Gracelyn's fingers flew across the keyboard. The code on the screen scrolled like a waterfall of green rain.

Target: City General Hospital. Database: Oncology.

Richard had been holding his "Stage 4 Pancreatic Cancer" over Gracelyn's head for six months. It was the ultimate guilt trip, the reason she had almost agreed to marry Vane. Dying wish. Save the family.

She slid a panel from the baseboard, revealing a hidden ethernet port she'd installed years ago. It was her secret lifeline to the outside world, a hardline connection that bypassed any wireless jammers. She plugged in. The signal was clean and fast. She bypassed the hospital's firewall in under two minutes. It was laughably weak. Gracelyn searched for Montgomery, Richard.

She opened his latest file.

Diagnosis: Gastritis. Cause: Excessive alcohol consumption. Prognosis: Excellent.

Gracelyn stared at the screen. A cold, bitter laugh escaped her lips. He wasn't dying. He just had a stomach ache from drinking too much scotch.

She didn't stop there. Gracelyn dug into the family trust fund accounts. She found the transfers. Hundreds of thousands of dollars siphoned out to an account named "SugarBaby_LLC".

She compiled it all. The medical report. The bank statements. The photos of him on a yacht when he was supposed to be in chemo.

Gracelyn sent it all. To the Trust Board. To the SEC. To Elena's personal email.

Two minutes later, a scream tore through the house.

"RICHARD!" Elena's voice was a siren. "You bastard! You aren't sick?!"

Gracelyn picked up her laptop and walked out onto the landing. She looked down into the foyer.

Elena was hitting Richard with her purse. Richard was trying to shield his face, looking confused. Then his phone started buzzing. Then the house phone rang.

He looked up and saw Gracelyn. He saw the laptop in her arms.

"You," he roared. He pushed Elena aside. "You did this!"

Gracelyn just smiled. She didn't need to speak. The truth was screaming for her.

Richard's face turned purple. "Get her! Break down that door! I don't care if she's married to God himself, kill her!"

The three remaining bodyguards pulled their guns. They started up the stairs.

Gracelyn ran back into her room. She shoved the dresser back against the door.

Thud.

The wood splintered. They were kicking it in.

Thud.

Gracelyn backed away toward the window. They were on the third floor. It was too high to jump. She was trapped.

She grabbed her phone to call 911. No Service. The jammers were still active.

The door frame cracked. A hand reached through the hole, fumbling for the lock.

Gracelyn grabbed a letter opener from the desk. It was dull, useless, but it was all she had. She stood with her back to the window, watching the door give way.

Suddenly, the glass behind her exploded.

A deafening roar filled the room. A blinding white light washed over Gracelyn, casting long, sharp shadows against the walls.

She shielded her eyes, spinning around.

A black helicopter was hovering just above the lawn, the wind from its rotors whipping the curtains into a frenzy. The noise was earth-shattering.

Down below, the front gates of the estate crumpled as two armored SUVs rammed through them like they were made of paper.

Men in dark suits, not tactical gear, poured out of the vehicles, moving with cold efficiency. They were followed by uniformed NYPD officers holding a warrant. They moved like water-fluid, unstoppable. In seconds, the Montgomery bodyguards on the lawn were face-down in the grass, being cuffed by the police.

The pounding on Gracelyn's door stopped. The guards in the hall had heard it. They were running.

Gracelyn looked down. The central SUV door opened.

Constantine stepped out.

He was immaculate in a dark suit, his tie perfectly knotted. He didn't look like a warlord; he looked like a king surveying a conquered territory.

He looked up. Even from three stories down, his gaze locked onto Gracelyn's. It pinned her to the spot.

He didn't wave. He just pointed at the front door.

Gracelyn dropped the letter opener.

Richard ran out the front door, shouting, waving his arms. "This is private property! I'll sue!"

Marcus stepped forward and casually kicked Richard's legs out from under him. Richard hit the gravel hard. Marcus placed a boot on his back, keeping him down as an officer moved in with handcuffs.

Constantine walked right past Gracelyn's father without even glancing at him. He entered the house.

A minute later, Gracelyn's bedroom door was kicked open. But this time, it fell inward with a single, precise blow.

Constantine stood in the doorway, filling the frame. He looked at the broken furniture, the shattered glass, and then at Gracelyn.

"I told you," he said, his voice calm over the sound of the helicopter outside. "I'd bring you home."

Gracelyn walked down the grand staircase, flanked by two of Constantine's security team. The foyer was a wreck.

Richard was dragged in from the outside and thrown onto the rug. His nose was bleeding. He looked up at Gracelyn with pure venom.

Constantine sat in Richard's favorite armchair. He looked entirely at ease, as if he were sitting in a hotel lobby. He was holding the letter opener Gracelyn had dropped.

Gracelyn stopped in front of him. Her hands were shaking, the adrenaline crash hitting her hard.

"Thank you," she signed. "For the... assistance."

Constantine stood up. He didn't look at Richard. He took off his suit jacket, revealing the crisp black shirt underneath, and then picked up his trench coat from the banister where he'd tossed it. He draped it over Gracelyn's shoulders. It was heavy, warm, and smelled like him.

"You were late," he said.

Elena was cowering in the corner. She tried to step forward, putting on a brave face. "Mr. Durham, this is a family misunderstanding. We were just-"

"She is Mrs. Durham," Constantine cut her off. His voice was ice. "Her business is Durham Global business. And you just attempted to assault a primary shareholder."

He turned to Richard. "My legal team has the files your daughter sent. The fraud. The embezzlement. You'll be lucky if you only get twenty years."

Richard made a choking sound. "She's lying! She hacked the-"

"I know," Constantine said. "She's very talented."

He put a hand on Gracelyn's back, guiding her toward the door.

Gracelyn stopped. "Wait."

She walked over to Elena. Elena flinched.

Gracelyn reached out and grabbed the diamond pendant around Elena's neck. She yanked it. The chain snapped.

"My mother's," Gracelyn whispered.

Elena didn't dare move.

Gracelyn turned back to Constantine. He was watching her, his eyes dark and unreadable. He nodded once.

They walked out into the night. The helicopter was already lifting off. Gracelyn climbed into the back of the SUV.

As the car pulled away, leaving the ruins of her former life behind, Gracelyn started to shake. Violent, uncontrollable tremors. She wrapped her arms around herself, burying her face in the oversized coat.

The partition rose.

Constantine didn't try to hug her. He didn't offer platitudes. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pristine white handkerchief. He held it out.

"Dry your face," he said. "I don't like water spots on the leather."

Gracelyn took it. She wiped her eyes. The harshness of his words grounded her. He wasn't pitying her. He was managing her.

Gracelyn typed on her phone. Where are we going?

"To a place they can't reach you," he said. "And where you can fulfill your end of the bargain."

Gracelyn frowned. What bargain?

"To be the perfect wife," he said. "Starting tonight, you live at The Summit."

Gracelyn's eyes widened. We are living together?

"Clause 12," he said, not looking at her. "Cohabitation is required for public image stability."

Gracelyn bit her lip. She hadn't read Clause 12.

The car wound through the city, eventually pulling into the underground garage of the tallest residential tower in Manhattan. They took a private elevator to the penthouse.

The doors opened into a space that was vast, cold, and beautiful. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the entire city. Everything was grey, black, or white. It felt less like a home and more like a museum.

An older woman in a crisp uniform was waiting. "Good evening, sir. Madam. The guest suite is prepared."

Constantine looked at Gracelyn. He gestured to the sprawling apartment.

"Welcome to your new cage, Gracelyn."

Gracelyn woke up in a bed that felt like a cloud. The sheets were silk, cool against her skin. Sunlight was streaming in, blindingly bright.

For a second, she panicked. She reached under her pillow for the switchblade she usually kept there.

Nothing. Just soft down.

Right. The penthouse.

There was a knock on the door. Mrs. Higgins, the housekeeper, bustled in with a tray. "Good morning, Mrs. Durham. Mr. Durham has gone to the office. He left this for you."

She handed Gracelyn a sleek, black smartphone.

"My phone?" Gracelyn signed.

"Mr. Durham said the old one was compromised. This one is secure."

Gracelyn took the phone. It was heavy. She unlocked it. There was one contact saved: Constantine. No browser. No app store. Just calls and texts.

He was isolating her.

Mrs. Higgins left. Gracelyn immediately went to the bathroom, locked the door, and connected the phone to the smart mirror via Bluetooth. She bypassed the restriction software in thirty seconds. Gracelyn downloaded a browser masked as a calculator app.

She logged into the dark web forum she used for jobs. Gracelyn messaged Chloe, her contact.

Status?

Chloe replied instantly. Are you alive? Check the Bounty Board.

Gracelyn navigated to the bounty section. Her heart stopped.

Target: Gracelyn Montgomery. Reward: $5,000,000. Condition: Alive. Bring to Vane Private Island.

Five million. Vane and his associates, maybe even Georgina Pierce, had put this up. They were desperate.

Gracelyn walked out to the terrace. She looked down at the street, sixty stories below. She saw them. Two black sedans parked across the street. They weren't Durham cars. They were hunters.

If Gracelyn stepped foot outside this building, she would be bagged and on a plane to Vane's island within the hour.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Constantine.

Saw the board? 5 Million. You're appreciating in value.

Gracelyn stared at the screen. He knew. He was monitoring her "secure" phone.

You knew about the bounty? she typed back.

My team intercepted three trackers this morning. Stay inside. Don't make me put an ankle monitor on you.

Gracelyn threw the phone onto the bed. She was trapped. Again.

But she couldn't just sit here. She needed to sever the legal tie. If she wasn't his wife, she could disappear properly once the heat died down.

Gracelyn needed leverage. Something big enough to force his hand.

She wandered into the living room. The study door had a retinal scanner. Impossible to bypass without his eyes.

But the smart home system...

Gracelyn saw the central control panel on the wall. It controlled the lights, the temperature, the security feeds. It was hardwired into the internal network.

She walked over to it.

"Mrs. Durham?"

Gracelyn jumped. Mrs. Higgins was standing there with a duster. "Is it too cold?"

Gracelyn shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. She nodded, looking pathetic.

"Oh, you poor dear." Mrs. Higgins tapped the screen, turning the heat up. "Mr. Durham likes it freezing, but I'll fix it."

She didn't suspect a thing.

That night, Constantine came home late. He found Gracelyn sitting on the sofa, reading a book, looking like the perfect, obedient wife.

He loosened his tie, tossing it onto a chair. He looked at Gracelyn, his eyes narrowing slightly. He knew she was plotting something.

"Dinner," he said. "Then we discuss the rules."