitzpatricks would vanish.

"I'm working on it, Chloe. Don't worry."

Across town, in the glass tower of Fitzpatrick Banking, Eliseo sat in his corner office. His assistant was droning on about quarterly projections, but Eliseo wasn't listening.

He was staring at his phone. Flavia hadn't texted. Usually, by noon, she sent a message. 'Have you reviewed the attached file?' 'Don't forget your call with the SEC.'

Today, nothing.

His desk phone rang. It was Carter.

Eliseo picked up the receiver.

"If you ever show your face to me again," Eliseo said, his voice devoid of emotion, "I will send the photos of what you did in Vegas to your father."

He slammed the phone down. It didn't make him feel better.

He opened his top drawer. Inside was a black velvet box. He took it out and flipped it open. A sapphire necklace glittered under the office lights. It had cost more than most people earned in a decade.

He felt a surge of self-righteous indignation. He had bought her a gift. He was the victim here.

Flavia was eating a dry sandwich in the BioGenix breakroom when her phone rang. It was the front desk.

"Mrs. Fitzpatrick? Your fiancé is here."

Flavia closed her eyes for a second. He knew where she worked-the cover story required it.

She went down to the lobby. The startup's office was in a converted warehouse in Brooklyn, a far cry from Manhattan.

Eliseo stood near the security desk. He was wearing a suit that cost more than the building's security system. People were staring.

Flavia walked over to him. She kept her distance.

"What are you doing here?"

Eliseo held out the velvet box.

"Happy Birthday. I'm late."

Flavia looked at the box. She didn't take it.

"Is this an apology, or hush money?"

Eliseo stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Don't make a scene, Flavia. Just take it."

She took the box. She opened it, looked at the stones, and snapped it shut. Her expression didn't change.

"It's beautiful. A suitable accessory for the role I'm playing."

She dropped the box into her tote bag, letting it fall among the pens and notepads.

"But I'm working. I don't have time to play happy family right now."

She turned around and walked toward the elevators. She didn't look back.

Eliseo stood there, stunned. He had expected gratitude. He had expected her to melt. Instead, he felt like he had just tried to bribe a judge and failed.

He watched her swipe her badge and disappear through the turnstiles. She looked different here. Sharper. Harder.

He walked back to his car. He sat in the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel. A cold knot of anxiety formed in his stomach. He realized he didn't know the woman who had just walked away from him.

Flavia returned to the corporate apartment just as the sun was setting behind the Hudson. Her body ached with fatigue. The audit had revealed a massive embezzlement scheme at BioGenix, and she had spent the last four hours tracing wire transfers.

The elevator doors opened directly into the foyer.

The front door was ajar.

Flavia stopped. Her hand went to her keys, threading them through her fingers like brass knuckles. This building had biometric security.

She pushed the door open with her foot.

Inside, she heard the click of heels on the hardwood.

Sloane Kensington walked out of the kitchen. She was holding a glass of Eliseo's rare scotch. She was wearing nothing but a white dress shirt.

Eliseo's shirt.

Flavia recognized Sloane instantly. The socialite. The childhood friend. The woman who had been trying to get into Eliseo's bed for years.

"Oh," Sloane said, feigning surprise. "The hired help returns."

Flavia set her bag down. She didn't scream. She didn't attack.

"This is a private residence, Sloane. How did you get in?"

Sloane took a sip of the scotch, leaving a red lipstick stain on the rim. She dangled a key card from her pinky finger.

"Eliseo gave it to me ages ago. For emergencies."

It was a lie. Flavia knew this apartment was leased under her firm's name. Sloane must have charmed or bribed the new doorman.

Sloane plucked at the hem of the shirt. "I spilled wine on my dress. I had to borrow something. You don't mind, do you?"

It was a territorial pissing contest. Sloane was marking her ground.

Flavia looked at her. She looked at the shirt.

"I don't mind," Flavia said. "That's the shirt Eliseo was planning to throw out anyway. It had a stain."

Sloane's smile faltered. Her knuckles turned white around the glass.

She set the drink down and turned toward the hallway. "I'll just go check if Eliseo is back."

Flavia stepped into her path. She didn't touch her, but her presence was a wall.

"That is my bedroom."

Sloane leaned in. The smell hit Flavia-vanilla and musk. The exact same scent that had been on Eliseo's jacket this morning.

"It's only a matter of time," Sloane whispered. "Before the room is mine. Just like him."

Flavia felt bile rise in her throat. Not from jealousy, but from disgust. It was unsanitary.

She stepped aside.

"Be my guest."

Sloane blinked, confused by the surrender. She smirked and sashayed down the hall.

Flavia picked up her keys and her bag. She walked out of the apartment and pulled the door shut, locking it from the outside.

She stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby. She pulled out her phone and dialed the building's security desk.

"This is Flavia Lancaster in Penthouse A. There is an intruder in my apartment. Unauthorized entry. Please remove her immediately."

She hung up.

Flavia walked out of the building and hailed a cab. She gave the driver the address of a hotel in Midtown.

She checked her watch. Eliseo would be home in twenty minutes.

Eliseo stepped out of the elevator and froze.

Two burly security guards were dragging Sloane Kensington out of Flavia's apartment door. She was kicking and screaming, her mascara running down her face.

"Eliseo!" Sloane shrieked when she saw him. "Help me! That crazy bitch called security!"

Eliseo stared. Sloane was wearing his shirt. His favorite white shirt.

"Mr. Fitzpatrick," one of the guards said, panting. "Ms. Lancaster reported an intruder. We are executing the removal protocol."

Eliseo's face darkened. Intruder.

Sloane tried to lunge toward him. "I just came to bring you your jacket! I was waiting for you!"

Eliseo took a step back. He looked at her with pure revulsion.

"I didn't invite you."

He looked at the guard. "Get her out of here. Revoke her access. If she steps foot in the lobby again, call the NYPD."

Sloane screamed as they dragged her into the service elevator. The doors closed, cutting off her wails.

Eliseo walked into the apartment.

"Flavia?" he called out.

Silence.

He walked through the living room. Empty. He checked the guest room. Empty. He checked the master bedroom. The closet door was open.

He looked inside. The few items of clothing Flavia kept there were gone. Her trench coat was gone. Her overnight bag was missing.

Panic, cold and sharp, pierced his chest.

She left.

He ran to the kitchen. On the marble island, sitting alone in the center, was not a thermos, but a single sheet of paper. An invoice.

He picked up the note. The handwriting was elegant, precise.

It was a bill from Lancaster Resolutions for 'Emergency Security Services' and 'Premises Decontamination,' itemized to the last cent.

There was no signature. No "Love, Flavia." No heart.

It was a business transaction.

Eliseo crumpled the invoice in his fist. He sank to the floor, his back against the cabinets. The professional coldness of the gesture was more insulting than any screaming match. It was a clear statement: you are not my partner, you are a client, and a problematic one at that.

He remembered what he had said to her. Walmart clothes. Low maintenance.

And she had just billed him for evicting his childhood friend.

He pulled out his phone. His hands were shaking. He dialed her number.

It rang. And rang. Then voicemail.

He typed a text. 'Where are you? I'm sorry. I didn't know about Sloane. Please come back.'

He stared at the screen, willing the three dots to appear.

Ten minutes later, his phone buzzed.

'I'm at a hotel. We need a cooling-off period. I handled the Sloane situation. You're welcome.'

'You're welcome.'

It was so cold. So professional.

Eliseo put the phone down. He could almost feel the cold, hard lump in his throat. The apartment felt massive, a cavern of glass and steel that was slowly crushing him.

His personal cell phone rang. The ringtone was the default, jarring in the quiet kitchen.

He looked at the ID. Family Attorney.

He frowned. It was 9:00 PM.

He answered. "Hello?"

"Eliseo," the lawyer's voice was grave. "I'm afraid I have bad news. Your grandfather, Arthur... he passed away an hour ago."

Eliseo dropped the phone. It clattered onto the tile floor.

He sat there, the phantom scent of Sloane's perfume in the air, as his world completely fell apart.