The rain was torrential. It hammered against the windows of the Crane library like bullets.

Abraham sat in his leather armchair, gripping the armrests.

Pain level: 9.

It felt like someone was pouring molten lead down his spine.

"Sir," the new assistant, a Harvard graduate named Timothy, stammered. He held the syringe with shaking hands.

"Just do it," Abraham gritted out.

Timothy stepped forward. He aimed for the vein. He missed. He grazed the skin, causing a bloom of blood.

"Ah!" Abraham roared, sweeping his arm out.

He knocked the tray of medical supplies to the floor. Glass vials shattered.

"Get out!" he screamed. "Get out!"

Timothy ran.

Mercer stepped out of the shadows. "I'll call Dr. Evans."

"No!" Abraham gasped, sweat dripping from his nose. "Evans talks. The board will know."

"Sir, you need-"

"I need her."

"She won't answer my calls."

Abraham closed his eyes. The pain was blinding white light behind his eyelids.

"Send it," he whispered.

"Sir?"

"The notification. The nursing home."

Mercer hesitated, then nodded.

Elida was eating pizza with Preston in his office, laughing about a faculty dispute.

Her phone buzzed.

An email. From the Crane Foundation.

Subject: Grant Revocation Notice.

Dear Miss Adkins, effective immediately, the charitable grant covering the care of Mrs. Elena Adkins at Pineview Facility has been terminated.

Attached was a bill for $45,000. Due in 24 hours. Or she would be evicted.

The slice of pizza dropped from her hand.

"Elida?" Preston asked.

"I have to go."

She ran out into the rain. She didn't wait for a cab. She ran to the subway.

Forty minutes later, she was standing in the foyer of Crane Manor. She was soaked to the bone, water pooling around her cheap sneakers.

Mercer was there. He looked ashamed. "I'm sorry."

"Where is he?"

"Library."

She marched in.

Abraham was curled on the sofa. He looked small. Broken.

Her anger was a roaring fire, but seeing him like that... the doctor in her took over.

She walked to the medical cabinet. She unlocked it with the code only she knew.

She prepped a new syringe.

She walked over to him. She didn't speak. She grabbed his arm roughly.

He opened his eyes. They were hazy with pain, but he saw her.

"You came," he whispered.

She swabbed his arm. "You threatened my mother."

She inserted the needle. Perfect angle. Smooth delivery.

She pushed the plunger.

"You're a monster," she said calmly.

He let out a long breath as the drug hit his system. His muscles relaxed.

"I know," he said.

He reached out, his fingers brushing her wet sleeve.

"Stay," he said. "I'll pay double. Triple. Just until the wedding."

She pulled her arm away. "Get your fiancée-decoy to do it."

"She can't."

"Teach her."

"She's not you."

He looked at her, his eyes clearing.

"Nobody is you, Elida."

"That's your problem, Abraham. Not mine."

She turned to leave.

"If you walk out," he said, his voice gaining strength, "the grant stays cancelled."

She stopped. She hated him. She hated him so much it burned.

"Fine," she spat. "I stay. Until the wedding. Then I take the money and I disappear."

"Agreed."

Elida slept in the guest room. She wore one of Abraham's old shirts because her clothes were still wet.

The next morning, the sun was shining. A cruel joke.

She walked down the grand staircase.

The living room was full of people. Lawyers. Wedding planners. And her father, looking furious.

He looked up. He saw her in Abraham's shirt.

His face went purple.

"What is she doing here?" he shrieked.

Abraham rolled into the room. He looked refreshed. "Elida is my medical consultant. She's monitoring my condition leading up to the ceremony."

"In your shirt?"

"My clothes were wet," she said, descending the stairs. "It's strictly professional."

Her father glared at her, but the lead lawyer cleared his throat.

"Mr. Adkins, we have a problem. A rather significant one."

Her father sat down, smoothing his tie. "What now?"

"Jenna is gone," the lawyer said flatly.

Her father blinked. "What do you mean, gone?"

"Her room is empty. Her bags are gone. She left a note. Something about not wanting to be 'married to the mob'."

The room went silent. The wedding planners exchanged panicked looks. Her father's face drained of all color.

"The deal..." he stammered, looking at Abraham. "Our deal is contingent on the marriage!"

Abraham looked at her father. Then he looked at the chaos erupting in the room.

"The wedding is in two hours," her father said, his voice rising in panic. "We're ruined!"

He spun around and pointed a manicured finger at Elida.

"This is your fault!" he screamed. "You and your cursed mother! You bring ruin wherever you go!"

He grabbed his coat and stormed out. The front door slammed so hard the windows rattled.

Silence descended on the room.

The lawyers looked down at their briefcases.

Abraham brushed a piece of lint off his lap. He didn't look upset. He looked... relieved.

He looked up at her.

She stood at the bottom of the stairs, clutching the banister.

"Well," Abraham said. "That was dramatic."

Mercer stepped forward. He placed a fresh folder on the table.

A clean, crisp contract.

The name field was blank.

Abraham uncapped his pen. He looked at her with those dark, knowing eyes.

"Elida," he said softly. "About your mother's medical bills..."

He tapped the blank line.

"We can structure a new arrangement."

She looked at the paper. She looked at him.

The trap had snapped shut. And she realized, with a sinking feeling, that she had been standing in it all along.