Belle walked down the stairs slowly. Her energy was fading. The adrenaline crash was coming.

In the foyer, the scene had changed.

Jonas was sitting on a bench, holding a silk handkerchief to his already swelling lip. His jaw was mottled with an ugly, rapidly purpling bruise.

When Kathern saw Belle, her face twisted into a mask of pure hatred.

"You," Kathern shrieked. "Look at what you've done! You savage!"

Ewart Stanton stepped out of his study. He looked older, heavier, but his eyes were just as cold.

"Belle," he barked. "Give the necklace back to your sister. Now."

"No," Belle said. She reached the bottom step. "It's legally mine. Check the trust."

"I am the trustee!" Ewart raised his hand, stepping forward. He was going to strike her. Belle didn't flinch. She just stared at him, daring him to do it.

The heavy oak front doors swung open.

"Mr. Bryan is here!" the butler announced, his voice cracking with tension.

Ewart's hand froze in mid-air.

He lowered it slowly. He smoothed his tie. He forced a smile onto his face that looked like a rictus of pain.

"Carlton!" Kathern exclaimed, turning around and beaming as if she hadn't just been screaming. "What a wonderful surprise!"

Carlton Bryan walked in. He was flanked by two assistants carrying garment bags. He was tall, blonde, and exuded the easy confidence of someone who had never heard the word 'no'.

He stopped. He looked at Jonas, whose face was a mess, bleeding on the bench. He looked at Belle, disheveled, pale, wearing a leather jacket and a priceless sapphire necklace.

"Jonas?" Carlton asked, frowning. "What happened to your face?"

"He fell," Jonas muttered, his words slightly slurred from the injury. "Clumsy boy. And this is Belle. She... just arrived from Paris. She's a bit tired. Emotional."

She tapped her temple subtly. Crazy.

Aryana came running down the stairs. She had fixed her makeup, but her cheek was still slightly red. She threw herself at Carlton.

"Darling!" She buried her face in his chest, hiding the slap mark. "Let's go to the garden. It's so stuffy in here."

Belle watched them. She saw the way Aryana positioned her body to protect her stomach.

Belle cleared her throat.

"Wait."

The room went deadly silent. Aryana stiffened. Kathern looked like she was praying for a lightning strike to hit Belle.

Belle walked up to Carlton. She extended her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Carlton. I'm the sister they don't talk about."

Carlton looked down at her. He took her hand. His palm was warm. He looked at the bandage on her hand, then up to her eyes. He seemed amused.

"A pleasure, Belle. Nice necklace."

"Thanks," Belle said. She looked at Aryana. "It's a family heirloom. Right, Aryana?"

Aryana looked like she was going to faint.

"Right," Aryana squeaked.

Belle leaned in closer to Carlton, but kept her eyes on her father. "Take care of her, Carlton. She's full of... surprises."

She dropped his hand.

"Adan," she said, not looking back. "Let's go to the garage."

She walked past her father, past her ex-boyfriend, past the stepmother who hated her. She walked out the back door, leaving a wake of silence and terror behind her.

The garage was a mausoleum of forgotten luxury.

Dust sheets covered four cars. Belle pulled the cover off the red Porsche 911. It was her mother's favorite. A thick layer of grey dust coated the sleek red paint.

"It won't start," Adan said, peering through the window. "Battery is probably dead."

Belle leaned against the door, sliding down until she was sitting on the concrete floor. She put her head in her hands.

"I'm so tired, Adan."

Adan sat next to her. He handed her a bottle of water he'd snagged from the kitchen. "You did it, though. You got the necklace."

"Yeah." Belle touched the stone. "But I have no money. I checked my accounts on the way here. Ewart froze everything. 'Suspicious activity', the bank said. Everything except the one emergency card he lets me keep for appearances-the one with a laughable limit he monitors like a hawk."

"We can use my card," Adan offered.

"No. I need thousands, Adan. The PI needs the final payment or he won't give me the file on the driver."

She pulled a folded, crinkled photo from her pocket. It was grainy, taken from a CCTV camera three years ago. It showed a man's back. He was pulling Belle out of a burning car.

He was the reason she was alive. He was the reason she had left New York. And then he had vanished.

"The Missing Man," Adan sighed. "Belle, maybe he doesn't want to be found."

"He saved me," Belle said fiercely. "And then someone erased him from the police report. Why? I need to know."

She stood up. "I'm taking the Jeep. You stay here."

"Where are you going?"

"To the repair shop. Maybe I can sell some of my old designer bags. I need cash."

"I'm coming with you."

"No," Belle said. "I need you to do something else. You know people, Adan. Find one of your contacts, a PI, anyone. I need to know if Kathern is moving money out of the household accounts. If I can get leverage, I can force her hand."

Adan hesitated. "It's dangerous."

"We're already in danger," Belle said. She climbed into the Jeep. "Text me if you find anything."

She drove out of the estate, her mind racing. Money. She needed money.

Her phone rang. It was the Private Investigator.

"Belle," the voice was gravelly. "I hit a wall. The license plate on the car that picked up your mystery man? It's fake. Government issue, maybe. Or high-level corporate security."

"So what do I do?" Belle asked, gripping the steering wheel.

"I need more resources. It's going to cost another ten grand."

"Ten..." Belle choked. "Fine. Just... give me a few days."

She hung up, frustration blinding her. She looked down at the phone to disconnect the call.

She didn't see the light turn red.

She didn't see the sleek, black car stopped at the intersection ahead.

She looked up just as the Jeep's brakes locked.

SCREECH.

The sound of metal crunching was sickeningly loud.

Belle was thrown forward against the seatbelt. The airbag didn't deploy-the Jeep was too old, or maybe the impact wasn't hard enough. Her head snapped back, hitting the headrest.

"Ow," she groaned.

She opened her eyes. Steam was hissing from her radiator.

She looked at the car she had hit.

It wasn't just a car. It was a fortress. A Bentley Mulsanne. Black, shiny, and now sporting a very ugly, very deep dent in its rear bumper.

"No," Belle whispered. "Please, no."

People on the sidewalk stopped. Phones came out.

The rear door of the Bentley opened.

A polished black shoe stepped onto the asphalt. Then a long leg clad in dark trousers.

Belle watched in horror as the man emerged. He was tall, imposing, and radiating a cold fury that lowered the temperature on the street.

It was him.

The man from the plane. The man she had spilled milk on. The man she had fainted on.

Denis Stephens.

He walked to the back of his car. He looked at the dent. He looked at the shattered taillight. Then he turned slowly and looked at the Jeep.

His eyes locked onto Belle through the windshield.

He didn't look surprised. He looked... resigned.

Belle opened her door. She stumbled out. Her boots scuffed against the pavement.

"You," Denis said. His voice was flat.

"It was an accident," Belle said quickly, holding up her hands. "My brakes... they locked."

Denis walked over to her. He towered over her. Up close, on the street, he was even more intimidating than on the plane.

"Are you stalking me, Miss Stanton?"

Belle blinked. "How do you know my name?"

"I make it my business to know the names of people who ruin my suits and my cars in the span of six hours."

His driver, a burly man with a earpiece, was inspecting the damage. "Sir, the rear axle might be compromised. The bumper alone is twenty thousand. With the sensors and paint... we're looking at six figures."

Belle felt the blood drain from her face. Six figures.

Denis saw her reaction. He saw the panic in her eyes. He knew, instantly, that she didn't have the money. A Stanton heiress with no cash? Interesting. A flicker of amusement, cold and sharp, cut through his annoyance. This was far more entertaining than a simple insurance claim.

He waved the driver away. He stepped closer to Belle, invading her personal space.

"Insurance?" he asked.

Belle bit her lip. "It... might be expired."

Denis raised an eyebrow. "Driving an unregistered vehicle. Reckless endangerment. I could call the police right now. You'd be arrested."

"Please don't," Belle said. Her voice was small. "I can't go to jail. My father..."

"I don't care about your father," Denis cut her off. "I care about my time. And my car."

He looked at her. Really looked at her. She was a mess. But she was a beautiful mess. And she owed him.

"We can settle this privately," Denis said.

Belle looked up, hope sparking in her eyes. "Really? I can pay you back. I just need time to access my trust."

"I don't want your money," Denis said. He glanced at his watch. "I have a dinner tonight. A charity gala. My suit is ruined because of you. My car is ruined because of you."

He opened the back door of the Bentley.

"Get in."

"What?" Belle recoiled.

"Get in the car," Denis commanded. "You're going to help me pick out a new wardrobe. And you're going to be my date tonight."

"You're crazy," Belle said. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Then I call the cops," Denis pulled out his phone. "Officer, I have a hit and run..."

"Fine!" Belle shouted. "Fine. Put the phone away."

She marched over to the Bentley and slid into the leather seat. It smelled of him. Sandalwood and power. That scent again, clinging to the leather, a phantom echo of the man who saved her and the man who was tormenting her, twisting together in her mind until she felt sick.

Denis got in beside her. He signaled the driver.

"Bergdorf Goodman," he said. "And drive carefully. We have precious cargo."

He wasn't looking at the car. He was looking at her.