It was midnight when Flavia's phone rang in her hotel room.

She saw Eliseo's name. She almost let it go to voicemail, but something stopped her. She answered.

"Flavia."

His voice was broken. It was a sound she had never heard from him. It cracked and splintered.

"Grandpa is gone."

Flavia sat up in bed. The breath left her lungs. Arthur Fitzpatrick. The only man in that family who had treated her with respect. The only one who knew her true purpose in New York.

"I'll be right down," she said.

She packed her bag in three minutes. She put on a black dress she kept for emergencies-a habit from a childhood where sudden departures were common.

She walked out of the hotel. Eliseo's car was idling at the curb.

She got in. Eliseo was gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. He was staring straight ahead.

Flavia didn't get in the back. She sat in the passenger seat.

She reached out and placed her hand over his on the wheel. His skin was ice cold.

"I'm so sorry, Eliseo."

At her touch, the tension in his shoulders collapsed. He let out a shuddering breath. He turned his hand over and gripped hers, holding on like he was drowning.

They drove north, toward the Hudson Valley. The rain started to fall, drumming a rhythmic beat against the roof of the car.

"He died in his sleep," Eliseo said quietly. "Heart failure."

Flavia nodded. She opened a bottle of water and handed it to him. He took it, his hands shaking slightly.

"We have to face them," Eliseo said. "The vultures."

He meant his family. His parents. His uncles. His cousins.

Flavia's eyes hardened. "I will handle them. You just focus on saying goodbye to Arthur."

Eliseo glanced at her. In the dim light of the dashboard, her profile was sharp, determined. She didn't look like a grieving fiancée. She looked like a general going to war.

For the first time in days, they weren't enemies. They were allies.

Flavia pulled out her phone. She started making calls. The florist. The security team. The catering. She issued orders with a calm authority that stunned Eliseo.

Within an hour, she had organized the entire wake.

The car turned through the massive iron gates of Fitzpatrick Manor. The driveway was lined with ancient oak trees, their branches skeletal against the night sky.

The main house was lit up like a Christmas tree. Cars were already parked in the circular drive.

Eliseo pulled up to the front steps. He took a deep breath and put on a pair of dark sunglasses, shielding his red eyes.

Flavia unbuckled her seatbelt. "Ready?"

Eliseo looked at her. "Thank you for coming. Even though you hate me."

Flavia paused. Her hand was on the door handle.

"I'm here for Arthur."

They stepped out into the rain. Eliseo extended his arm. It was a reflex, a habit of their public life.

Flavia hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then, she slid her arm through his.

Together, they walked up the steps and into the lion's den.

The grand hall of the manor smelled of lilies and old money.

Eliseo's mother, Beatrice, came rushing toward them. She was wearing black silk and diamonds, her face a mask of performative grief.

"Where have you been?" she hissed, ignoring Flavia completely. "The lawyers have been waiting for an hour."

Eliseo's father stood by the fireplace, swirling a glass of whiskey. He looked annoyed, checking his watch.

Flavia stepped slightly in front of Eliseo.

"Mother, Eliseo needs to see his grandfather first. The lawyers can wait."

Beatrice's eyes snapped to Flavia. "You don't get to speak here."

Eliseo's voice was low, dangerous. "Enough. Flavia is right."

He pulled Flavia toward the viewing room.

As they passed the parlor, Flavia saw Tinsley, Eliseo's cousin. She was holding a phone with a ring light attached to it. She was pouting at the camera.

"Guys, I'm literally heartbroken. My grandpa just died..."

Flavia stopped. She walked over to Tinsley and snatched the phone out of her hand. She ended the livestream.

"Hey!" Tinsley shrieked. "I had ten thousand viewers!"

"This is a funeral, not a content opportunity," Flavia said, her voice cutting through the room. "If I see that phone again, I will throw it in the Hudson River."

Tinsley gaped, terrified by the cold menace in Flavia's eyes. She shrank back into the sofa.

Eliseo watched, a flicker of admiration crossing his face.

They entered the viewing room. It was quiet. Only Mrs. Higgins, the housekeeper, was there, weeping silently in the corner.

Eliseo walked to the casket. He fell to his knees. His shoulders shook.

Flavia stood behind him. She placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing firmly. A physical anchor.

"I will help you hold this house," she whispered. "I won't let them strip it for parts."

An hour later, the family gathered in the library. The air was thick with greed.

The lawyer, Mr. Henderson, cleared his throat.

"Arthur made a change to his will three weeks ago. He appointed a new executor."

Everyone looked at Eliseo's father. He straightened his tie, looking smug.

"The executor is... Flavia Lancaster."

The room exploded.

Beatrice screamed. "That's impossible! That gold-digging nobody?"

Eliseo stared at Flavia, his mouth open.

Flavia didn't blink. She sat perfectly still, her hands folded in her lap. She had suspected. Arthur had asked her questions about the trust structures months ago. He had secretly hired her to find the forty million his sons had hidden in offshore accounts. This was her reward, and his final move.

She stood up. The room went quiet.

"As executor," Flavia said, her voice clear and steady, "I am freezing all disbursements from the family trust effective immediately. No allowances. No bonuses. Until the audit is complete."

The silence that followed was absolute. She had just cut off their oxygen supply.

Beatrice looked like she was going to have a stroke. Eliseo looked at his fiancée, realizing he had no idea who she really was.