Frederica sat in the heavy leather chair across from her father's desk. A gauze pad was taped to her forehead, bright white against her pale skin.

Marcus lit a cigar. The smoke curled around him, obscuring his face.

Stone, the secretary, slid a piece of paper across the mahogany surface.

Frederica looked down. It was a check. Fifty thousand dollars.

"A care package," Marcus said, exhaling smoke. "Buy some concealer. Go on a vacation."

Frederica let out a dry laugh. "Hush money? For my mother's breakdown?"

Marcus tapped ash into a crystal tray. "Do not be dramatic. It is to ensure you do not go crying to Easton. We are in a delicate merger phase."

Frederica stared at the check. Her pride screamed at her to tear it up and throw it in his face. But her brain-the auditor's brain-saw an opportunity. This wasn't money; it was data. The account number, the routing information-it was a key.

She reached out. Her fingers, stained with dried blood under the nails, picked up the check. Her expression was cold, indifferent. Let him think this is all I'm worth, that I can be bought so cheaply.

"Fine," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. Her internal thoughts were racing. This account will lead me straight to the off-the-books funds he's using to pay Dr. Aris. This isn't a payoff. It's evidence.

Marcus raised an eyebrow. He looked surprised at her quick compliance. "What do you want?"

"I want signature authority on Meredith's offshore trust," she said, knowing the request was obsolete. It was a test, a way to confirm her suspicions about his legal maneuvers.

Marcus's face hardened. "That is family capital. Absolutely not. Her power of attorney was transferred to me years ago. You know that."

Frederica shrugged, feigning disappointment. Just as I suspected, she thought. He's already consolidated legal control. She folded the check and slipped it into her pocket. "Then fifty it is. But I want it as a cashier's check."

Marcus waved his hand dismissively. "Stone, take her to the bank in the morning."

Frederica stood up. Her head throbbed with every heartbeat. She walked out of the study.

"Watch her," she heard Marcus say. "Do not let her pull anything."

She walked down the hallway and nearly collided with Dr. Aris coming down the stairs.

She grabbed the doctor's arm. "Is she asleep?"

The doctor wouldn't meet her eyes. "Yes. I increased the dosage. She will sleep for a long time."

Frederica tightened her grip. "If she does not wake up, I will have your license revoked. I have the files, Doctor. The ones detailing your prescription kickbacks from pharma reps."

He paled and pulled away, hurrying toward the exit.

Frederica walked out the front door. The night air bit at her wound. She looked at the check in her hand. It wasn't just money. It was an exit strategy.

She walked toward the parking area. Her car was blocked in.

A red Ferrari was parked directly behind her bumper. A man was leaning against the door, smoking.

The ember of the cigarette glowed, illuminating a face that looked like a softer, crueler version of Easton's.

Julian Reilly.

Julian dropped the cigarette and crushed it under the toe of his loafer. He walked toward her, his eyes fixing immediately on the white gauze on her forehead.

"Who did that? Marcus?"

Frederica took a step back. "None of your business, Julian. Move your car."

Julian let out a bitter laugh. "You are still so stubborn, Freddie. If you had chosen me back then..."

Frederica cut him off. "You sold me, Julian. You traded me to Easton for shares. Do not rewrite history."

Julian flinched. "That was Father's deal. I had no choice. I was the spare."

He stepped closer, invading her space. "I have my own capital now. I can take you away from him."

Frederica felt bile rise in her throat. "I am your sister-in-law."

Julian's face twisted. "Easton does not love you! He is using you to control the Mccullough voting block!"

"At least he pays well," Frederica spat. "And he does not pretend to be a saint."

Julian snapped. He grabbed her shoulders, his fingers digging in. He leaned in, trying to kiss her.

Frederica reacted on instinct. She brought her knee up, but the dress was too tight. Instead, she stomped her heel down, driving the stiletto into his shin.

Julian yelled and let go, hopping back.

Frederica scrambled for her car door.

Suddenly, the driveway was flooded with light. High beams cut through the darkness, blinding them both.

A black stretch Lincoln rolled silently up the gravel drive. It stopped right next to the Ferrari.

The back window rolled down.

Easton sat there. His face was in shadow, but his eyes caught the light. They were cold, dead calm.

Julian straightened up, ignoring the pain in his leg. The fear on his face was instant. The spare facing the heir.

Easton didn't look at his brother. He looked at the blood on Frederica's cheek, at the gauze.

"Get in," Easton said.

Frederica hesitated. She didn't want to go with him. But looking at Julian's desperate, grabby hands...

"Unless you want Julian to be on the front page for harassment tomorrow," Easton added.

Julian turned pale. He stepped back, head bowed.

Frederica made the calculation. She walked to the Lincoln. The driver opened the door, and she slid into the warmth of the backseat.

As the door closed, Easton spoke to the window, his voice projecting clearly to his brother.

"Stay away from my assets, Julian."

The car pulled away.

Frederica slumped in the corner, exhausted. Her head was pounding a rhythm of pain.

Easton didn't speak. He opened the small refrigerator console. He took out an ice pack. He wrapped it in a silk handkerchief.

He held it out to her.

"Put this on."

Frederica took it. The cold was shocking against her hot skin, but the relief was instant. She closed her eyes, trapped in the dark with the husband she was leaving, who had just saved her from the man she used to love.

They entered the penthouse in silence. Easton didn't let her go to her room. He steered her by the elbow to the living room sofa and pushed her gently down.

He walked to a cabinet and pulled out a sleek, metal medical kit. It wasn't a standard first-aid box; it looked military grade.

Frederica watched him snap on a pair of latex gloves. "You know how to do this?"

Easton didn't answer. He reached up and turned on the floor lamp, angling the bright light onto her face.

He peeled back the tape. Frederica hissed as it pulled at her skin.

Easton paused. "Sorry," he murmured.

He cleaned the wound with iodine. His movements were incredibly precise, almost gentle. It was a jarring contrast to the man who had dragged her out of the gallery hours ago. His fingers were steady. He checked the depth of the cut.

"It does not need stitches," he said, his voice clinical. "But it will scar."

Frederica let out a shaky breath. "I am not a model. It does not matter."

Easton peeled off the gloves and tossed them in the bin. "Marcus did this?"

"Meredith," Frederica corrected. "Marcus just watched."

Easton's jaw clenched. A muscle ticked in his cheek. His eyes went flat, terrifyingly empty.

He stood up and walked to the bar cart. He poured a glass of whiskey, his back to her.

"I will handle it."

Frederica sat up straighter. "What are you going to do? Do not touch the stock price, Easton. My trust is tied to it."

Easton turned, sipping the amber liquid. "You are worried about money? I thought you wanted a divorce."

"Because I want a divorce, I need the money," she snapped. "I am moving to a hotel tonight."

Easton set the glass down. The sound of crystal hitting glass was sharp.

"No."

Frederica stood up. "You cannot keep me here."

Easton crossed the room. He loomed over her, using his height to box her in.

"As long as you are my wife, I have an obligation to keep you alive. You are bleeding from the head. You are not going anywhere."

He pointed toward the guest room. "Go to sleep. I have a briefing at six. Do not wake me."

He turned and walked into his study, closing the door with a definitive click.

Frederica stood there, looking at the expensive medical kit, confused by the contradiction of his gentleness and his commands.

Inside the study, Easton didn't work.

He picked up his encrypted phone.

"Yates," he said. "Freeze all Mccullough shipments at the Jersey Port."

There was a pause on the other end. "Sir? That will cost us millions in delays. The supply chain..."

"Do it," Easton ordered. "Keep them frozen until Marcus Mccullough calls me personally to beg."

He hung up. He looked at the monitor on his desk, showing the living room feed. He watched Frederica walk slowly into the guest room.

"No one touches you," he whispered to the screen. "Except me."