I backed away from Lucian Caldwell’s open car door outside the gala.

"I have to get my passport," I told him, my voice hollow. "Before he changes the locks."

I didn't wait for his reply. I turned and ran down the block, flagging a taxi and handing the driver my last twenty-dollar bill.

By the time I reached the penthouse, the front door was already wide open.

Killian stood in the center of the living room, his tuxedo jacket tossed carelessly over a chair. Ivy lounged on our white leather sofa, swirling a glass of expensive merlot.

"You have exactly one minute to gather your trash and leave," Killian ordered.

"I just need my documents," I said, moving toward the bedroom.

Killian stepped into my path, blocking the hallway. "You aren't taking a single thing I paid for. No bags. No coats. No jewelry."

"I don't want your money, Killian. I just want my identification."

"You wanted my name." He crossed his arms, his eyes scanning me like I was a diseased animal. "Marriage is a corporate merger, Serena. I need a partner with assets, family ties, and influence. You are a maid's daughter. You offer absolutely nothing to my empire."

"I offered you loyalty," I shot back. "I spent five years building a life with you."

Ivy laughed, a sharp, grating sound that echoed off the high ceilings. "Loyalty? Is that what you call this?"

She stood up, holding her phone out. "I had a private investigator look into your little pet, Killian. Turns out, she's been very busy while you were closing deals in London."

Killian snatched the phone from her hand. His eyes darted across the screen, his jaw hardening.

"What is this?" he demanded.

"Chat logs," Ivy said smoothly, stepping closer to him. "Between Serena and a club promoter downtown. And photos. She's been sleeping with him for months."

"Those are fake," I said, stepping forward. "I don't even know any club promoters!"

Killian turned the screen toward me. Grainy photos showed a woman with my exact hair color entering a hotel room with a stranger. Below the images were explicit text messages detailing hotel meetups and late-night encounters.

I didn't cry. The sheer audacity of the lie forced a dry, amused sound from my throat.

"You forged text messages?" I asked, staring at Ivy. "You actually paid someone to Photoshop this garbage?"

Killian’s hand shot out, grabbing my chin. His grip was bruising, his fingers digging into my skin.

"Don't you dare laugh," he hissed. "You disgusting parasite. You slept around, got knocked up by some random stray, and tried to pin the bastard on me?"

"Let go of me." I slapped his hand away, my heart hammering against my ribs. "You know me, Killian. I have never cheated on you. Come to the clinic with me tomorrow. See the ultrasound yourself. Order a paternity test!"

"I'm not wasting my time in a clinic with a liar," he spat. He wiped his hand on his trousers, as if touching my skin had soiled him.

Ivy took a sip of her wine. "She probably bribed a doctor to fake the sonogram anyway, Killian. Girls from her background know all the tricks to secure a paycheck."

"The baby is real! And it's yours!"

"It's a weapon you tried to use against me." Killian pulled his phone from his pocket and pressed a button. "Security. Get up to the penthouse immediately. We have a trespasser."

"You don't need security. I'm leaving."

"You're leaving with nothing." Killian pointed at the front door. "Get out of my sight. If you ever contact me again, I will have my lawyers bury you so deep you won't see daylight."

"You can't do this," I pleaded, the reality of the situation finally crashing over me. "It's freezing outside. I have nowhere to go."

"The gutters are always open," he replied, his tone entirely devoid of emotion.

Two guards stepped off the private elevator. They grabbed my arms, hauling me backward out of the apartment.

"Don't touch me!" I yanked my arms free, but it was too late.

The heavy oak doors slammed shut in my face. The electronic lock flashed red.

I walked out of the lobby and onto the sidewalk.

Thunder cracked overhead. The sky ripped open, dumping freezing rain onto the city.

I wrapped my thin evening shawl around my shoulders. The cold pierced straight to my bones, soaking my dress in seconds. I reached into my purse for my phone.

No service. He had already deactivated my line.

I pulled out my credit cards. Useless plastic. He had frozen every account linked to his name.

I walked down the dark, empty street, the wind whipping wet hair across my face. My shoes slipped on the slick pavement. I kicked them off, walking barefoot on the freezing concrete.

My stomach cramped. A sharp, burning pain twisted through my lower abdomen.

"No," I whispered, wrapping my arms around my waist. "Please, not now."

I leaned against a brick wall, gasping for air. The rain blinded me. My vision swam, the streetlights blurring into long streaks of yellow.

My knees buckled. I collapsed onto the wet curb, curling into a tight ball to protect my stomach.

I closed my eyes, waiting for the darkness to take over.

Tires splashed against the asphalt. A vehicle stopped inches from where I lay.

A car door opened. Footsteps approached, steady and unhurried.

A shadow fell over me, blocking the biting rain.

I forced my eyes open.

Lucian Caldwell knelt on the wet pavement in his expensive tailored suit. He held a large black umbrella over us, shielding me from the storm.

He didn't ask what I was doing on the ground. He didn't ask about the fake chats, the broken engagement, or the rumors Ivy had spread.

He simply unbuttoned his wool overcoat and wrapped it tightly around my trembling shoulders.

"I told you it was twenty degrees out here," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble.

"I have nothing," I choked out, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. "He took everything."

Lucian slipped his arms under my knees and my back. He lifted me effortlessly from the frozen ground.

"He took the things that don't matter," Lucian corrected, carrying me toward the warmth of his idling car. "Now, are you going to let me save you, or are we going to sit in the rain all night?"

I rested my head against his chest, listening to the calm, rhythmic beat of his heart. "Why are you doing this?"

He placed me gently in the backseat and leaned in close, the scent of cedar and rain washing over me.

"Because," Lucian murmured, his eyes flashing with a dangerous kind of promise, "I need a wife. And you need revenge."

"I told you I needed time," I had whispered to Lucian last night, stepping out of his car at a downtown women's shelter. "I can't just marry a stranger for revenge."

"Pride will freeze you to death," he had warned.

He was right. Twelve hours later, Killian's private security guards kicked open the shelter's lobby doors and dragged me out by my arms.

Now, I stood in the center of Killian’s penthouse.

Ivy lounged on the white leather sofa, wearing my favorite silk robe. She traced the rim of a porcelain coffee mug, offering me a saccharine smile.

"You look terrible, Serena," Ivy noted, eyeing my damp, wrinkled clothes.

"Why did your goons drag me here?" I glared at Killian. He stood by the window, adjusting his perfectly tailored cuffs.

"Ivy has a generous heart," Killian stated, not bothering to look at me. "She couldn't bear the thought of you sleeping on a dirty cot."

"So you kidnapped me?" I stepped forward. "Let me leave."

"You aren't leaving." Killian finally turned, his eyes cold and empty. "You stole a two-hundred-thousand-dollar diamond watch from my safe. I filed the police report this morning."

My stomach dropped. "You know I didn't take anything. You gave that watch to your brother!"

"Did I?" Killian feigned ignorance. "My lawyers say you pawned it. Grand larceny carries a heavy sentence."

"What do you want?" I asked, my voice cracking.

Ivy stood up, walking over to him. She rested her hand on his chest. "I want a maid. My family always had servants. Your mother was a fantastic floor scrubber. It’s in your genetics, isn't it?"

"You want me to clean your house." I stared at her, the absurdity making me dizzy.

"I want you to earn your freedom," Killian corrected. "You will serve us. You will clean, cook, and stay out of sight. If you refuse, I call the detective waiting on speed dial. You can have your baby in a prison infirmary."

I touched my stomach. The tiny life inside me was my only anchor. I couldn't risk jail. I couldn't risk losing my child to the foster system.

"Fine," I whispered, the word tasting like rust.

Two hours later, I wore a stiff gray uniform. It scratched my skin.

I carried a heavy silver tray into the dining room. The aroma of roasted chicken made my nauseous stomach churn.

"Set it down gently," Ivy ordered. She sat at the head of the table. The seat that was supposed to be mine.

I placed the tray on the mahogany wood.

"Pour the wine," she commanded.

I grabbed the bottle of Merlot. My hands trembled slightly. I filled her crystal glass.

Ivy smirked. She flicked her wrist, knocking the glass sideways.

Red wine splashed across the white lace tablecloth and dripped onto the expensive Persian rug.

"Look what you did," Ivy sighed, shaking her head. "So clumsy."

"You pushed it," I argued, gripping the empty bottle.

"Are you calling me a liar?" Ivy gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "Killian, she is calling me a liar in our own home."

"Excuse me?" Killian slammed his fork down. "Do not speak to her that way. Clean it up. Now."

"It stains," I said. "I need to get the heavy cleaner."

"Then go get it," Killian snapped. "And scrub it on your knees. Show some respect to the woman who saved you from a jail cell."

"Saved me?" I laughed, a dry, hollow sound. "She stole my life."

"You never had a life," Killian shot back. "You had a delusion. Now get on the floor."

I walked to the supply closet, grabbing a brush and a bucket of harsh chemicals.

When I returned, I dropped to my knees beside Ivy's chair. The fumes burned my nose. My lower back ached, a sharp twinge radiating through my pelvis.

"Scrub harder," Ivy taunted, resting her bare foot on my shoulder. "You missed a spot."

I shoved her foot off. "Don't touch me."

Killian stood up. "One more word of disrespect, Serena, and I make the call."

I bit my tongue. I pressed the brush into the rug, scrubbing until my knuckles ached.

The private elevator chimed. The metal doors slid open.

Lucian Caldwell stepped into the foyer. He wore a sharp navy suit, holding a leather briefcase. His presence immediately shifted the temperature in the room.

"Lucian," Killian greeted, his arrogant tone vanishing. He rushed forward, extending a hand. "You're early. The merger documents aren't fully printed."

"I prefer to be early," Lucian replied. He shook Killian's hand, but his eyes bypassed the men and locked onto me.

I knelt on the floor, holding a dripping brush, surrounded by red wine and chemical foam.

Lucian's jaw tightened. A muscle ticked in his cheek.

"I didn't realize you changed your staffing agency," Lucian noted, his voice smooth but carrying an undeniable edge.

"Oh, we didn't," Ivy laughed, walking over to link her arm through Killian's. "Serena begged for a job. We took pity on her. She's homeless, you know."

Lucian walked past them. He stopped right beside me, staring down at the bucket of chemicals.

"Is it standard practice to expose a pregnant woman to industrial solvents?" Lucian asked, turning his head to look at Killian.

Killian shifted his weight. "She's fine. It's just a small spill."

"Toxins cause severe complications," Lucian stated, his eyes boring into Killian. "I run a hospital, Killian. I know exactly what stress does to a fragile system. A medical emergency in your penthouse would ruin your public image."

"She knows her limits," Killian brushed it off, though his face flushed. "Get up, Serena. Fetch Mr. Caldwell a coffee."

I tried to stand, but my foot caught on the edge of the rug. I stumbled forward.

Lucian reached out instantly. His large hand gripped my elbow, steadying me.

His grip was firm, grounding me. The warmth of his skin seeped through my thin uniform.

"Careful," Lucian murmured.

"I'm fine," I whispered, pulling my arm back.

"Black coffee. No sugar," Lucian instructed, holding my gaze for a second longer than necessary.

As I turned to walk toward the kitchen, Lucian shifted his stance. He stepped slightly into my path, his broad shoulder brushing mine.

I felt a brief pressure against my apron pocket.

"Take your time," Lucian added, his tone conversational, but his eyes held a fierce command.

I pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out a small, crisp piece of paper.

I glanced over my shoulder. The kitchen was empty. The muffled sounds of Killian and Lucian discussing contracts drifted through the walls.

I unfolded the note.

The handwriting was sharp and precise.

*Midnight. Service elevator. Say yes.*

The door swung open, hitting the wall with a loud bang.

Ivy marched into the kitchen, her eyes narrowed into vicious slits.

"What are you looking at?" she demanded, marching straight toward me. "Did you steal something else?"

I crumpled the paper in my fist, shoving my hand behind my back.

"Nothing," I said, lifting my chin.

"Show me your hand," Ivy ordered, reaching for my arm. "Show me right now, or I tell Killian to call the cops."