The private club was a cavern of leather and smoke. Jensen swirled the amber liquid in his glass, bored.

Spencer, his college friend and a man who had never worked a day in his life, was droning on about a sailboat.

Jensen wasn't listening. He was thinking about the shredder. The sound of the paper tearing. The look in Alexia's eyes. It was bothering him. She usually cried. She usually begged. Today, she had just… existed. Coldly.

His phone buzzed on the table.

He glanced at it. A message from Clark.

He frowned. Clark never texted him. They spoke through lawyers or assistants.

He slid the phone open.

The image loaded.

Jensen stared.

It was a passport. Alexia's passport. And next to it, a birth certificate. And a patent document.

The caption read: She's serious, brother.

Jensen felt a cold drop of sweat slide down his spine. Why did she have her passport? Those documents were supposed to be in the safe at the penthouse. He kept them there. For safekeeping.

He sat up straight, the whiskey sloshing over his hand.

He called Clark. Straight to voicemail.

He called Alexia.

The subscriber you have called is not available.

Panic, sharp and unfamiliar, spiked in his chest. She couldn't leave. She wouldn't. She was Alexia. She was the constant. She was the background noise of his life. You didn't lose the background noise.

He stood up, knocking his chair over.

Where you going? Spencer asked. "Aubree is coming by in ten."

Tell her to go to hell, Jensen snapped.

He was halfway to the door when his mother called.

Eleanor.

He answered, walking fast. "What?"

Jensen! Eleanor shrieked. "You need to come home. The staff is in a panic."

What happened? Is the house on fire?

Alexia! She came back an hour ago. She ordered Mrs. Higgins to open the guest room. She's moving her things!

Jensen stopped walking. "She's what?"

She's moving into the guest room! Eleanor shouted. "Imagine the gossip if the staff talks. A separated couple in the penthouse? It's unacceptable! I told Mrs. Higgins to lock all the guest suites. I took the keys."

Jensen closed his eyes. "You did what?"

I forced her back into the master suite, Eleanor said, sounding proud. "She has nowhere else to sleep. You need to go home and fix this. Make her behave."

Jensen hung up.

He ran to his car. He drove fast, weaving through traffic, running two red lights.

She was trying to move out. She had her passport. She had gone to Clark.

She was actually doing it.

He slammed the car into park in the garage and took the elevator up. His heart was hammering against his ribs. It wasn't love, he told himself. It was control. It was order. She was disrupting the order.

He threw open the front door. The apartment was dark.

Mrs. Higgins was standing in the hallway, wringing her hands. "Sir, she… she's in the bedroom."

Jensen didn't stop. He marched to the double doors of the master suite.

He didn't knock. He shoved the doors open.

The door banged against the wall with the sound of a gunshot.

Alexia jumped. She was on the floor, kneeling beside a pile of blankets she had arranged into a makeshift bed.

Jensen stared at the nest of pillows on the hardwood floor. Then he looked at the massive, king-sized bed, perfectly made, empty.

What are you doing? he asked. His voice was tight.

Alexia stood up. She was wearing oversized pajamas, but she still looked frail. Her hand went automatically to her side.

The guest rooms are locked, she said. Her voice was flat. "Eleanor's orders."

So you sleep on the floor? Like a dog?

I'm not sleeping in that bed with you, Jensen.

He walked into the room, kicking a pillow across the floor. "This is ridiculous. You are my wife. You sleep in the bed."

I'm your hostage, she corrected. "Not your wife."

He grabbed her arm. He didn't mean to squeeze, but he was angry. He was unsettled, though he wouldn't admit it.

Get in the bed, Alexia.

She winced. "You're hurting me."

He let go as if burned. He saw the red marks his fingers left on her pale skin. Guilt flashed through him, hot and quick, but he buried it under anger.

Fine, he spat. "Sleep on the floor. See if I care. If you get sick, don't expect me to play nurse."

He stormed into the bathroom. He turned the shower on cold. He stood under the spray, trying to wash away the image of her passport. Trying to wash away the feeling of losing control.

When he came out, the room was dark.

He got into bed. The sheets were cold.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling. He could hear her breathing on the floor. It was shallow, uneven. Hitching breaths.

He turned on his side. He looked over the edge of the bed.

She was curled into a tight ball, shivering.

Dammit.

He threw the covers off. He got out of bed and bent down.

Alexia.

She didn't answer. She just whimpered.

He scooped her up. She was terrifyingly light. She felt like a bird, all hollow bones and fragility.

No… she mumbled, pushing weakly against his chest.

Shut up, he whispered.

He laid her on the bed. He pulled the duvet over her.

She scrambled to the far edge, putting as much distance between them as the mattress allowed. She turned her back to him.

Jensen lay down on his side. He stared at the curve of her spine under the pajamas.

He wanted to reach out. He wanted to pull her back to the center. Back to him.

Instead, he turned his back to her.

They lay there, inches apart, separated by an ocean of silence.

Alexia woke up because the pain was gone. Or rather, it was masked by a warmth that enveloped her.

She opened her eyes. She was staring at a chest. A broad, muscular chest covered in a grey t-shirt. An arm was draped over her waist, heavy and secure.

Jensen.

For a split second, her brain forgot. For a split second, she was just his wife, and they were just sleeping. She breathed in his scent-cedar and sleep-and felt a treacherous pang of safety.

Then, her body remembered.

A wave of nausea so violent it felt like a punch rolled through her. She gagged.

She shoved his arm away and scrambled out of bed.

Jensen woke up instantly. "What?"

Alexia didn't answer. She ran to the bathroom, slamming the door. She collapsed in front of the toilet.

She retched, but nothing came up. Her stomach was empty. It was just dry heaving, painful spasms that made her eyes water.

She heard the bedroom door open. Then the bathroom door handle turned.

Jensen stood in the doorway. His hair was messy from sleep. He looked at her huddled on the floor, clutching the porcelain.

His face hardened.

Am I that repulsive? he asked. His voice was ice.

Alexia looked up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "What?"

You wake up next to me and you vomit. Message received, Alexia.

He grabbed a hand towel from the rack and threw it at her. It landed on her head, heavy and soft.

Clean yourself up. Stop the drama.

He turned to leave. "Oh, and tonight is the Gala for the Children's Hospital. Wear the blue dress."

Alexia pulled the towel off her face. "No."

He stopped.

I'm not going, she said. "I'm sick, Jensen. I need a doctor."

You're always sick, he sneered. "If you're not in that car at 7:00 PM, I will cut the funding to your grandfather's estate maintenance. I know Clark is helping you, but the estate bills go through the main trust. My trust."

Alexia felt the blood drain from her face. "You wouldn't."

Try me.

He walked out.

Alexia sat on the cold tile floor. She couldn't stop shaking.

She waited until she heard the front door slam. Then she got dressed. Jeans. A sweater. Sneakers.

She took the service elevator down to avoid the doorman.

On the ground floor, the elevator stopped. The doors opened.

A man in a sharp suit stepped in. He was tall, with dark hair and eyes that held a calm intelligence. He seemed out of place among the usual residents.

He saw Alexia leaning against the wall, clutching her side.

Hey, he said. His voice was deep, gentle. "Are you okay?"

Alexia nodded, not trusting her voice.

He didn't look away. He pressed the button to hold the door. "You don't look okay. Do you need me to call a car for you?"

Alexia looked at him. Really looked at him. The concern in his eyes felt alien, something she hadn't seen in years.

I'm fine, she whispered. "Just… a stomach bug."

He stepped back, giving her space, but his gaze remained watchful.

If you're sure, he said, his tone suggesting he wasn't. "Take care of yourself."

The doors opened to the lobby.

Alexia stumbled out into the street. She hailed a cab.

Urgent Care, she told the driver. "Please hurry."