I couldn't tell whether Benedict's words were a compliment or a cut.

"But I never expected," he turned his head, his gaze sweeping over me with a trace of scrutiny, "that your image would crumble in a single afternoon."

The words landed like a slap. My face burned.

"So, is this your sob story? I'm in the mood to listen. Go ahead."

I bit down on my lip. How was I supposed to explain?

That my ex-husband was a narcissist, a gold digger who'd leeched off me while pretending otherwise, a serial cheater. That he'd burned through every cent I had, sold my property out from under me, and torpedoed my career.

That I'd come here carrying the keepsake Cindy left me, hoping to ask for his help.

But in the daylight, pride had stopped me.

Was it melodramatic? Absurdly so. Would he believe any of it? Not a chance.

"Can't say it?" He let out a quiet laugh. There was no malice in it, but something else that made me flinch. Pity.

"Then let's try a different question." He pulled out a pack of wet wipes and held them out to me. "Your hands are covered in blood. You didn't even notice?"

I looked down. My palms were a mess. The crescent wounds my nails had dug were already dried over.

I'd been clenching my fists the entire time, hard enough to break skin.

"Clean up first." He pressed the wipes into my hand and started the car. "Here's the real question: where are you going?"

I said nothing.

He glanced at me, searching my eyes as if trying to confirm something, then pulled away from the curb.

"I happen to have a spare house."

Less than fifteen minutes later, Benedict dropped me off in front of a detached villa.

Miles was already waiting at the door. He and Miles went inside for about ten minutes, then came back out, texted me the entry code, said "Make yourself at home," and left.

I stood at the front door in a daze, clothes torn and filthy, feet still in those impossibly elegant heels.

From the terror of facing my ex, the desperate scramble to escape, to crossing paths with Benedict Fox.

My fate, it seemed, was being rewritten.

I slipped off the beautiful shoes, wiped the soles of my feet with a wet wipe, and tiptoed inside to look around.

Benedict had said I could stay here for the duration of the contract.

I was anxious, elated, and conflicted all at once.

Whose house was this? Could I really use it? If I lived here, my ex would never find me, right?

I looked down at myself, grimy and disheveled, standing in the middle of this pristine, immaculate house. I didn't know where to put myself.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Benedict.

"On loan. Return it in the same condition. Consider it an advance on your contract investment."

The moment I read those words, the tension drained out of my body. Tears slipped down my face and hit the phone screen before I could stop them.

A second message popped up almost immediately.

"There's food in the fridge. Don't starve. It'll hurt the project's bottom line."

I blinked, got up, walked to the kitchen, and opened the fridge. It was fully stocked.

He'd guessed I had no money, no time, and probably no energy to go grocery shopping, so he'd sent Miles ahead.

Before long, the doorbell rang.

I opened the door, but no one was there. A paper bag sat on the step.

Inside was a pair of slippers. Cotton, soft-soled, brand new.

No note on the bag. Nothing at all.

I picked up my phone and sent Benedict a message.

"Mr. Fox, slippers received. Thank you."

Three minutes later, a reply: "Mm. Floor's cold."

I stared at those two words, trying to picture his expression as he typed them.

Completely blank? Or the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth?

I realized I couldn't imagine it. But the strange thing was, I wanted to know.

I looked down at my bare feet, then at the soft-soled slippers.

My feet were starting to warm up. And my heart, I think, had gotten a little warmer too.

Cindy's family was just as kind as she had been.

That night, I lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

My mind was a tangle of low-grade unease and that sticky note. Nothing else could get in.

I climbed out of bed and padded back to the kitchen just to look at it, to confirm it was still there.

Once I saw it, I stood there confused by my own behavior. What exactly was I trying to confirm?

My phone screen lit up. Another message from Benedict Fox.

"Can't sleep?"

How did he know?

I didn't even think before typing back: "How'd you know?"

The screen glowed again. "Surveillance cameras."

I tensed up and started scanning the room, eyes darting to every corner.

Another message popped in: "Kidding. Just a guess."

I stared at those words, and my heartbeat tripped over itself. This man could joke? And why was he joking with me?

"Mr. Fox, you're up in the middle of the night just to guess whether I'm asleep or not?"

This time, the wait stretched on. Long enough that I was sure he wouldn't reply.

"Mm."

One syllable. But it carried more weight than everything he'd said before, like a small stone dropping into still water somewhere inside my chest.

Twelve years of single-minded work, of taking care of my ex-husband and his family, and I'd forgotten what it felt like to be on someone's mind.

Turns out, that feeling could be captured in a single word.

But why me? Why him? If he knew I was Cindy's friend, would he still treat me this way?

I couldn't figure it out. I buried my face in the pillow and told myself: Thelma, stop overthinking. He's just worried you'll bolt and hurt his bottom line.

But my pulse wouldn't settle.

I got up to turn off the light. Outside the window, a pair of headlights flashed once.

I didn't go look. But I knew that car had been parked there for a long time.

The next day, walking into Benedict's office again, I'd pulled myself together from yesterday's mess and exhaustion.

He glanced up, his gaze sweeping me from head to toe, and said quietly,

"The clothes in the house are yours to wear too. They should all fit."

"Except the gowns." He added that specifically.

Then he shot a look at his assistant, and Miles scrambled out the door.

I walked up to Benedict. "Understood, Mr. Fox. I'll play the part of a beautiful girlfriend."

I pointed at the proposal he'd been reviewing.

"But as your highest-value current girlfriend, I'd suggest you rethink your brand positioning for the fashion label."

Benedict laughed in spite of himself and tossed the folder onto the desk. "And you're back at it."

"Never stopped." I raised an eyebrow, stepped around the desk, and stood right in front of him.

"Whether my suit has wrinkles or a dress doesn't quite hug my figure, I know who I am, and I know what I bring to the table for you."

Benedict leaned forward, barely perceptible. "There's a cocktail reception tonight. Livestreamed, start to finish. Show me what you bring to the table."

He'd invaded my personal space, so I smiled and leaned in to match him, pressing both palms onto the armrests of his chair, letting my lips hover near his right ear. I whispered,

"I don't know if it's what you want. But it's what I want to give. Mr. Fox."

As I slowly pulled back, I saw that his ears had turned the color of ripe cherries.

Made me want to take a bite.

That was when Miles rushed back in carrying two garment bags.

"Mr. F—"

"Since when do you walk in without knocking!" Benedict's voice cracked like a whip.

Miles froze in place, completely lost.

"It's because you didn't hear him earlier." I winked at Miles. "I heard it."

Benedict waved his hand, agitated. "Take her back to get styled. Don't be late tonight."

Miles gestured toward the door with an "after you."

I gave a small bow in Benedict's direction, but before I left his desk, I caught his index finger in a quick squeeze and let go. "See you tonight, Mr. Fox."

Benedict turned his head away and wouldn't look at me.

But his ears were even redder.

Before I could finish admiring the view, a sharp female voice cut in from outside. "Who's going to be late?" The staccato click of high heels followed.

A stunning woman walked straight up to Benedict and me without so much as a greeting.

I looked at Benedict. He clearly had no intention of making introductions. Irritation was written all over his face.

Out of courtesy, I extended my hand to her, ready to introduce myself.

"As if you're worth it," that beautiful face said, dripping venom.

Before I could react, she pulled a stack of photos from her bag and flung them onto Benedict's desk. "Take a look at your new girlfriend's explicit photos." She leaned against the desk, her expression pure mockery. "I have to say, she's quite the performer."

"With this kind of PR liability, I'd say the contract can be terminated right now, don't you think?"

My mind went blank. Explicit photos? Of me?

The previous nine contract girlfriends had all been terminated without warning. The woman standing before me made it obvious why.

Athena Simmons. The sole heiress of the Simmons family. Benedict Fox's childhood sweetheart.

I picked up one of the photos, studied it carefully, then looked up at Benedict's expression.

"Well, isn't this entertaining. That's twice now your image has fallen apart, Thelma." He was mocking me.

Athena stood with her arms crossed, watching me with the satisfied look of someone who'd already won.

"Mr. Fox, there's no rebuilding without something falling apart first."

"I can handle this two ways," I said, unhurried.

"Quick thinker. No wonder you ran a project division." Benedict tapped the desk. "Let's hear it."

"First, confirm whether these have spread online. If they have, we hire a lawyer and pursue legal action. We document the entire process and make it the content of our first livestream: a woman fighting back against defamation."

"You look like that and you still want to go live?"

Athena's voice dripped with disbelief.

"Ms. Simmons, the rougher the seas, the bigger the catch. Surely you understand that?"

"And if you don't, let me spell it out. Thanks to the stir you've created, all eyes are already on me. A doubled livestream impact is guaranteed."

"How do you know my last name?" Athena's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "And who created any stir?" Her fair complexion flushed red with irritation.

Of course I knew who she was. In Cindy's case files, Athena's name appeared more times than I could count.

"If there hasn't been any public spread, then we move to the second option."

"Which is this: Ms. Simmons, you gather up these AI-generated photos and walk out of here."

I stepped toward her, looked her straight in the eye, and seized the wrist she'd rested on the edge of the desk. I squeezed. Hard.

"Ow ow ow, that hurts!" She let out an exaggerated shriek. "Ben, do you see what this woman is? Are you really going to sign her?"

"So tell me, which option works better, Athena?" Benedict leaned back in his chair and asked her, his tone perfectly flat.

I didn't let go. I stared Athena down. I hadn't even begun to settle accounts for what happened to Cindy, and here she was, delivering herself right to my doorstep.

Athena wrenched her hand free and rubbed her wrist, humiliation curdling into fury.

"You dare claim you don't have a single skeleton in your closet?"

Derek's shadow flickered through my mind. But no. There was no way.

"Feel free to dig, Ms. Simmons. After all, you do have a talent for fabricating things out of thin air."

"You—!" Athena choked on her own words. Then she pivoted, her whole demeanor softening as she turned to Benedict. "Ben, she's violent! Look what she did to me!"

"Thelma. Apologize to her." Anger flashed across Benedict's face, edged with impatience.

"Then she owes me an apology for slander," I fired back.

"Athena isn't like that. Someone under her probably dug these up, and she rushed over to tell me." Benedict was making excuses for her.

"Then she should apologize for throwing unverified photos in your face," I pressed, refusing to yield.

"If you still want this contract, apologize." Benedict's voice hardened into a command.

I looked at Athena standing there, triumphant. Then at Benedict, her willing accomplice. Then I remembered why I'd come here in the first place.

A smile slid onto my face in an instant. I'd perfected that skill during years of corporate servitude.

I took Athena's wrist, the same one she claimed I'd bruised, and said gently, "Athena, my temper got the better of me. I'm sorry." Then I turned to Benedict with a warm smile.

"And Mr. Fox, please don't be upset. Athena is just so trusting, she's bound to make mistakes sometimes. I'll help you keep an eye on her from now on."

Athena opened her mouth to find fault but couldn't land a single blow. She stood off to the side, fuming in silence.

"Head back. I'll see you at the gala tonight." Benedict's voice turned gentle again.

I walked out of the office. Miles fell into step beside me, his voice low. "Ms. Summers, Mr. Fox treats you differently than the others."

"Differently?"

"The previous nine. He never let any of them stay in that house. And he never personally delivered shoes to anyone."

I paused mid-step. "That house. Whose is it?"

Miles hesitated, then swallowed whatever he'd been about to say. "Just be careful tonight at the gala. Ms. Simmons will be there too."

Of course she would. Some people you just can't shake.